Like A Candle In The Wind

 

 By Alli Sinclair

Growing up in a country that is part of the Commonwealth, it was normal for me to see photos and hear stories about English monarchs. But when I walked through the doors of a tea house in Gaiman, Argentina, I hadn’t expected the Princess of Wales would be staring straight back at me.

Set in Argentina’s Patagonia region, Gaiman is home to the descendents of Welsh immigrants who arrived on these windswept plains in 1865. Back then, the Welsh were looking for a way to protect their lifestyle that had become endangered by the English. The Argentine government wanted to promote immigration to Argentina and offered the Welsh 100 square miles of land along the Chubut River in southern Patagonia. In exchange, the Welsh made a deal that the Argentines would respect their language, religion, and traditions. Who knew that years later, the Argentines would have their own issues with the English when it came to the Falkland Islands (or las Islas Malvinas, as the Argentines call it)?

The settlers arrived on a converted tea-clipper and found they had been given false promises. The supposed fertile land was arid, and little food was available. Floods washed away their crops and hampered construction of towns. The Argentine government introduced conscription and insisted the Welsh men drill on Sundays, even though it went against the Christian principles of the settlers. A wide rift grew between the Welsh and the Argentine government, but it wasn’t enough to stop more Welshmen from travelling to Argentina over the next 50 years. By the time immigration stopped just before World War I, approximately 2,300 Welsh had arrived.

As I strolled through the streets of Gaiman back in 2000, it was difficult to remember this was an Argentine town. The concrete block buildings found in Argentine suburbia weren’t common in this quaint town. Instead, Gaiman’s streets were lined with weatherboard houses with white shutters, lush gardens were in full bloom, and the air sagged with the scent of roses. Tea houses surrounded the settlement and Welsh tea, accompanied by pastries, cakes, and other delectable delights were on the menu.

In a hallway of the Ty Te Caerdydd tea house, Princess Diana of Wales is honored at a shrine of sorts. A large photo of the former princess in royal regalia is framed by bunches of roses and the original tea set she drank from when she visited the establishment sits under her picture. The day Diana visited, a children’s choir sang in Welsh, and she shook the hands of each child. She drank tea and ate pastries and when she left, despite being forbidden to accept flowers for security reasons (!!), she took a red rose from a bouquet.

On the 31^st of August every year, the anniversary of her death, the Welsh descendants gather to pay their respects to the Princess of the People. The Argentine Welsh have an undying love for an English woman, which is ironic, given they once had such contempt for the English. Maybe their adoration for Diana was a result of her charm, or perhaps it was because she appeared to be a thorn in the side of the “real” royals.

The Eisteddfod, a Welsh tradition, is held every year and plays an important role in Patagonian heritage. Choir singing, poetry, and dancing competitions are held during the Eisteddfod, and keep the Welsh tradition alive. The water channels the Welsh built were Argentina’s first man-made irrigation system and are now used all over the country. It is one of the reasons Argentina has thrived in the farming arena for so many years.

I’ve often wondered why my connection to Argentina has always been strong. When I discovered my own Welsh heritage and its connection to Argentina, everything fell into place. No wonder this invisible umbilical cord that attaches me to Argentina feels like it could never be severed.

How about you? Have you ever travelled somewhere and realized the bond with the place is because of your ancestry?

Confessions of a Travelling Foodie

By Alli Sinclair

There are two factors that determine my affection for a country:

1/ The attitude of the people

2/ The quality of the food

I’ve been very fortunate to have had a 99% success rate with the countries I’ve visited (only one country has disappointed me, and no, I won’t share!). As a self-confessed foodie, I keep a “food diary” when abroad. It’s full of recipes I’ve collected from chefs and new-found friends, and every recipe has an entry about where I first tried a particular dish, my first impressions of the place, and the people I shared the meal with.

On top of my food adventures list is Ushuaia, Argentina. Situated on Tierra del Fuego, Ushuaia is the southernmost city in the world (although the Chileans will dispute this—don’t get them started). Located on the icy shores of the Beagle Channel and surrounded by the Martial chain of mountains, Ushuaia could easily be mistaken as a seaside town in Scandinavia. It’s now a stepping off point for boat trips to Antarctica, but for me, Ushuaia is where I had one of the most wonderful experiences in my life—even though I didn’t know it at the time.

Somehow I’d stumbled upon a hostel owned by a couple who looked like they’d just stepped out of a hippie commune. My gentle hosts knew little English, but smiled and made me feel welcome the minute I knocked on their door. Although the hostel rooms were small, the communal living area had a massive floor-to-ceiling window with some of the most magnificent views of Ushuaia. Snow-capped mountains framed the steely gray waters of the port where yachts bobbed up and down. Off in the distance were penguin colonies, and some of the world’s most remote ranches. My planned stay of a week stretched into a month.

In the back of the hostel was a shiny, stainless steel kitchen. Guests had access to the fridge, ovens, and cooking utensils, and most nights a cook-off would take place. Travelers from all over the world made their favorite recipes to ward off homesickness, and it was a delight to try out meals from far-flung locales. But things changed dramatically when Rosa and Paulo from Mendoza, Argentina, arrived.

I’d only been in Argentina a short time so I was still testing the waters with my rudimentary Spanish. A trip to the supermarket that should have taken 10 minutes would drag into an hour because I had to pull out my dictionary every time I read a label or needed to ask for something. It hadn’t worried me, but Rosa decided to take me under her wing, and I quickly became her pet project. Determined for me to get a grasp on the language, Rosa dragged me to the markets, confiscated my Spanish/English dictionary, and made me memorize words and phrases. This curvy, pint-size woman with red, frizzy hair scared the crap out of me. She smiled as she barked orders, and I obeyed by reciting my fruits and veggies, hoping this tough love would pay off. Either that, or very shortly, Rosa would jump onto a plane back to Mendoza.

After a few days, Rosa handed me a piece of paper written in her cursive script, with her g’s and y’s dropping down two lines. Of course, the note was in Spanish. She told me she’d organized for a feast at the hostel that night, and I was going to be in charge of the empanadas. That’s when I tried out some choice Spanish phrases. She shrugged, handed me a plastic bag of ingredients, and said she’d be back shortly.  

I peered into the bag, found the empanada ingredients, and stared at the note. Mierda. I could barely boil water without burning the bottom of the pot; how on earth was I going to make empanadas and feed the hungry hordes? Everyone else was out on excursions or at a bar that afternoon, so I was alone in the large, cold kitchen and felt very, very lonely. The door banged open, I looked up, and Rosa waddled in clasping a couple of bottles of fine Mendocino Malbec.

She pulled out a couple of juice glasses, cracked open the bottle, poured the dark red liquid, and handed me a glass. We toasted to our health, I made a silent wish that I wouldn’t kill anyone with my cooking, and we set to work. That rainy afternoon, I learnt some Mendocino slang and what it’s like to like to grow up in Mendoza. I also increased my Spanish vocabulary ten-fold. Rosa showed me how to lovingly make the dough and filling, and how to shape these delights into little half moons, complete with swirly patterns. Little did I know, this experience was the start of my life-long love for the city that eventually became my home—Mendoza.

That night, we pushed the tables together, sat our 20+ guests down, and fed them some of the most delicious empanadas I’ve ever tasted (yes, I say so myself!). These pastries were made with love, laughter, and friendship and that flowed through to the group gorging themselves between animated conversations and taking large gulps of wine.

Months later I met up with Rosa and her husband in Mendoza, and we shared more cooking adventures. Her passion for her country’s food and love of people rubbed off on me, and now I enjoy introducing new dishes to friends and family. Although occasionally I still burn the pot that’s supposed to boil water.

And here’s the delicious empanada recipe:

Filling:

1 tbs olive oil

1 onion, finely chopped

1/2 tsp ground cumin

1/2 tsp ground cinnamon

1/2 tsp paprika

Large pinch of ground nutmeg

Large pinch of ground cloves

3 hard-boiled eggs, peeled, coarsely chopped

15 pitted black olives

Melted butter, to brush

Pastry:

3 cups of plain flour

100 grams of chilled butter

1 tsp salt

1 egg yolk, lightly whisked

5 tbs chilled water

Heat the oil in a large frying pan. Add the onion, stir until it is clear and soft. Add the ground beef, stirring with a wooden spoon until brown and cooked through. Add the cumin, cinnamon, paprika, nutmeg, and cloves. Stir again and transfer to a large heatproof bowl. Leave in the refrigerator for 30 minutes. 

Make the pastry by placing the flour, butter and salt in a blender. Process until it looks like breadcrumbs. Add the egg yolk and water and process again until the dough starts to cling. Take out and place on a floured surface and knead the dough until all lumps are removed. Wrap in plastic and place in the refrigerator for about 20 minutes.

Line 2 large baking trays with baking paper. Turn on oven to 200C. Roll out the pastry until it is around 3 millimetres thick. Cut the pastry into 15 discs, 12 centimetres in diameter. 

Stir the egg into the ground beef and mix with the seasonings. Place a heaped tablespoon of ground beef in the centre of the pastry disc. Top with 1 or 2 olives and brush the edges of the pastry with water. Fold so it is in the shape of a half moon. Press the edges together and use a fork to crimp the edge. Place on a lined tray and repeat this until all the empanadas have been made. Put it in the refrigerator for 30 minutes. Brush the empanadas with melted butter, bake in the over until golden (around 25 minutes). Eat and enjoy!

The Land of Fire

Waiting at the Strait of Magellan

By Alli Sinclair

I come from one of the world’s largest islands, so it’s only natural I’m a sucker for land poking out of vast oceans. Fortunately, near Australia, we have a fabulous selection of islands with palm trees, pristine beaches, and turquoise waters -- Fiji, Samoa, Tahiti, Vanuatu... the list goes on! But one of my favourite islands in the world doesn’t have a palm tree in sight but it does have penguins and is known as the Land of Fire – it’s Tierra del Fuego in southern Argentina.

My first visit to Tierra del Fuego was after I’d cycled and ridden buses for thousands of kilometres through Patagonia. I’d been on a roll, enjoying the life of a traveller, only to end up stranded at the southern tip of Argentina, staring across the Strait of Magellen. Due to unpredictable wind and ever-changing currents, ferry crossings are commonly stopped until weather improves and my ferry was no different. Six hours later we crossed by boat, where humpback whales swam in the channel that flows between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans.

Once on the other side, I jumped on a bus and travelled through windswept plains where crops of mountains jutted skyward. Arriving at Ushuaia, the stepping off point for ships sailing to Antarctica, I found a hostel on the hillside with views across the Beagle Channel. Not bad for US$10 a night.

The western region of Tierra del Fuego and most surrounding islands are owned by Chile while the remainder of the island is owned by Argentina. Now, depending on who you’re speaking to, you’ll get different stories about the most southern city in the world. Argentines will swear it’s Ushuaia, and Chileans will argue it’s Puerto Williams.

Tierra del Fuego National Park lies only 11 kilometres from Ushuaia, is the first shoreline national park established in Argentina, and it is the world’s most southern national park. It’s easy to access by bike, car, or, probably the most popular option, by train.

The Train to the End of the World is a narrow gauge railway that was originally established in 1910 after the prison in Ushuaia began operating. The steam train travelled along along the waterfront in Ushuaia, then across the eastern slope of Mount Susana and into what we now call Tierra de Fuego National Park. The railway originally connected the prison to the forestry camp within the park, and was known as the Prison Train until the prison closed in 1947. (The original railway closed in 1952 after an earthquake damaged the tracks. Luckily, some train lovers reconstructed and renovated the tracks in 1994. After purchasing a steam locomotive from England, building one in Argentina, and assembling three diesel locomotives, they opened the line to tourism). Now it’s possible to take the train from the outskirts of Ushuaia and travel for 50 minutes along the heritage railway to the Tierra del Fuego National Park.

Once there, you can visit waterfalls, thick forests, pristine lakes, and towering mountains that all combine to make a visit to this park an unforgettable experience. For those who love to hike, it’s easy to spend a few days traipsing the trails, enjoying the wildlife both on and above the ground. If you have a keen eye, you’re likely to spot an Andean Fox, North American Beaver, European Rabbit, muskrat, and guanacos. Looking above, you may spot an Austral Parakeet, Magellanic and Blackish Oystercatchers, as well as the elusive Andean Condor.

As for time of year, from personal experience, I’d say Autumn (Fall) is the most spectacular season to go. Crisp, sunny days, bright blue skies, and fewer tourists means you almost have the park to yourself. And as for scenery, nothing can beat the magnificent orange, red, and yellow leaves of trees clinging to the rolling hills and jutting mountains.

Enjoying champagne and Oreos at the end of the world

And if visiting the southernmost national park in the world then you can add standing at the end of the Pan-American Highway, an impressive roads that stretches for 29,800 miles from Prudhoe Bay, Alaska to Ushuaia, Argentina.

Tierra del Fuego is shrouded in mystery, has a colourful history, and breathtaking scenery and nature. It’s easy to spend a week, even two, exploring the surrounds and if you’ve been saving your pennies, sail to Antarctica. For me, the Land of Fire burns brightly in my heart and I can’t wait to take my young family there and share the wonderful experiences waiting for us to embrace.

If you want to learn more about Ushuaia, you can visit another post I wrote here.

Is it Cow or Chicken?

By Alli Sinclair

The Argentines observe their independence from the Spanish on the 9th of July every year. This celebration takes place in the middle of the Argentine winter, and as is the tradition with Argentines, they love to celebrate the special occasion with food.

The first Argentine Independence Day I celebrated in that country, I was travelling with an Argentine friend of mine. We were holidaying in Carlos Paz, in the province of Cordoba, and my friend was determined I’d take part in the celebrations, which included eating locro.

At the time, my Spanish was dodgy to say the least, and as his English wasn’t crash hot, we spent a lot of time drawing stick figures on serviettes and miming. It always gave us a good laugh, especially when we went to a restaurant on the evening of independence day and my friend tried to explain what ingredients were in Locro.

The conversation went something like this:

Me: “Locro. What’s in it?” I throw my arms thrown out in a questioning manner.

Him: “Es rico.” He rubs his stomach and rolls his eyes like he’s just tasted the best food on earth.

Me: “Yeah, but what’s in it?”

Him: He holds his arms out in a circle to signify a pot then makes a chopping motion like he’s murdering vegetables and proceeds to moo like a cow and oink like a pig.

Me: “So there’s no brrk brrk brrk?” I flap my arms like a chicken.

Him: He shakes his head and moos and oinks again and we both dissolve into laughter which causes the waiter to frown and tsk-tsk us.

The waiter eventually arrived with our dish and the aromas made me want to rub my stomach and roll my eyes just like my friend had done. We added chimichurri, a spicy sauce popular in Argentina and dipped bread into the casserole-like meal. That was the moment I fell in love with locro, and now, even after all these years, when I’m craving some comfort food, I make locro and it always does the trick.

For those of you heading into the cooler months of the year, here’s a recipe for Argentine locro. It’s easy, although a tad fiddly, but I promise you the effort will be worth your while. Just remember, the secret is to cook it slowly over a low heat for an extended period of time.

This recipe is borrowed from the wonderful blog, Seashells and Sunflowers.

Ingredients

1 cup dried white corn (hominy)
2 medium onions, coarsely chopped
2 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
2- ¼" thick slices of smoked pancetta or slab bacon, cubed
2 chorizos colorados or other slightly spicy sausage, sliced
2- 1" thick pieces of osso buco (beef shanks), or similar cut
2 ears of fresh yellow sweet corn, cut the kernels off the cobs
1 tsp. ground cumin
1 tsp. paprika
2 bay leaves
salt to taste
½ tsp. freshly-ground black pepper
1 ½ c. butternut squash, peeled and diced small
1 ½ c. yams, peeled and diced small
1 large baking potato, peeled and diced small
2 plum tomatoes, cut in small wedges
chopped green onion for garnish (optional)

chili oil (see directions)

Directions

Soak the hominy in 2 cups of water overnight (a minimum of 12 hours).

The next day, prepare the chili oil in advance by soaking a teaspoon of ají molido (or crushed red pepper flakes) in a tablespoon of olive oil for 2-3 hours.

Place the onions, garlic, pancetta, chorizo, and osso buco in a large stewpot. Cook over medium heat until the onions are translucent. Add the fresh yellow corn, cumin, paprika, bay leaves, salt, and pepper. Continue to cook, stirring regularly, for roughly 10 minutes. Add the soaked hominy, including the soaking water. Add hot water to the pot to about 2 inches above the level of the ingredients. Add the remaining vegetables, stir, and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer, covered, stirring every 15-20 minutes, for at least 2 hours.

At this point, uncover the pot and remove the bay leaves. Remove the pieces of osso buco and discard the bones. Cut the meat into bite-sized pieces, then return it to the pot. Continue to stir over low heat, and using the back of a wide spoon or spatula, press the ingredients up against the sides of the pot so that the starchy vegetables and tomato break down into the soup (the corn and meat will resist being mashed). As you continue to stir, mash, and cook; the soup should gradually thicken. Continue until the locro reaches the rich consistency of a stew. Add salt to taste.

Serve in bowls, and garnish with green onions and a touch of chili oil.

Passion on a Plate - Te Mataré Ramirez

Photo by Arte & Fotografía as SABRINA Y HECTOR

By Alli Sinclair

Buenos Aires is a city that simmers with passion. The cobblestoned streets are jam-packed with men and women who look like they’ve escaped from a Parisian catwalk, and with tango dancers strutting to passionate music played in the plazas. Sexiness is in the genes of the Argentines, and over the past two decades they’ve taken it to a new level with the aphrodisiac restaurant, Te Mataré Ramirez.

The name of the restaurant translates to “I’ll Kill You Ramirez” and no doubt there’s a good story about cheating lovers who earned it that name. Designed for the over-18 set, this restaurant is dimly lit and clad in red velvet, as soft jazz plays throughout the dining room. There’s the “Open Mind” bar and I’m not quite sure if there’s a wedding ring check-in at the door.

Couples at various stages of their relatioonships canoodle in corners and sip champagne or else indulge in the sensual delicacies the restaurant offers. The names of the dishes alone are worth a visit. Here are some examples from the dessert menu:

Amantes Que Se Comparten (Lovers Who Share)

Hasta Gritar De Placer Y Dolor (Until I Scream with Pleasure and Pain)

No samplers, as far as I know.

These are by far the most tame because reading the menu is akin to thumbing through the pages of an erotica novel.

The food itself deserves the sensuous titles it’s been given. Melt-in-your-mouth salmon, salads with fresh herb dressings, and chocolate sauces that really do make your taste buds want to scream with pleasure. Nothing here is rushed, and diners are encouraged to take their time and soak up the atmosphere and bask in the company of whomever they are sharing their meal with.

Te Mataré Ramirez offers a show each night, and depending on when you go, it may be actors boasting about their conquests, dancers performing sensuous moves to haunting music, or a movie you definitely wouldn’t want your grandmother to see. All of this is done tastefully; nothing seedy about the place. The waiters are excellent at being discreet but are around when you require their services. Not those kinds of services, mind you. Get your mind out of the gutter!

Te Mataré Ramirez is one of the most unique restaurants I’ve encountered, and the quality of the food alone means this place merits a visit. The atmosphere, although not to everyone’s taste, will certainly be remembered for years by anyone who dines there. This is a restaurant that promises to give its patrons an experience of the senses, and there’s no doubt, it lives up to it’s promise.

When History Collides With The Present – El Ateneo Bookstore

Photo by Stanley Wood

One of the fun parts about writing fiction set in exotic locales is the opportunity to incorporate historical sites into the story. The current book I’m working on, a mystery set in Argentina, has afforded me the chance to set a major turning point for the plot and characters in one of my favourite places in Buenos Aires, an old theatre that is now a thriving bookstore.

El Ateneo Grand Splendid, situated in Barrio Norte, once was the Teatro Grand Splendid. The theatre opened in May 1919 and with a seating capacity of 1,050 patrons, the venue hosted a variety of concerts, including some of Argentina’s most renowned tango artists – Carlos Gardel, Robert Firpo, and Ignacio Corsini.

The building was the brainchild of Max Glücksmann, who originally came from the Austrian Empire and immigrated to Argentina in 1890. In 1914 he founded Nacional Odeon, a record company that helped put the tango on the world stage. His empire expanded to include exclusive copyright to all the hits his record company produced, as well as controlling sheet music and the silent movie-house business. He could easily have been despised by performers, but instead, they admired him after he introduced the royalty pay system in Argentina.

With the money and reputation behind him, Glücksmann commissioned the construction of Teatro Grand Splendid. In 1924, Radio Splendid, another business of Glücksmann’s, broadcast from the building and made recordings for his studio label. The theatre became a cinema in the late 1920s, and was the first place Argentines could watch movies with recorded sound.

Carlos Gardel -- one of the first performers at the theatre

Teatro Grand Splendid continued to screen movies right up until the year 2000, when Grupo Ilhsa, which owned a publishing house and other bookstores, leased the theatre to convert into a bookstore and music shop. Where the theatre seats once stood, there are now rows upon rows of bookshelves. The stage that hosted some of Argentina’s greatest talents now serves as a café, allowing patrons to relax with a hot cuppa and take their time perusing books of their choice. Reading before purchase is encouraged. And if you’re a person who needs peace and quiet to read, find one of the many sofas tucked away in the balconies that overlook the stage. In the afternoons, a pianist plays and that’s when you can also appreciate the theatre’s wonderful acoustics.

Despite the renovations, El Ateneo has managed to retain the ambience of an elegant theatre. The central dome is well preserved and shows off the magnificent fresco painting by Nazareno Orlandi, celebrating the end of the First World War. All the ornate carvings, frescos, curtains, and lighting remain true to the original building and its intended use.

Frequently named as one of the world’s best bookshops, El Ateneo deserves every accolade it receives. With over 120,000 book titles, a million people walking through its doors every year, and more than 700,000 books sold annually, this bookshop hasn’t lost any of its charm and is a welcome contrast to the “big box” bookstores you’ll find in other parts of the world.

If you don’t speak Spanish, fear not. The store has a wonderful selection of fiction and non-fiction books in a myriad of languages, including English. And if you’re after souvenirs, then the photography books and wide selection of Argentine music, including pop and tango, will have you lugging one very heavy bag back to your hotel.

Any modern renovation of an historic building is a great risk. Managing to find the line between past and present is a delicate balance, but the very savvy architects and designers who worked on El Ateneo Grand Splendid deserve a very big pat on the back. It’s not very often a bookstore becomes a tourist attraction, but El Ateneo Grand Splendid will go down in history as the bookstore that seamlessly combines old-world elegance with a modern twist.

Photo by David

It’s A Small World After All

By Alli Sinclair

As a mother of two young children, I’m always interested in how parenting styles vary from family to family, culture to culture, and country to country. I’ve been lucky enough to visit friends with kids in various parts of the world and along the way I’ve observed a myriad of parenting styles. Some methods have appealed so much I’ve adopted them into my own style of parenting and so far, the results have been pretty good!

From the moment most people announce their pregnancy, people flock to give advice—whether the pregnant woman wants it or not. The same goes when the children arrive into the big ol’ world. In-laws, old men, cousins, aunties, strangers… everyone has something to say about the way you are interacting with your child. Sometimes the advice is helpful, but most of the time, it’s just someone trying to shove their opinion down your throat (yes, yes, this is a touchy subject with me!).

For the same reason, I’m not one to run to a parenting book every time a challenging situation arises. I tend to take a more organic approach and run with intuition and assess the situation and the individual child as to what outcome I am aiming for. But I did find a very good parenting book called How Eskimos Keep Their Babies Warm by Mei-Ling Hopgood. I honestly had a hard time putting it down.

Mei-Ling covers many cultures and interviews anthropologists, educators, and child-care experts and even tests out some of the theories on her lively toddler, with some pretty amazing results. Her narrative is non-judgmental, something that is not always seen in parenting books.

Here are some examples of what Mei-Ling discovered:

Argentina

This one I can vouch for and it amazed me even before I was a mother. In Argentina, it’s not uncommon to find young children dining with their families close to midnight, or attending a wedding and dancing until two in the morning. Seriously. I could never understand how the young ‘uns could function the next day, but they do. Toddlers tend to sleep in later than North American children, and sleep experts say that as long as children are getting the required amount of sleep for their age, late nights are not a big deal. The other bonus is children who socialize at functions from a young age adapt better to new social situations as they grow older.

France

Food… ah, one of the great joys of life but as a busy mum, it can be difficult to prepare interesting meals the kids will actually eat without a fuss. I’ve always been keen on exposing our kids to a variety of food from many cultures, and luckily, the kids have been (mostly) pretty keen to at least give it a go. We do have a rule in our house that it’s okay not to like a food, but you have to try it at least once (and the French chef in the book thinks the same way with his kids). According to Mei-Ling, it’s not unusual for French children to have duck or asparagus in their lunch box, and they tend to drink water rather than fruit juice.

Polynesian Islands 

This one takes community caring to a new level. Siblings, cousins, and family friends, form a group to take care of the younger children. We’re not talking adults here. For example, in a group of 10 people, there might be four children between the ages of eight and twelve, and they look after the other children who might range in age from two to seven. The older children prepare food, change nappies, supervise, play games… all things an adult normally does. Meanwhile, the parents are free to go and do the tasks that are needed to keep the community fed, such as fishing or farming fresh fruit or vegetables.

Japan

Duking it out doesn’t sound like an ideal way of handling a situation where two children are fighting, but in Japan teachers sometimes turn a blind eye (unless it gets really out of hand). The theory is the children learn to handle a situation without having to resort to a third party (a parent or teacher). Now this may go against the beliefs of many parents out there, but I can see how people believe this theory has value. It took me a while as a parent to work out that when two young children are fighting (arguing, not punching!) that the situation dissipates much faster than when an adult gets involved. As for the physical side of sorting something out… well… I’m not sure what to think about that, but it seems to work well in the Japanese culture.

Mexico

In small towns in the Yucatán (as with many parts of the world), young children are involved in daily chores. A child of two may help his mother with the washing or collecting fruit and this involvement helps the child build confidence and know they can contribute in a meaningful way—something that is so important for all of us to feel, including little ones. I know sometimes I tend to do chores by myself because honestly, it’s just easier, but when my kids show an interest in helping, I slow myself down and allow them to get involved, even if I’m busting to get the job done. The look of joy on their faces when they complete a task really is wonderful and reminds me this is all part of their growing and learning and sense of self-worth.

In our house, we like to embrace ways from many cultures and Mei-Ling Hopgood’s book is an excellent resource to see how it’s done elsewhere. Not all of the methods will appeal to all readers, but that’s the beauty of this world and experiencing so many cultures. We can adopt the methods that work for us and our children, and ignore the ones that don’t appeal—all the while maintaining a healthy respect that everyone is different and that’s what makes the world a pretty amazing place.

As we have such an array of readers from many cultures, it would be lovely to learn about any parenting styles you’ve grown up with or have adapted.

One Man’s Trash…

By Alli Sinclair

As part of my daughter’s school curriculum they’ve been studying recycling and reusing materials. The topic took me back to a time in Argentina when I discovered a bizarre and fun place in Gaiman, Patagonia.

Long before recycling became mainstream, Joaquín Alonso collected bottles, cans, and all manner of disused household goods to create Parque El Desafío. Desafio means challenge in English, and I’ve never ascertained whether Señor Alonso named the park “challenge” after his project or if it had a deeper meaning.

Although it’s not technically a museum, Señor Alonso’s work contains articles that are decades old. He used these pieces to create a life-sized VW bug, garden of flowers, birds, trees, and a playground for kids, young and old, to use their imaginations and spend an afternoon living in a world of wonder.

There are signs that display his sense of humour, so it helps if a Spanish speaker is nearby to translate. A classic example is at the entrance. When I was there in 2000 he charged USD4 for ‘functionaries of the state, lawmakers, and politicians’ and 40 cents for everyone else.

In 1998, Señor Alonso entered the Guinness Book of Records as the creator of the world’s largest recycled park. With over 50,000 wine and beer bottles, 30,000 cans, 12,000 bottle caps, 5,000 plastic bottles and an array of televisions, refrigerators, washing machines, and various other household appliances, Parque El Desafío, is a great testament to how one man’s imagination and talent can turn trash into a treasure for all.

Unfortunately Señor Alonso passed away in 2010 and as Gaiman is off the well-worn tourist track, his family were unable to keep the property open to the public. The latest I heard is the place is now up for sale and weeds are growing between the artwork. I hope someone can step in and save Parque El Desafío as it is a piece of history that is important not just to Argentina, but to the world. To see Señor Alonso’s labour of love disappear amongst the weeds would be a tragedy.

Even though you can’t enter the gates now, this video might give you an idea of Señor Alonso’s imagination and vision:

Kicking Goals

By Alli Sinclair

Four years is a long time when you’re waiting for the FIFA World Cup. I’ve never been sporty, but when it comes to football (yes, others call it “soccer” but I am adamant soccer is football so don’t get me started!), I plan my life around viewing the matches live. If I have to get up at 4 am to watch Argentina or Australia, I’ll do it. One of the great things about FIFA is the advertisements. Even if you’re not a fan of the sport, I’m sure you can appreciate the skill of these amazing players. Here’s a selection of my favorite football ads:

Adidas Germany 2006

Elvis and football 2002

Aussies take on the world South Africa 2010

South Africa 2010

Team Brazil 1998

Top Of The World

Alli on the summit of Mera Peak

By Alli Sinclair

In my late teens and early twenties, my vacations involved beaches, palm trees, and many hours reading books or playing water sports. At the ripe old age of twenty-four I decided to fulfill a dream I’d had since I was twelve—to travel through India. As I thumbed through guidebooks, Nepal, India’s neighbor, wouldn’t quit calling my name. Nepal is a quick flight from India, so I looked into adding a short trek in Nepal to my backpacking trip in India. This innocent thought changed everything. My ten-day Nepal trek morphed into a six-week mountaineering trip in the Himalayas and got me hooked on the one sport I’ve never lost passion for.

I’ll be honest and say I bit off more than I could chew. Up until that trip the longest I’d slept in a tent had been four days—this mountaineering expedition meant six weeks of camping, including at least two weeks sleeping on snow. In my head, I had the confidence needed to undertake such a journey but when I told family and friends about my plans there were more than a couple of raised eyebrows and exclamations of “Are you sure you want to do this? Didn’t you want to lie on the beach at Goa?”

After 18 months of rigorous training in Australia (where our highest mountain is one third the height of my Nepalese goal) I travelled to Nepal, determined to prove my silent critics wrong. I’d only been in Kathmandu two days when I sprained my ankle in a pothole and it looked like the trip had finished before it began. A few tears, icepacks and lots of drugs later, I made the eight hour trip to Jiri, our starting point for the trek.  The first few days were a blur of painkiller-induced delirium, but it go me through the discomfort and I hobbled up and down valleys with my awesome expedition team.

Mera Peak photo taken from two valleys away

For weeks we acclimatized to our new home—the Himalayas—and met amazing locals along the way. We travelled far off the beaten track, away from the usual trekking routes, and met school kids in remote villages who hadn’t seen foreigners before. Farmers with yaks in tow smiled as we passed by, women washing clothes in the freezing glacial rivers waved, and my notion of what makes a wonderful vacation changed forever.

We endured heat, cold, tiredness, sunburn, storms, boredom, blisters, and homesickness—yet our band of intrepid climbers stuck it out. Many, many times I questioned why I wasn’t laying in a beach sipping piña coladas and chatting up the pool boy, but I remembered why I undertook such a journey—to prove to myself I could take the easy with the hard and not ever give up.

When summit day finally arrived, we left High Camp at 2 am. Even though we were swaddled in the super-dooper technologically enhanced climbing gear, our fingers and toes remained numb. We traipsed through the dark, a line of head torches bobbed up the side of Mera Peak, the mountain we desperately wanted to summit. At a height of 6,476 meters (21, 247 feet), it’s not a skip through a meadow of daisies. Climbing at this altitude is serious business and one false move could mean your death, or that of your team members.

The sun rose and we traipsed onwards and upwards. The summit was in sight, yet it was still hours away. All I wanted to do was sit down on the freezing snow and sleep, but my ego and pride wouldn’t let me. The thin air at altitude meant breathing was a struggle, and near the summit we were taking one step to every two breaths.

High Camp on Mera Peak

After eight hours we finally made it to the summit of Mera Peak and I will never forget that moment. The weather cooperated and the cloud had lifted for us to view the 8,000 metre peaks around us: Sagarmatha (Mount Everest), Lhotse, Cho Oyu, Makalu, and Kanchenjunga. Bright blue sky formed the backdrop and in that moment, standing on the summit of my dreams, I was in awe of the beauty of the world before me.

The sun danced across my face, warming my skin and the air I inhaled was the freshest I’d ever experienced. Silence wrapped around us. This, I discovered, was my ideal vacation from the craziness of the world.

After summitting, it took a couple of weeks to return to Kathmandu. The mayhem of the traffic, the pollution, and the busyness of life took over and I clung to that moment on the summit. Even now, nearly twenty years later, I can close my eyes and remember the feeling of pure bliss standing, literally, on top of the world.

Less than a year after Nepal I traveled to South America to climb Aconcagua, the tallest mountain in the Americas. That’s a whole other post, though.

Sure, I love my beach vacations but for me, the most memorable vacations are the ones where I have climbed peaks around the world. I loved it so much I ditched my job as a graphic artist to work in the adventure travel industry and take my own clients on expeditions.

Humans as tiny dots near the summit of Mera Peak

The innocent trip to Nepal started me on a lifelong journey of appreciation and respect for mountain climbing and Mother Nature. As many expeditions leaders have told me, “the mountain will only be climbed if it wishes.” After witnessing a handful of accidents and getting involved in rescues on the mountains, I know this saying to be true.

Now I’m older, nowhere near as fit, and a mother of two young kids, nicking off to climb a mountain for a couple of months is a big ask. But I have my memories and stories, and the kids love to hear about my adventures and look at my photos. Perhaps I’ll inspire them to follow their dreams and find their own adventures. I certainly hope so.