Broken Hearts and Buenos Aires

I just finished reading a book called The Buenos Aires Broken Hearts Club. The author's name is Jessica Morrison and her main character, Cassie, flees to the city of good airs after being fired, dumped and evicted from her Seattle life all in one day.

While the book is billed as fiction, the author says up front in her author's note that she went to Buenos Aires after a divorce and on more or less a broken heart. After reading it, it was very clear to me that the author had indeed spent time in the city.

I picked up the book because I, too, went to live in Buenos Aires when I had a broken heart. It was 1997 when I went and the city soothed me. Well, there's nothing really "soothing" about Buenos Aires. It's a massive, crowded, noisy, bright and caffeinated city. Perhaps it would be better if I said that Buenos Aires distracted me. It distracted me from my broken heart long enough for it to heal.

In the book, the main character gets to Buenos Aires and discovers an entire subculture of ex-pats nursing wounded hearts. Oddly enough, when I was there, I also forged my own little broken heart club.

My co-broken hearter was Ali. We taught English at the same language school in the city and became fast friends. She is my Buenos Aires soul mate and, after all these years, continues to be a dear friend. Here we are on our last night in the city together. We both went home the next day.

I remember posing for this picture. We planned the shot. It's taken in the middle of Avenida Corrientes. We wanted the lights, the obelisk and the subte (subway) in the background. And because Corrientes is one of the city's main arteries, the picture was taken quick-quick while traffic was lingering at a red light.

The book, while not a stellar piece of literature, kept my interest. I kept trying to figure out if I liked the book because it was well-written chic lit or if I liked it because it was set in Buenos Aires and somewhat mirrored my own experience in the city. I've decided I'm too biased to make that call.

But the book also got me wondering - about Buenos Aires, about broken-hearted travelers, about where they end up - and I wondered: Is it simply coincidence that this book reflects my own past or is Buenos Aires really some sort of haven for the lovelorn?

Were you ever broken hearted? Did you travel to escape the break up? Did it take you to Buenos Aires? Did the city heal you, too? Or did you end up some place else?

I want to know. Post me a comment.

Confused by El Conquistador

Somehow our name ended up on the mailing list for a magazine called Incentive. It's been coming for about 6 months now. It's one of those curious mail box mysteries...who put us on this list?

The purpose of the magazine is to encourage corporate big wigs to give incentive gifts for employee productivity. Mostly it's full of ads for gift cards, small electronics and resort get-a-ways. I usually flip quickly through the pages before dumping the lot in the recycling box. This month, however, a certain advertisement caught my eye. It was for a resort called El Conquistador.

The ad caught my eye for two reasons. First, it's totally hokey.

Who is this ad aiming at? I hardly think it's targeting a woman. If I were to plan an all-inclusive resort vacation, I'd steer clear El Conquistador simply on the basis of this ad.

I mean really. What woman rides a horse in a flimsy cotton cover up, with apparently no bra or swimsuit underneath, her long hair flowing in the breeze, a hibiscus stuck in her tangled locks, and her arm stretched out behind her, resting on the horse's rump, so that her back arches ever so slightly into a come-hither pose exposing the fleshiness of her breast?

I'd also like the highlight the fact that the woman is riding bareback.

The whole thing looks more like the cover of a video game that should be rated M for mature than an ad for an upscale, luxury resort.

The ad also caught my eye because my husband, on more than one occasion, has called himself my conquistador. Given the rant above, I'll leave you to determine how smoothly that goes over.



Of course I had to look up El Conquistador online. It's a posh Puerto Rican place. The cheapest room I could find started at over $400 a night.

Which brought me right back to the ad. I'd think, pulling in that kind of dough, that they'd have a better marketing scheme. I'm still scratching my head.

* Photos © El Conquistador.

Of Superbowl Rings and Gratitude

I'm not much of a football fan. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm not a football fan at all. But last night, I got to hold a Superbowl ring in my own two hands and I must say, that was pretty cool.

I interviewed Jim Fahnhorst. He's a Minnesota boy who grew up to play for the San Francisco 49ers. He joined the team in 1984 and stayed there for the next seven years, taking part in three Superbowl wins along the way: 1984, 1988 and 1989.

After retiring from the game, he moved back to Minnesota with his wife and kids. It was my job to interview the clan for a local publication. After the interview and picture taking were done, the Fahnhorsts broke out some beers and invited the photographer and I to stick around for a bit. That's when I got the chance to slip on the ring.

As the circle swapped travel tales and stories of the good ol' days growing up Minnesotan, I toyed with the ring and the idea of asking the photographer to break out his camera and take a shot of it on my hand. But I didn't. I didn't want to disturb the flow of conversation and it was one of those moments I decided was better experienced and remembered than made obnoxious by the snapping of a flash.

Before the evening was through and the photographer and I were out the door, the wife had run downstairs and brought up two decorative ceramic bowls she'd painted herself. "Here," she said, "I want you each to take one. Happy holidays."

As I accepted the bowl, I felt a rush of appreciation and thanks. Lately, I've been kind of down-in-the-dumps about my job. I've written so many articles this year that I was starting to feel burned out. The interviews I've conducted recently have felt routine, not fun.

But last night I remembered why I ever wanted to be a freelance writer to begin with: I get to be impressed by people.

I get to meet total strangers, hear their life stories and come face to face with their openness, their kindness, their humanity. It's a reminder of something travel taught me: People are good and we are all, at heart, the same.

Classroom Connections

I spent the day in an 8th grade classroom speaking to world geography students about Latin America. They are just getting started on their unit study of the region.

It was fun to be back in a middle school classroom and it made me miss my own days as an 8th grade teacher. But I'd forgotten what havoc five straight hours of talking can wreak on my voice. I'm sooooooooo hoarse.

Since coming home from my big trip around the world, I've been speaking to different groups about my journey. I've spent a lot of time with elementary students and adults, but not so much time with 13 and 14 year-olds.

I wish I had more engagements with this age group. It wasn't all that long ago that I was interacting with them every day.

It's because of my years as a middle school teacher that the word "dude" permeates my speech. It's a bad habit, I know, but it's also one I just can't break.

Celebrate World Toilet Day!

It's not too late to celebrate World Toilet Day!

November 19 is the toilet's day to shine! Next time you flush, pay a little gratitude to that porcelain contraption that makes your life easier and - yes - cleaner.

World Toilet Day was organized by the World Toilet Organization. The World Toilet Organization, or WTO, was started by a man named Sim Jae-duck. This is a picture of his new house, which is in the shape of a toilet and located in South Korea.

Sim Jae-duck founded the WTO in 2001 because he wanted to call attention to the fact that 2.6 billion people around the world lack access to basic sanitation services.

Since then, the WTO has worked to raise awareness, funds and projects surrounding sanitation issues.

For example, according to the WTO Web site, improperly or poorly built sewerage systems discharge waste into rivers, lakes and the sea with little or no treatment.

This is admittedly gross, which is why, I guess, the World Toilet Organization needs to exist. A trip through its Web site, however, produced all sorts of good, clean fun.

For example, I found a quiz that told tell me what kind of toilet paper I most closely resemble. (Quilted, in case you're wondering).

I also found a list that teaches me to ask:"Where's the bathroom? in many different languages. In case I ever make it to Estonia, I'll need to know how to say: Kus on tualett?

If you're interested in some of the best and worst bathrooms around the world, you can always pay a visit to The Bathroom Diaries, a Web site that posts pictures and rankings of commodes across the globe.

And last but not least, should you be so moved (pun intended) by the plight of the toilet-less throughout the world, you can even donate money to the construction of proper sanitation structures in developing countries.

* Photos © Reuters.

Prague Pic from the Past

I've always loved this picture I snapped in Prague many summers ago. The image is nearly eight years old and it's never been in a photo album page. Instead, it hops about my desk, moving from paper pile to paper pile. Whenever I happen upon it, I stop and smile. I've never been able to pin point exactly what it is about this orange-haired China doll that makes me smile so.

I've long since lost the negative. I probably threw it away. So this morning, when the little China girl again popped up on my desk, I decided to scan her into my computer and immortalize her in a digital way.

Kindness and Compassion, Dutch Style

I've been working on this article about an American soldier who was killed in action. He died in Germany in 1945 on the front lines of World War II.

The article I'm assigned to write isn't all that long and it's pretty tightly focused. I can't use even half the information I've gathered about him. I've interviewed his sister, daughter and wife. All of whom were so happy to speak about their lost loved one that I didn't have the heart to break them off when I had the information I needed. I let them talk and I learned something that touched my heart.

There is an American cemetery outside the village of Margraten, which is in the Netherlands, where 8,301 American soldiers are buried. Because the soldiers were buried on foreign soil and their families couldn't be there to tend the graves, ordinary Dutch citizens adopted them.

It was a system that sounds much like the adopt-a-child programs that you see advertised on TV. The Dutch families were assigned an American grave and a pen-pal exchange was set up. The Dutch visited the graves on a regular basis, brought fresh flowers, took photos of the markers and mailed letters and pictures back to the American families, who then wrote back, and so on.

The sister, daughter and wife of the fallen American soldier I spoke to couldn't say enough good things about the Dutch family that adopted the man who was their brother/father/husband. Their correspondence lasted for years and from the way they spoke about the experience, I could tell the relationship had affected them deeply.

The American family has never been to Europe, never met their assigned Dutch family. And yet.

And yet they are filled with gratitude and wonderment, even still after all these years, for the kindness and compassion paid to them by strangers.

For the Traveler Who Has Everything

Struggling to find the perfect holiday gift for that traveler on your list?

Here's an idea: The new world traveler ring.

A Hawaii couple came up with the plan and there are a couple different versions to the ring. You can buy it to feature a map of the world and then you can choose to have that map ringed in diamonds. Seven diamonds of course, one for each continent.

The rings are made by Jostens (a Minnesota-based company no less). If you ever had a high school class ring, chances are Jostens produced it.

* Photo © Patrick L. Roherty Photography, LLC

Sustainable Shea Butter

A couple months ago, I interviewed a man named Olowo-n’djo Tchala. Olowo-n'djo was born and raised in Togo, a west African nation. He lives in Washington state now and runs a nonprofit organization called Alaffia.

Alaffia imports unrefined shea butter from Togo to the United States. Here in the U.S, the unrefined shea is made into beauty products.

Alaffia returns its revenue to Togo and the community that makes the shea butter. As the son of a shea-butter-producer, Olowo-n'djo grew up watching his mom work long, long, long hours for little, little, little pay.

For example, Olowo-n'djo told me that it takes about 20 hours to make 1 kilogram of shea butter. That 1 kilogram earns just $1 on the traditional global market. Of course, Alaffia is trying to change that.

If you're interested, you can always pop on over and read my article about sustainable shea butter practices.

* photos © Alaffia

Browsing Book Arts

I attended an afternoon workshop at the Loft, a writer's organization in Minneapolis. I didn't leave when the class was done, however. I stuck around and browsed book arts.

One of the reasons I love the Loft is that it shares its restored warehouse building with a handful of book-minded organizations, one of them being the Minnesota Center for Book Arts.

The MN Center for Book Arts holds classes on papermaking, letter pressing, book binding and the sorts. Several paper artists were holding a craft sale and I spent at least an hour happily wandering their stalls and marveling at what people can do with paper.

I even picked up a Christmas present or two.

*book arts banner © MN Center for Book Arts

Georgia vs. Frida in Minneaplis

Every once in a while, being a freelance-writer comes in handy. Yesterday was one of those days.

I was invited on an art tour by Meet Minneapolis, the city's revamped tourism board. The Twin Cities are gearing up for a big tourism push as the Republican National Convention is coming to town next fall.

The redesign of all the official tourism materials is just one of many steps the city is taking to help promote the area before it will be so prominently on display to the nation. Somehow my name ended up on the communication department's list of freelance travel writers. I wasn't about to complain.

The morning started at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts, one of my favorite places in the city. The massive permanent collection is open free to the public, and I've always liked to wander the halls, seeking my old favorites and waiting for new pieces to catch my eyes.

But on this day I was entering the featured exhibit for free - with a docent - before the doors even opened to the public. I was so excited.

The featured exhibit from now until January 6 is a collection of works by Georgia O'Keeffe. The exhibit starts with a charcoal drawing from her very first show and ends with a charcoal drawing made at the end of her life. The two are oddly similar. Eerily so. It makes the exhibit feel like it completes a full circle. It also makes it seem as if Georgia O'Keeffe herself struggled, or was obsessed with, reoccurring ideas/images throughout her life.

I was drawn to this painting, one from a series of images she made with pelvic bones in her beloved New Mexico. I so liked this one because as soon as I saw it, it reminded me of this picture I shot on the Perito Moreno Glacier in Argentine Patagonia.

After having our Georgia fill, the group of freelancers was loaded into a van and shuttled to the Walker Art Center for a tour of that museum's current featured show: Frida Kahlo.

I have a sort of love-hate relationship with the Walker. I love its funky, boxy, outer shell. I love the very idea that this museum is able to exist in my hometown. The Walker is an ultra modern art museum. Everything in its permanent collection was produced after 1945. Sometimes, when I go there, I look at the installations and think, "What the hell is that?" This ain't no stuffy museum. I've seen things here that make me blush.

This past year, the Walker has knocked itself out to bring some big name shows to town. Over the summer, a Picasso exhibit took over the joint. Now, Frida Kahlo has moved in. She'll be there through January 20, 2008.

Unfortunately, the Walker was already open and the Frida exhibit was already packed (yes, packed on a Thursday morning) when we got there at 10 am. Being a novice Frida connoisseur, I was shocked to see the walls were filled with serious pieces, I mean big-time, famous Frida paintings. The Two Fridas. A Few Small Nips. The Henry Ford Hospital. At least five of the paintings were on loan from a museum in Mexico City's Chapultepec Park, a museum I visited when I was there. Also on display is a huge collection of personal family photographs of Frida and Diego.

After a nice lunch, my media tour was done. I will certainly be heading back to the Walker to take in the Frida exhibit at my leisure. Although, now I just have to figure out when to get there so I can have the art to myself....

* Minneapolis Montage, Meet Minneapolis
* Geogria O'Keeffe, Pelvis Series, 1947
* Walker Magazine cover, Nov/Dec 2007

New Blog, New Beginning

Welcome to my new blog - the er files. I am your host, Kelly Westhoff.

If you're looking for the Global Roam blog, you're in the right place. Kinda.

The Global Roam blog still exists. I haven't deleted it, and I'm not planning to. You can still access it by doing a search on GoNomad's homepage.

But since I'm no longer roaming the globe on a full-time basis, since I'm back home and back into my writing life, I decided my blog needed to shift focus. So consider it shifted.

This new blog is still a part of the GoNomad network. I'm thankful to Max and the gang for their support and the chance to reach a wider audience. You'll find links to all my fellow GoNomad bloggers in the sidebar.

I plan to post about my life as a writer, reader, editor, traveler, teacher and speaker. I do none of these things full time. I multi-task and try not to lose my way in the process.

And so, welcome to the journey.