a girl in the world

finding beauty, pleasure and grace on the road less traveled

Translated to English, lèche-vitrines literally means lick the windows. This is the French phrase for window shopping (sometimes the French can be so brilliant I could almost forgive them for their snobbiness!). If window shopping is licking windows, then here, I’m slobbering all over the glass. And if I could fit the door into my mouth, I’d do it.

The shopping here is beautiful. BOOTIFUL. I’ve never seen shop windows so painstakingly dressed and pampered. Beautiful lighting, great colours and mannequins styled so trendily that you can’t help but stop and stare. It’s like unabashedly ogling a beautiful woman who’s made of plastic. Barring Bourdain-inspired food porn, I’ve never been so lustful. I actually lust after these mannequins. I desire the brown leather boots under the spotlight. I want to cuddle that soft, curvy, oversized shoulder bag. I am a bundle of greedy shopping angst.

It is ridiculous.

Figuring out where I’d like to be and what I’d like to be doing next is kind of like window shopping.  Actually, I’ve been lèche-vitrine-ing for the past year.  I packed up my oversized shopping bag, hit the road and ‘tried on’ a bunch of new things.  I wanted to see what else is out there.  And you know what? There is just so much world out there.

There is camping through Africa for a month and not killing your boyfriend in the process.  There is Italy in August, with grotesque amounts of gelato at breakfast, lunch and dinner.  There is Vancouver in the rain.  There is language school.  There is bumping into familiar faces and feeling all warm and fussy inside.  There is a chance meeting that turns into a business partnership.  There is web design, there is tango, there is photography.  There is the Vancouver Olympics and one of the most memorable moments of a nation’s history.  There is crying and laughter and hopefulness.  There is contract work, work for fun, work for play, no work at all and work every day.  There is fear.  There is excitement.  There is a vast and open sea.

If licking the window is a show of lust for clothing, bags and shoes, then this nomad life that both tests and inspires me must be the equivalent form of sample sale-ing life.  Try first, buy later.  It’s like life on consignment: swap out the old, in with the new, always with some option to change your mind.  A gap year on steroids.  An experiment in mobile living.  An answer to the itch that just won’t go away.

Licking the windows of life’s many shops has been trying at times.  Lusting after the next adventure, the change of scenery, the new challenge, it has all been an incredible way to discover all the possibilities out there.  But with the wanting, comes angst.  And angst, like during the teen years, comes with its combination of goods and bads.  Stimulation and exhaustion.  Fullness and emptiness.  Desire and fear.  The ying and the yang.

Trying to both build something for the long term and seek experiences in the now can leave one in a state of seeming limbo.  In between.  Sometimes the window shopping has been amazing, other times I just want to give my credit card to someone and just buy something already.

And I ask myself, Why haven’t I found that perfect next thing?  What am I waiting for?

Nothing.  I haven’t found the next permanent thing because it hasn’t come just yet.  And sometimes, in my search to find the next permanent thing, I lose sight of the ever changing now.  Presence.  It is so important to be present.  And the present isn’t such a bad place.

There is time, there is space, there is freedom.  There is here or there, for as long or as short as I want.  There is writing and photography, or none at all.  There are new projects and old projects.  And there is always an opportunity to learn, if I am open to seeing it.  Presence.  Present.  Both are blessings if we take the time to see.

So, while I’ve got the time, the freedom, the energy and the lust for peeking inside different windows and trying things on for a while, there’s no rush to make a big purchasing decision right now.  Window shopping is just fine.

Juicy, bloody, fresh, soft, tender. The steak here in Argentina is to die for (so I’ve heard). I’m not a meat eater. I know, crazy right? I currently reside in the meat eating capital of the universe.  It seems a sin that my mouth refuses to water at the mere mention of lomo or entraña or bife de chorizo.  An average Argentinian eats approximately 155 pounds of beef each year (that’s like my boyfriend eating the equivalent of 1.3 me’s!).  Vegetarianism is definitely not cool here.  Actually, most people think it’s just plain silly.

So it’s no surprise that this city would be home to some amazing parillas (steakhouses), the kind that put any high-end steak house in San Francisco to shame.  Our favourites include Las Cabras, Don Julio and La Dorita.  They offer varied menus, great quality food and lively ambiance, all at reasonable prices.

At these places, I always manage to get a good chicken dish while stealing bites of steak here and there.  We have fantastic wine, a fresh salad and if there’s room, some form of postre with dulce de leche dripping from the spoon.

But sometimes, especially after gorging myself with food porn courtesy of Anthony Bourdain, the Asian in me just needs some rice damnit!  I want good ol’ glutenous rice!  So, by end of week when it’s time to decide where to go for a Friday evening date, we always manage to find our way into a trendy Asian/Arabic/Indian food joint.

If steak is Argentina’s greatest food asset, let’s just say that rice and anything to do with it is not.  Each time we go “foreign”, we get burned.  Bad.  Bereber’s Morroccan food got on the wrong plane between there and here, while picking up a few fancy lamps from Egypt and a colourful throw pillow along the way.  The restaurant is well decorated, but the food leaves much to be desired.

And don’t get me started on the sushi in this city!  Tuna rolls include canned tuna, cream cheese and something green that should taste like wasabi but does not.

So, when we entered a beautiful, candlelit place called Quibombo near Plaza Armenia in Palermo for a snack, I shouldn’t have expected much.  The menu touts all-natural Indian and Asian foods like mango lassi’s, falafel and chicken teriyaki.  The place is beautifully decorated, with plush cushions, low chairs, draping fabrics and well-placed candles.  In fact, because it was so aesthetically pleasing we couldn’t help but get excited about the food.

We ordered mango banana lassi’s, a falafel appetizer and maldioca chips and fries.  The servings were small but tasty.  The lassi didn’t taste like lassi at all, but at least it contained more milk than water.  I was impressed.  Considering our disappointing experiences with international cuisine, this place wasn’t so bad.  The boy thought otherwise.

He took one sip of the supposed lassi and made a face.  It’s like a bad milkshake!! he said.  When the little plates came, he couldn’t help but chuckle.  Tiny! his face said.  T.I.N.Y.  Ok fine, they were tiny but they were good.  Really good.

When the waiter came and asked how we liked everything, I replied with a smile.  The boy, on the other hand, had no problems telling him that the lassi tasted like a bad milkshake, that he couldn’t taste the mango, that the servings were small.  Ha.  The waiter apologized, cleared our table and came back with a discount on our drinks.  He apologized for our dissatisfaction.  How nice!

Needless to say, we enjoyed our afternoon snack.  A few hours of coffee talk in a beautiful room overlooking the cobblestone streets of Palermo was well worth the adventure.

The moral(s) of the story:

  1. When in Argentina, do like the Argentinians and stick to steak if you’re craving an excellent meal.
  2. Regardless of how the food tastes, restaurants here are just GORGEOUS.  Appreciate with your eyes as well as with your tongue.
  3. If you don’t like the food and the waiter asks what you thought at the end of the meal, speak your mind.  Help them improve.  Otherwise, it’s just useless bitching. =)

PS:  Through recommendations from a friend, we did find a beautiful English pub called Bangalore that has a small Indian restaurant upstairs.  The food is rich and creamy (although not very spicy), the space is small and intimate, and the atmosphere is great for a mellow Friday night.  I’d definitely recommend it.

As crazy as this city can be, it never ceases to amaze me just how beautiful some of the architecture is. We’ll be driving by some random neighbourhood and catch a glimpse of perfectly restored French colonial buildings.

These are from Plaza Congresso.

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Hi, I'm Denise. I'm a writer, artist and photographer. This is where I share what I'm seeing, learning and making.


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