JOHN - April 20, 2008, Buenos Aires

Good Air

As flight AA961 began its descent into Buenos Aires, the captain spoke to his tired passengers the words we had been hungry to hear, ¨We´ll be landing in approximately 18 minutes in Buenos Aires.¨ Then he added, ¨Where the current temperature is about 70º and the weather is...well, smokey.¨ Smokey? We asked ourselves. He must mean polution, smog like Los Angeles, the haze produced by the traffic of any big city. Looking out over the city it was clearly think gray the color of the sky when it is about to pour rain. But these were not rainclouds, this was a thick, massive smoke that engulfed Buenos Aires, which translated literally means ¨good air¨in English.

We landed. Stepping off the plane onto the tunnel to the gate I immediately oticed the heat and could feel the smoke in the air. Thick and warm, it reminded me of traveling in Nepal and India. Then we waited in the long slow line for non Argentine citizens, showed our passports, scribbled out names, addresses, reasons for travel, make and model of our cell phones, and declared any goods over $300 (in our case nothing). Outside of customs we met our contact from the 5 Cool Rooms Hotel, a pretty, big boned, friendly woman, with big cleavage and a confidence that showed she was in charge and was there to take care of you. It was comforting in this big unfamilar airport to meet her next to a sign on a tall pole that said ¨Ashley Welch.¨ I went back and forth to the bank teller and another window exchange window and finally figured out the exchange rate (1 dollar equals 2.76 pesos) and then to the ATM to get 200 pesos for our one night stay.

Our driver was a man in his late 60s in a gray suit. Well dressed and friendly like a working class grandfather. Much like my grandfather actually who was a Cambridge bus driver. ¨Blah blah blah fumar blah bñah,¨ said Ashley to the driver, which apparently meant, ¨Where does all the smoke come from?¨ ¨Blah blah blah campos blah,¨ replied our grandfather driver. And then he added the insightful, ¨blah blah blah blah.¨ If there was any doubt before it was now painstakingly clear that my wife is much smarter than me. Somehow she figured out that famers outside of the city were burning the fields where they grew corn. But why?

We drove on from the airport. Big tall buildings to our left that looked like high rise projects, but quite shabby. They looked like slums you might see in Chicago or Nuevo York. Dirty, clothers hanging out of windows, not the romantic image of Argentina I held in my mind, but of course poverty is everywhere. I mentioned to Ashley that it would be interesting to spend some time in each country we visted to meet with people addressing homelessness. I had studied homelessness extensively in Hungary, the Netherlands, and Belgium in 2002 as part of an Eisenhower Fellowship I had received. It was a great learning experience for me to see what about homelessness was common to the western (and central Europe) world and what was uniquly American. I noticed what influence the United States had in those countries some of concerning and some worth celebrating. On one hand, there was evidence of American culture: MTV in Hungary for example. Music and blue jeans and an appreciation of the dream of freedom and openness in the U.S. On the I saw influence of a market economy in Hungary, who was going through political change after economic change for a people who were hungry fro stability. The inluence of the America economy was evident, as it also was at the European Union where I met with members of parliament and some EU mid level administrators. Promte private business, help Europe compete globally, less public assistance <>. When the ¨political change¨came to Hungary, that is after the fall of the Soviet Union and the resultant change in government in 1989 in Hungary to a market economy and democratically elected government, change came fast. Housing owned by the government was bought for a song by the communist local government leaders, and rented at market rates which were quite expensive. Government factories often had worker housing, both of which were closed down the result being a lack of low skilled labor and housing. Housing prices--for sale and for rent--was at a premium. Combine this with no history of homeless services (homelessness was illegal in communist Hungary so there was not tradition of non government associations )NGOs) or a civil sector. That has changed ince 1989 but there was a lot of catch up and homelessness exploded in Budapest. Yet despite the explosion and remarkable conditions that contributed to such homelessness, the rates of homelessness (the percentage of homeless people inthe general population) were alost identical to that of my home city, Boston. Boston is one of the cities historically ¨better¨at dealing with homelessness. And yet the same rates of homelessness as Budapest with all of its change. Budapest had no homeless veterans. In the U.S., 1 in 4 American homeless men are homeless-- a sober reminder in present wartime America as more and more Iraqi War veterans come home with post traumatic stres disorder (PTSD), which can lead to isloation, detachment, depression, ubstance abuse, and homelessmess. The U.S. military is much better at identifying PTSD than during the Vietnam War, yet still war permenantly marks soldiers and their families and the results can include homelessness.

We checked into our boutique hotel in Buenos Aires, ¨5 Cool Rooms.¨ (We like ¨boutique¨ anything. Interaction Associates where Ashley works is described as a boutique training and consulting firm. Its supposed to imply really high end but not so tacky as a huge soul-less corporate culture firm, or a huge hotel. No. Clearly we are more sophisticated than other people, but not pretentous. The term reminds me of David Brooks´s book, Bobo´s In Paradise. Aanyway, there are more than 5 rooms here and they are only cool if you are into what I liek to call East German chic circa 1980. That is sparse, cold hard floor, nothing on the walls, and in the corner--this says it all I think--a tall glass vase with a dead tree coming out. Not exacyl warm and inviting to my taste, but clearly modern and hip.

After a shower, a little frisky time--hey we haven´t been away alone for more than 3 days in 10 years--and a quick nap were out to explore the neighborhood of Palermo and then meet Beth and Bob at their apartment and dinner out.

We exited the 5 Cool Rooms and took a left down Honduras Ave. towards the Plaza. The air was warm and thick and the pace was slow everything was comfortable and inviting. Every street vendor seemed to have cool handmade items that said things like one world, or >. We picked up a T shirt for my 9 moth old nephew Jack that reads, "El Mundo...." . (His mother, my sister Kathleen, has speant 6 months in Buenos Aires in 2000 so we thought it was perfect.) But perhaps more striking was the people. Every 2 out of three women looked like models. Healthy, friendly, cool, dressed really sexy but tasteful. The guys too. They all looked like cool artist, bohemians, good looking, friendly. Mrs. C would have loved this place, not to mention the Fonz. Every open restaraunt we passed looked more hip and inviting than the previous. Nothing pretentious, just cool.

We got some flowers and took a cab to our Bob and Beth´s and arrived on time at 7pm. We met Bob and Beth through Ashley´s father Wilford and his Carole. They new the couple in northern California through the Institute of Noetic Sciences, a new agy, global looking outdoorsy group that Beth´s dad used to lead in San Francisco, and through Barbara and Galen Rowell. Barbara and Galen are renowned photogaphers and expedioners. Bob is Galen´s brother. I had known the name Galen Rowell for some time because of Wilford. When I first met Wilford, when Ashley and I started dating, he was recently divorced from Del, my mother-in-law, and living in an apartment in Cambridge on the corner of Fairweather and ____ Streets >. It was a great apartment that we stayed at when he was away. The first thing one noticed when you walked into the apartment was a giant, stunning, photograph of K2, the decond tallest mountain in the world. Wilford was proud to sahre that it was print just for him from his good friend, Galen Rowell. The name time in my life, the unique name, and the powerful photo all mixed to leave a surreal impression in my mind whenever I heard the name Galen Rowell. But I knkew little of him.

We checked in with the security guard, and took the elevator up to the 7th floor to Bob and Beth´s apartment. Instantly likd them. Down to earth and very welcoming. From Trucke, <> CAlifornia, they decided to go with their two daughters to Argentina for 1 years. Its now become 4.

JOHN - April 18, 2008, Chicago

We departed from Logan Airport and arrived at O’Hare (because its on the way to Buenos Aires?!). After a 3 hour layover (chair massage for me by some guy named Roaul at the “Rub Hub”—quite good, browsing the bookshops, and dinner at Wolfgang Puck’s restaurant) we finally boarded. There were some random open seats and Ashley began the hunt. Something in her changes. She smells blood or something and gets into hyper focus mode. In this case the hunt was on for a row of three seats across for us, room to lie down should we need it on the eleven hour flight. I had just loaded our carry-on bags onto the overhead bin and was about to sit in our assigned seats…” Hon! Come on! We gotta go right now!” “Huh?” “Come on, go, go, go!” Of course I blindly followed. We got three together but she was disappointed not to have landed two rows of three back to back which she had her sights on until some lady (bitch) just sat down ahead of us. So instead of 6 seats for the two of us we had to settle for 3. We got settled, watched the stupid movie about how to buckle a seat, and then we waited. And waited. Over a good hour. We were told a gage on the second (backup) engine was not opening correctly and it was being worked on. Then after a good hour we were told they were grounding the fucker. "Everybody up. Get your shit. Vaminos! Thank you for choosing American Airlines."

April ’07 has not been a good month for American Airlines. They recently grounded 2,000 aircraft for faulty <> causing disruption throughout their schedule for weeks. They were just catching up we were told.

As I write this they just announced that they have in fact grounded the plane and they have found a new plane. The new departure time is now 11:55pm out of gate K5 arriving in B.A. at 1:30 PM (instead of 9:30am). “At least the girls aren’t with us,” says Ashley.

I kind of wish they were.

Leaving them for 9 days is a new record. Also the idea of our flying together has been weighing on my mind. Growing up my parents would never fly together without my sister, Kathleen, and I. Their fear was dying in a fiery crash and leaving us orphans. I always liked that idea of them not flying alone. My mom’s mom had died when she was 3 and obviously affected her deeply. She has a fear of, well not a fear so much as a grave appreciation, for what can go wrong when someone leaves on a trip or goes away, or arrives late from somewhere. She is more prone than most to think the worst. I inherited that and I think my sister may have as well. As a result when I say goodbye to them, or Ashley, or Noelle or Aydan, it always occurs to me that this could be it. Morbid, yes, but I do 95% of the time feel good that I left on a good note, or make sure to say something nice as opposed to a sarcastic joke. I hate for my last words to a loved one to be, “Nice tie jackass, hopefully next time I see you you’ll have lost it.”

So 9 days away from Aydan and Noelle feels kind of long. Its great to have time alone with Ashley. I’m very excited about the trip and frankly its got me kind of “frisky” as Mr. C would say on Happy Days.

ASHLEY - April 18, 2008, Flight from Boston to Chicago, en route to Bueonos Aires

This all started when I was born. Born into a family that traveled the world and bred wanderlust into their children. I grew up traveling, living abroad both with my family and then when I was older, alone. I have stayed in one place for 12 years now and it is time to go again.

John and I are on route to South America via Chicago from Boston on our scouting trip for our year abroad. We head to Buenos Aires for one night, ferry to Montevideo, Uruguay for 2 nights, overnight ourselves to Mexico City to catch a 4.5 hour bus to Guanajuato for 2 nights, then head west to San Miguel de Allende for a night, back to Mexico City and then home. Our 10 day, 7 night (two nights lost in the air) whirlwind tour to pick our destination for our year away.

What will we pick? What at the end of the day will be most important to us? How much risk are we willing to take? We are hoping to have answers to all of these 10 days from now. We plan to depart our home in Wayland, MA come fall, for a year abroad with our two young girls, Noelle and Aydan because…well, because we want to. We want our children to appreciate another way of life, to become global citizens, we want to slow down together, we want to learn another language, meet new people, be treated to different customs, live with less and appreciate more. We want to get closer as a family, and have an adventure together.

“I think we should eat breakfast together every morning, be home for the kids when they return from school, take art classes and do whatever we feel like each day.” That’s my fantasy. John suggested bringing a juicer and a bread maker – both symbolize to me a slower pace of life.

“Let’s go for a new look while we are away,” John said. Why not? Maybe I’ll go for short, blond hair, and John will shave his head. Who knows, but we do know we are looking to switch things up for a year. This year will change all of our lives, we know that.

I have been struck lately by how empowering and overwhelming this is. If for one moment we doubt ourselves and stop moving forward on all the tasks that need to be done to get us away, we will not go. We are the only ones making this happen. The tasks are daunting – from renting our home, to getting health insurance, fixing everything in our house, picking a location and schools, finding a house to rent, figuring out where our cats will stay, getting vaccines, transferring funds, setting up electronic payments, managing this financially…the list goes on.

John and I are taking a leave from our jobs for a year, and are hopefully picking up a special assignment we created for ourselves which will provide both excitement and some income.

We committed ourselves to going away regardless of income, figuring if we can rent our home in Wayland, worst case scenario, we live cheaply for a year on $25,000. We are willing to forgo the money making potential we have for a year and cut into our savings for this experience. This is the going in premise, but our hope is that we will cover our costs at a minimum with a part time job of sorts.

So, what are we looking for in our new home for a year? We definitely want safe. We are not interested in danger or political unrest. We want access to good health care and access to treatment in a medical emergency. We want a lower cost of living and a slower pace of life. We want warm temperatures and friendly people. We want a different language and culture. We need access to the Internet on a regular basis. We’d prefer a time zone similar to the US.

We started with the belief that given our criteria, we might as well begin by narrowing our choices to Mexico, Latin America and South America. Then we started by talking to everyone we knew about what we were looking for and then talking to the people they referred us to. This lead us to consider Panama, Mexico, Ecuador, Belize, and Uruguay.

Belize lasted for one phone call until we realized they speak English as their primary language.

Panama was intriguing in many ways, but after a run in the cool early morning of in Sausalito hills, I decided sweltering heat for a year would be too much.

At a conference I asked Oscar who was from El Salvador and did a lot of traveling, if he could go to one place in S. America for a year, where would he go. He thought for a minute, and then it dawned on him, “Montevideo!” he said. It is suppose to have the best lifestyle of S. America – friendly, safe, Spanish speaking, temperature of Atlanta, beautiful, accessible to Buenos Aires.