Miami - Real Estate

The rich and famous of Miami (and Vanilla Ice) all have their mansions by the water. One of these houses belongs to the "pen magnate" Mr Parker, of Parker Pens. He might have a bloody big house, but I bet you he's the same as me when on the phone, running round the place saying "Can you just hang on a sec, where do all the bloody pens in this house go.........?"

Two boats in the drive way and f*** all in the fridge I bet.

Here we saw Gloria Estefan having a quick fag.

While passing this one we saw Julio Iglesias walking his dog.

This was home to Al Pacino in Scarface.

Miami - Duck!

The Diminutive One's folks live in the burbs of Miami, with a balcony overlooking a man made lake. So far the turtles have been elusive, and I have yet to see anyone dragged in by a 'gator, but I have seen a duck and pointy looking bird. I've also seen a fella playing keepy uppy with a football, although because he was wearing a 'tea bag' type vest, I thought him unworthy of a snap.

Miami - Jesus!

While out in the burbs, buying big things from big shops, sold by big people, I saw this in the car park. Jesus is not a swear word. From now on I'm keeping my eye out for a massive truck that warns against "Oh, for f***s sake!".

The Diminutive One's Birthday Fish Dinner

For Maria's birthday we went downtown to a posh place that specialises in fish. While most places tend to show you to your seat, this place ushers you into a room with two large water filled tanks. While I was searching for the words for "Sorry mate I didn't bring my trunks with me" a waiter whipped out a lobster and thrust it into The Diminutive One's hands. Not knowing whether to suck it or blow it, we had a quick snap and moved on to the eight quid starters (or rather Maria did, I just sucked a lemon).

Lizard

This morning The Diminutive One informed me that last night she had a dream where she gave birth to a baby lizard. A plastic baby lizard. This was greeted with much happiness from friends and family, that is, until she broke the head off while giving it a bath. She was most upset.

I was telling this to my cousin Matt a few hours ago, via the magic of the windows messenger televidprinter machine, and, after I had typed in the words

'last night Maria dreamt she gave birth to a lizard'

he paused, before replying

'boy or a girl?'

Mendoza Graffiti

Mendoza, Argentina

Shopping and eating, that's pretty much what we did in Argentina at the weekend. The Diminutive One sorted a couple of plane tickets, and before you could say "aren't there a lot of loud Americans in the world", we were being taxi'd from Mendoza airport to a hotel we could barely afford.
As I read in a guidebook, Mendoza would be nothing without the trees, and it's true. Someone somewhere had the bright idea of planting a gijillion trees throughout the city, and it transforms a so-so town into something alltogether different. As is our custom, we ignored all things cultural in favour of expensive eateries and shops with shiny things. One restaurant was so expensive I had to leave when the bill came, walk back to the hotel, stuff my pockets with more pesos, then walk briskly back to a worried looking Maria. It was all of 20 quid, twice the price we had paid so far!
The area is a wine producing region, but we didn't drink a drop. Knocked-up Mrs stuck firmly to orange juice (typical Chilean, disgusted if less than 5 fresh juices to choose from on the menu - "they might have wine, but where are their juices?"), pasta and fish. We both ignored the veal tongue and other things that could only be translated as 'innards'.
The highlight of the journey back was Gate One at the airport. Diminutive Chilean found small expensive things in the Duty Free, while I watched a group of US tourists become increasingly worried that they'd missed their plane. Despite the gate not being open yet, and it being a good hour before the plane was due to depart, and all the other passengers not moving an inch, said group were visibly alarmed everytime there was an announcement that mentioned flight 933. Every time the speakers issued something the group would charge off down the tunnel like a brass band in a cul-de-sac, only to re-appear minutes later being ushered back to the waiting room by somebody in a yellow bib.

Neglect

The New Super Tasty Cheese Emapanada has gone a bit stale lately, I think you'll agree. Unfortunately, The Diminutive One and I have done an awful lot of sitting on the sofa this year (so much so that we've signed up for a DVD delivery service), which doesn't really offer up those snap-happy moments to capture and slap on the blog.

So much sofa sitting is due to the Mrs being, as she puts it,knocked-up. No doubt this will knock the "Castro Resigns" headlines off top slot around the world. After seeing a blog that detailed some American woman's pregnancy (complete with side angle shots of growing belly) The Empanada may well be hijacked over the coming months for all things pre-natal. I'm reluctant to start the process with the initial snap of "Maria at 3 months" as we're not sure if the bump is baby or biscuits.

As for names, so far we have a shortlist of one - Hummus. Or, a full name of Baby Hummus. Obviously, Hummusita if it's a girl. My mate Jon's two best suggestions were "O B 1 (good for a boy or a girl) or Babbamoosh", both of which never even made the table, let alone the short list. I seem to remember him being half under the table at the time.

The 10 week scan seemed to show well developed fingers, so it's clear that we'll have either a goal keeper or concert pianist in the family.

So, from now on it's toes and piano-playing/ball-saving fingers crossed for luck that everything goes ok.

The Mrs December 2007

The Mrs, December 2007

Bucalemu

There's something quite pleasant about out of season seaside towns. Bucalemu, over the dusty hill from Pichilemu, is more of a street. The owner of the place where we ate filled us with cheer by telling us that people regularly die on the dusty road. As this was the only way back, it didn't exactly aid digestion. It took me a large chocolate ice cream on a stick to calm down.

The Road to Bucalemu

Over the hill from Pichilemu, via a twisty dust covered road, is Bucalemu. If you're ever thinking of a camel trip across the Gobi, then this road would be a good place to see if you're up to it. As The Diminutive One's motor has no air-con, you face the choice of either cooking yourself up microwave-style with the windows wound up, or opening them and choking yourself half to death. We chose to alternate between the two.

On The Beach

Unlike last time, when I got burnt so badly that I glowed for a week, Pichilemu treated me better this time round. The fellas with the truck were collecting seaweed, which people, who are ill in the head, eat. Maria tells me they used to give it to kids to suck, presumably if they didn't like them.

Sitting on The Fence in Pichilemu

Aint no sittin on the fence in Pichilemu.

Yerbas Buenas

Apart from being a "well-preserved colonial village", the one thing I shall always remember about Yerbas Buenas (translated by the Dimminutive One as "The Good Weeds", which I'm sure would attract a certain kind of visitor) was the drunk chap in the street. He was sat alongside a parked car, inspecting the peeling go-faster stripes. This wouldn't have been such an issue if he´d chosen the pavement side of the vehicle. This rather badly thought out decision saw him positioned in the middle of the road. As you can see from the pictures, heavy traffic isn't a problem, although he was running the risk of getting a squashed hand from a passing tractor.
It was worth noting that it was only about 11 in the morning, so he'd clearly made an early start to the day. You could hear him singing within a four block radius, and we both burst out laughing when suddenly, breaking off from the wailing, he cordially greeted a passer by with a fairly formal "Buenas Dias Señor!".

Huilquilemu - Villa Cultural (complete with Last Supper)

A few miles east of Talca, there's a large, old colonial pile, that is now stuffed full of religious gumpf. The place looks a bit like the original curator was ousted half way through his plan to have a fairly standard museum. A few days after completeing the period drawing room, complete with grand piano and period furniture, said curator was sacked, only to be replaced by a Catholic nut. Said nut demanded, and promptly got, a lifesize model of the last supper, complete with spooky lighing (operated by dimmer switch), in the back bedroom. He, or she, then set about rounding up whatever freako Catholo paintings and crosses he/she could find, threw in a cafe (closed on Saturdays forgodsake), and called it Villa Cultural Huilquilemu. As a back yard they've got a selection of trees from around the world, all lumped together in a garden. Best place for trees.