It is Independence here, or is it Montevideo, the Uruguayan capital, as etched into the street signs. Street signs make me laugh, smile, thunder in my eyes. They are named after countries, capitals, desires (independence? freedom?). Luckily, our street does not properly represent Mendoza. There are sicamore trees; there are sighing clouds; there are wide streets and the livliest of plazas. I want to ride a bicycle. I want to ride a horse. I want to fly high again, like in the mountains of Bariloche, on the broadest horse waist, with tickled thighs.
I miss the wind. It is hot, beating, almost back-breaking sun here. I love the heat, love the heart of it, water beads, slippery stride. I miss my family, bagels, Broadway. There are certainties that I miss.
We searched for Mates and bombillas (pronounced bombishas here). The pharmacy man asked us to stay for Mate but we were searching for tickets to fly east. We sat outside on the square and drank giant juices, and I had a coffee that made me shake like an espresso virgin (which I am certainly not). We have a big, big bathtub, where I could slosh around for hours. I love baths. But I am sick of neon lighting.
Tomorrow is winery day, and I will taste the spiced reds and choose something for my father. Tonight is pasta night 1000. We will go to a sidestreet and have homemade fettucini. Mmmmm.
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