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Since arriving a week ago, I have had a mixed-berry crisp, a piece of marionberry and peach pie at my conference, I have picked blueberries at Mom and Dad’s place (the early bush is really productive this year and the berries are sweet sweet sweet), harvested raspberries from the bushes at the parental unit’s house as well, consumed blackberries obtained from a local farm (garnished with a little vanilla ice cream), and positively inhaled so many Bing and Rainier cherries that I get a little woozy just thinking about it.

Fresh, amazing berries and cherries are one of the reasons that there is no place I would rather be when it comes to eating than the Pacific Northwest in the summer.

I just fell back in love with the United States of America, and not for the reasons you might think. It was thanks to some amazing, hard-working, and dedicated city Mayors that I had the pleasure of getting to know this last week.

You see, my jetlagged, broken-backed, congested self just wrapped up an amazing and affirming professional experience as a part of the The Mayor’s Institute on City Design. For three days, we (a panel of architects, designers, planners, and real estate professionals) were locked in a room together with 8 mayors to discuss their cities and address their issues and concerns about their home towns.

I was energized by these leaders — they are willing to act as lightning rods on tough land-use issues that might be unpopular in the short term, but could improve their communities for decades to come.

This country was built on the backs of public service such as theirs — they generally make little money while often serving “part-time,” when in reality, they work full-time for their constituents. My interactions with these mayors showed me, in a tangible way, that livable places are the result of good governance, which is the result of ordinary people working hard and caring for their neighbors and families.

Kudos!

As I’ve tweeted a zillion times, which, yes, is a reflection of my excitement, I upgraded my flight home using miles because of my back and rib injuries. I mention this, not because of the aforementioned delight, but because the lounges for zee upper class passengers in Buenos Aires and Atlanta were the first places that I experienced a real cultural shift.

At the EZE airport, the upper class waiting area featured a ton of families, complete with kids running around, TVs blaring soccer…frankly, it was a bit raucous. (One American woman stomped out in a snit because it wasn’t to her liking.) What is interesting though, is that the prevailing attitude of the Porteños waiting for their flights was one of cultivated leisure. In Atlanta, on the other hand, the inhabitants were nearly all businessmen, with very few families, and most were trying to pose with a sense of importance and imperative.

Which made me realize, in Argentina, one really doesn’t witness people rushing about with an urgent awareness that they have to be somewhere.

More culture shock came upon emerging from immigration/security and the bowels of the airport tram in Atlanta. Where did the escalator deposit me? Straight into a food court, complete with the requisite long line of people at Dunkin Donuts for their morning coffee.

Nothing says “Back in America Baby” like a good old fashioned food court stuffed with fat Americans.

My flight was processed through security and immigration concurrently with a planeload of colorfully garbed families from India. While trying to make my way through the police-state measures now instituted to gain entry into my insane country, I found myself in the midst of a sea of Indian women with permanently affixed metal bracelets and rings attempting to pass through the metal detectors together with their cute smiling Indian babies crawling underfoot through secure TSA areas as authorities screamed “PICK UP THE BABY, PICK UP THE BABY.” All was chaos about me, but I had a wonderful tranquil feeling of relief that I wasn’t the one in a foreign land causing the hold up because I was screwing up unknown bureaucratic procedures.

When I arrived in Portland, I was greeted by mom-made Rice Krispy Treats (I’m so spoiled) and had a huge bowl of cherries waiting for me as well (which my intestinal system is not too happy about this morning as I over-indulged, which I am wont to do with cherries). Anyhow, as I went to toss out a few cherry stems and pits yesterday, I had to stifle a gasp when I opened the cabinet under the sink.

“My God, that kitchen garbage can is huge!” I wanted to say. But I tamped it down because I had some sense of awareness that the statement would be weird. It’s the little things, I guess — like paper towels that are huge and don’t fall apart when introduced to liquid — that make me realize I’m not in Kansas anymore. (Wizard of Oz reference for you non-Americans.)

Well, the little things and the fact that everyone in this city wants to eat at 6:30 pm too! (I went out with a friend (Thanks Steve!) on my first night home and the establishment in question had a waiting list for the evening meal at merienda (tea time)…talk about weird!

I’m used to being the only person among tens of millions that wants to eat dinner at 6:30 pm.

I love Argentina.

Where else would you find a guy from Long Island named Fred, who has gone to the trouble of importing a Lincoln Town Car into the country (when we all know that bringing anything into Argentina is never easy), all with the express intention of becoming the best native English speaking driver for hire in BA?

I used Fred’s services to get to the airport today and can recommend him highly. He was 15 minutes early (something to remark upon in Buenos Aires), he had drinks in a small cooler (water and a soda), the car was wonderful, and I didn’t feel that I was participating in a Grand Prix while trying to get out of the country! Also, if you are traveling with a big family, everyone fits. He even called Tom after we arrived to let him know I got here okay.

His Web site features a nifty online interface for reserving his services.

Quick BA Airport Notes For people flying out of Buenos Aires this winter, know that the airport is really hot because they overheat everything in the winter here. Wear layers so you can strip down! It took 21 minutes and 37 seconds to get through security and immigration for a night flight (8:30 pm scheduled departure) on a Sunday.

I depart on a long trip to The North tomorrow. What last minute rituals am I completing?

Well, first I had to watch a video of casting on for my next scarf knitting project, which you can see pictured here. (I don’t knit often enough to remember how to cast on, how lame is that!) Everyone cross your fingers that they don’t abscond with my lovely wooden knitting needles at security. (I’ve traveled successfully with them thus far, but one never knows.)

Next, I had to download some trash novels to my Kindle to temper my Infinite Jest reading, which is taxing, to say the least.

Then, there was the joy of finishing two presentations for the Mayor’s Institute on City Design in the midst of a complete break down of the ever-sucky Windows operating system, which was running on a virtual machine on my Mac, and resulted in my being unable to print, and limped along when I was working with PowerPoint…well, let’s just say that was a nightmare.

Arranged transportation to airport. Check. Trying out Fred at Silver Star Car! Will report my findings after what I hope is a smooth ride.

The travel socks, crap, I can’t forget the travel socks! I am going all old lady and will be bringing a pair of cotton compression socks with me for the flight that are supposed to improve circulation and therefore comfort on long hauls. (Tom and I both bought a pair and will report back as well!)

My God, between the knitting and the socks, I’ll have to order some hot water with lemon and I’ll be set — granny all the way.

And now, they are saying my flight is going to be leaving 2 hours late, but I still have to get to the airport at the original time, even though they changed my connection in Atlanta to reflect the later departure. *BIG SIGH*

I feel weird leaving before Tom and the girls — I am going to miss them! (I’m going back a few days early for the conference.)

Going to the lavandería (laundry service), provided us with yet another situation that perfectly illustrates how important context and culture can be when trying to understand a foreign language.

The first time we went to pick up our clean clothes at our new local washing place, we found it to be manned by a second-generation Chinese-Argentinian who wasn’t really thrilled about the weird American chick trying to chat in Mandarin! On top of it, she managed to stump us with her seemingly simple question in Spanish, “Querés perfume?” This was one of those cases where we understood all of the words, but for the life of me, we couldn’t figure out what she was talking about.

As Tom and I tried to parse her question, everything began moving in slow motion. Our clueless expressions were interpreted as a green light, and she grabbed her generic bottle filled with a blue, Windex-like substance and, with the practiced ease of a gunslinger, started pulling the trigger and spritzing all of our clean laundry with “perfume.” (I use the term very lightly here.)

Needless to say it is the most foul smelling substance you can imagine, its strength would put Drakkar Noir to shame. Tom and I watched in horror, frozen and unable to speak.

Finally, we snapped out of it and started yelling, yapping over one another, “No perfume no perfume!” Yes, we are doing our part to cement the image of Americans as goofballs.

There are a few documents that we wish we had brought with us when we came to Argentina last year.

The first item we should have carried with us was an original long-form birth certificate for each daughter. (A long-form is the one that shows the names, ages, and birthplaces of the parents.)

The second documentary task that we should have completed prior to leaving the Estados Unidos was getting a notarized letter authorizing each other as parents to travel alone with either kid as well as make make medical decisions solo, if needed.

Technically, Argentina requires citizens of all countries who are traveling alone with their children to be accompanied by a letter such as the one I describe above. From what I hear, it’s not enforced very stringently with foreigners, especially if the kids are 7 and older, but you never know when that may change.

As we learned today, it’s a good idea to avoid having to go to the US embassy in Buenos Aires for notary services, if you can. They confiscated our phones, my knitting (wooden needles) and our Kindles before allowing us in the waiting room — bereft of entertainment, it was a bit mind numbing.

We love DaVe. He gave us our Daily Show back!!

You see, the evil folks at Comedy Central decided to cut off foreign access to the Daily Show — I ask you, what is your thinking American expat to do? (Besides freak out, of course.)

Being the crybaby that I am, after the plug was pulled, I wailed about the loss on Twitter. Thankfully, a fellow American living in Argentina heard my cries of distress and came to my rescue like a knight in shining armor…carrying a remote…for a Slingbox… . Okay, maybe that doesn’t make sense, so I shall explain further!

DaVe has a house in Vermont with a television that has a DVR. Connected to said digital recording device is a Slingbox, which allows you to access any of the shows on your DVR via the Internet.

So now, thanks to the fabulous and wonderful DaVe (really, there aren’t enough superlatives), I satisfy my Jon Stewart jones by flipping on Dave’s TV in Vermont from my laptop — I love it!

We could have done a better job of preparing Zoe for the aftermath of four weeks in a cast above her elbow.

In her typical optimistic fashion, she thought she would be waving her injured arm around as if nothing had happened after the white plaster was removed. (As you can see in the photos below, we had to reinforce the yeso with duct tape by the end because it was beginning to crumble around the hand and wear through at the elbow.)

The transition to a splint on her left limb resulted in her arm feeling much more exposed and uncomfortable than she anticipated. And her wrist still hurt like hell! (It apparently has a bone chip in it that will resolve with time, but will cause pain if she tries to move it.)

Zoe’s marching orders are to begin working on elbow mobility, and continue with that for the next two weeks. Then she is to start manipulating her wrist through various ranges of motion.

Of course, being an uber-healing kid, the difference between today and yesterday is pretty profound.

Now we just gotta get all of that dead skin sloughed off! (Ewww, gross.)

I guess the rumors were right.

It’s now official: Starting Monday, all schools will be closed for the remainder of July. That means BA schoolkids get an extra two weeks of winter vacation…though there’s talk of canceling the week-long spring break in September to make up some of the missed days.

English readers can check out the WSJ article, while Clarín provides more details for Spanish readers.

Photo by Flickr user The Artifex used under a Creative Commons license.