Sahara step #1

I am entering a rally at the end of the year. Together with my friend Jonathan, we are driving a battered old clunker automobile from the UK to Gambia, on Africa's west coast. From there the vehicle gets auctioned off for charity, and then we are making our way across the desert. We only have about 5 weeks for the crossing and so will forgo (for now) the Sudan and Chad. But both of us have always wanted to go to Libya (The Socialist People's Libyan Arab Jamhiria--SPLAJ.) The rally is first, south through France, Spain, and Gibralter, to Morocco, down through Western Sahara, Mauretania, Senegal, ending at Banjul, The Gambia. Then somehow getting across the desert and our route of the moment is east through Senegal, Mali, to Southern Algeria, then Libya, and on to Egypt, eventually ending up in Cairo.
Libyan visas are supposed to be almost impossible, although theoretical, to get. Algerian ones seem to be the same. Explicit instructions on their web page warn that any mistake will cause your visa to be rejected. All applications must be filled out online, not by hand, in all capital block letters, etc. These are the kind of mistakes the Algerian embassy will not tolerate. So it's a formidable task and I figured there's no better time to start than now, making friends, and learning the lay of the land.
And I have just had a nice experience at the Nepali consulate--so pleasant and friendly--a quick visa, a nice conversation.
So I took my self to the address given for the Libyan Consulate in New York, a 15 floor black edifice, named "Libya House." Acutely aware of the cameras that are assuredly trained on the entry, I walked nonchalently up and found all the doors blocked by potted plants--ficus trees placed in positions to discourage entry. But without a "keep out" sign I was not to be put off. So I went around one and tried the door, and found it locked. I tried to peer inside but the interior was dark. Obviously the place was closed. The lettering over the door was even flaking off.
Just as I began to amble away in disappointment, a smiling yet puzzled looking young man came out through the locked door. "Oh! Hello!" I said, "are you closed?" "Not closed!" he replied. "Ok, good, can I come in?" "Yes, please he answered," motioning me toward the door. But the door was still locked. "The door is closed" he said helpfully. We managed to get back inside and I found my self in a cavernous hallway--a reception area, lined with potted trees and couches, darkened to conserve electricity. A technicolour painting of Colonel Qaddafi on horseback dominated the room.
I walked through a nonworking metal detector and stood in front of a bullet proof reception counter. The smiling man asked what I would like.
"Well, I would like to go to Libya!" I said. "I don't need a visa yet, but would like to talk to someone about whether or not this is possible!" "Oh, this is the UN only, " he smiling man said. "Visas you must get in Washington, at the embassy."
Fair enough.
I returned for another volley.
"That's okay, thank you. I will go to Washington for the visa, certainly, as you say. But is there someone I can talk to about what kind of Arabic phrasebook I should have, whether Moroccan or Egyptain would be more useful?" "And maybe you have some books or pictures I could look at?"
"Oh sorry. You must go to Washington for all questions" replied the smiling man.
"Even for the Arabic questions? Is there no one I can talk to here?"
"You can call our embassy in Washington. This is the UN"
"Yes, the UN," I replied, still thinking I was getting somewhere now, "is there anyone who would talk to me about travel in Libya, where to go, what to do, things to see, anything?"
After all, there are 15 floors of offices above, surely someone would like to sit down and chat about Libya and maybe even drink some tea. And the point now is just to make contacts who will be helpful when the time comes to actually apply for the visa.
I went over and looked at a poster of some spectacular ruins on a spectacular beach, on the Libyan coast.
The smiling man followed me, smiling. We stood in the dark lobby, protected by ranks of potted ficus trees.
"You should call the embassy for all questions. It is in Washington!"
I gave it one more try:
"Ok, I will call the embassy, straight away, that's a great idea! But meanwhile I live here, in New York. Is there a Libyan tourist office here? Or even a Libyan restaurant? Anything Libyan? Anywhere to meet Libyans?"
I could have been talking about venusians. "Wait one minute please" the smiling man disappeared behind the bullet proof counter and wrote something down on a scrap of paper for me. He returned and said "Moroccan."
The Arabic I should research is Moroccan?
He nodded but seemed confused. "Aren't you Libyan?" I asked. He looked astonished and laughed, no of course not. He was Arab though. But didn't know what dialect of Arabic was spoken in Libya.
He handed me the paper.
It read: Libyan Embassy Washington and had a phone number.

I tried Algeria next. Almost directly across the street, the consulate looks like the service entrance to an office building, a small door set in the middle of the featureless bronze front. I pulled it open and tried the buzzer before realizing it was gone and the interior door was ajar.
A smiling gentleman behind the bulletproof glassed-in counter, as usual. This lobby was smaller, the lights were on, and there were photos of Algeria, as well as some maps, on the wall. Again, though, I was the only visitor. "I would like to visit Algeria!" I announced. The smiling man came out from behind the counter, absolutely delighted. I must go to the embassy. That's in Washington.
"Fine," I replied. "I will do that! But in the meantime can I look at some pictures, or something? I would like to go to the south."
"Oh! You will love the desert very much! It is so beautiful!" replied the smiling man, Ali. Together we walked around the lobby, looking at exquisite pictures of Algeria, a country so lovely it makes the heart ache--sparkling white cities, lush pine covered beaches, and the brilliant austerity of the desert. I asked many questions, about independent travel, if we would find transportation, where to go, and quickly realized it's going to take more than this one trip to see Algeria.
We decided I would apply for our visas in early December. I confided the rules posted on the website were a bit intimidating and Ali has promised to help when the time comes.

Credit for the Sahara Photo goes to Guido Aldi. Once can see more astonishing photos of the Sahara as well as other places, at http://www.pbase.com/desertsky/root

Food and Wine in Argentina

Just returned from a week visiting my darling friend in Buenos Aires--what a fabulous city. All the delightful and pleasant things one hears about the late night cafe society, the culture, the wine, the food, the love for living, seems to be true and then some. I found Argentina utterly charming and look forward to seeing more of the country, and more in depth.
This trip had nothing to do with essential oils, which made it unusual for me--no perfumes, or incense, but wine and food.
We made a trip to the wine country, which centers around Mendoza, at the foot of the Andes, about 1 1/2 hours west by air from Buenos Aires. The highlight of this area was a visit to El Lagar Carmelo Patti Bodega. This Sicilian born artist takes visitors around the winery (bodega in Argentina) personally, explaining the winemaking process in detail, as well how he approaches blending--the Gran Assemblage is his signature mix of cabernet sauvignon, cabernet franc, merlot and malbec grapes. We bought a bottle to drink in 2011. Senor Patti obviously loves what he does, and enjoys sharing his passion with interested, like-minded people who enjoy a small, handmade artisan approach to wine. If planning a trip to Mendoza Argentina, then look him up by all means. His bodega is San Martin 2613--Mayor Drummond. Email is ellagarsl@arnet.com.ar
These are photos for Senor Patti and his wine--here he is with the Delightful Gregory, sampling some malbec from the underground chamber, and here also we have Senor Patti drawing a delicious cabernet from the oak barrel. Over here to the right he is signing our bottle of Gran Assemblage for drinking in a few years.
We spent most of our time in Buenos Aires, where Gregory is in middle of his winter vacation--he teaches third grade. Buenos Aires is famous for its cafe's, restuarants, literary culture, dance, theatre, wine, and generally good life. This certainly seemed true to me. The food was uniformly excellent, despite my choice being a bit limited as I'm a vegetarian. Hours are late, and cafes full. People sit around and talk, go to shows, eat dinner or dessert, dance. It was all very relaxed. Cultural events are extremely accessible. The Modern Art Museum is $3--somehow Argentina manages to subsidize their arts, making it easy and affordable for all. Meanwhile, here is New York, it's $20 to go to the Modern.....One can't help but see the difference when a society really wants its citizens to enjoy and participate in culture and when this is approached from more of a financial point of view....Even taking into account the economical differences, it's just easier all the way around to enjoy a night out, to see a show, or even to have a glass of wine with friends, in Argentina than here in the US--and it's not just that I was on vacation!

I did want to write a reveiw of a restaurant we ate at: it's called Thymus. This is the only restaurant I have ever been to that can be spoken of in the same tone as the old incarnation of the Slanted Door in San Francisco. To start with they served a glass of crisp white wine infused with some sharp herbs--possibly lemon verbena and thyme. It had a subtle sharp spicy body with a flowering oaken top, a perfect aperitif. To begin, I had the goat brie cheese creme brulee--an exquisite lighter than air creamy rich and fragrant tiny cheese cloud topped with a tiny portion of chopped nuts--almonds I think, and an equally tiny and succulent spoonful of chopped black truffles on the side. One one side lay a small wedge of perfectly happy brie, and on the other, a brie wedge size piece of bread named brioche but close in texture (although not taste) to cornbread. It was completely magnificent. A simple roasted red pepper salad accompanied it--sweet and simple. Gregory had a mixed green salad--the essence of freshness and light--springy and green, full of individually exquisite sprigs of lettuce, sprouts, and roasted vegetables, each the ultimate in fresh goodness.
These appetizers captured our attention completely but then the main course came--we both had the same one--humbly labeled "vegetarian plate." In most restaurants this is a variation on the same thing--zucchini, eggplant, peppers marinated in olive oil with herbs. But this was the most interesting and challenging dish I can imagine. First of all, the vegetables: a brussels sprout. Beet greens. A slice of bok choy. A couple of baby carrots. a shittake mushroom in thirds. A morel I believe it was, also in thirds. Three slim asperagous spears. A long white thin shaving of what looked like a daikon radish but didn't taste like it. These were edgier vegetables. And there was no sauce. They were barely cooked. But they certainly wern't raw. They were just presented.
I don't even like brussels sprouts or beets but this was a different story. How to describe except to note that they were perfect? It was as if these vegetables were selected as perfect samples of themselves to represent vegetables in a larger order of the world. There is no other way to describe other than they were perfect vegetables. A master had allowed their true nature to blossom, they were not cooked in the normal sense of the word. Sitting in the middle of this was a very challenging thing, for me. On a bed of mashed potatoes, about a tablespoon in all, sat a poached egg--soft boiled. This egg was entire but wobbly, jiggly. When punctured, the yolk ran wetly into the potatoes. Runny eggs are something I absolutely cannot abide but here it was sumptious. The egg was playful, bouncy, and of a texture I have never felt.
Accompanying this "vegetable plate" were two squares of a crusty cheese topped butter flakey thin pasteries. These were about 2 inches square each. They imparted a rich and delightful accent to the smoothly fresh and fragrant vegetables.
This meal was not heavy by any means, it was actually perfect. Although it may have not been too much in the amount, such was the tapestry of flavors, textures, aromatics and visuals that one could not help but eat it slowly and mindfully, it was perfect on all counts.
Then we ordered dessert. I had the "granny smith apple pancake, caramel with 'beurre noisette' and lemon verbena ice cream." Words cannot describe this dream. It was a slice more the thickness of a shaving, with a delicious caramel butter syrup, accompanied by the most exquisite lemon verbena ice cream, this was perfection itself. Gregory had 'warm Madagascar vanilla soup, rice cereal and white chocolate bar with blackcurrant and raspberry sorbet." This, like mine, was all of a swoon.
Our wine throughout was Torrentes--malbec for me and pinot noir for the Delightful Gregory. It was one of the finest meals I've ever had the thrill of eating.
Thymus website is http://thymusrestaurant.com.ar