Cafayate, Argentina

Driving into Cafayate yesterday evening.

Dear Reader,

Back at the ranch the days were sunny and bright while the evenings and mornings were so cold that there was frost on the ground, and my breath rolled from my mouth like the curling smoke from a cigarette.

Over the weekend I made a bread. Usually our housekeeper Inés is there to help me with the wood fire oven, but it being Sunday she was not there and I had to fend for myself.

The only other time I’d baked bread in the oven I’d failed miserably. The oven hadn’t gotten hot enough and the bread had come out nearly flat with a hard thin crust and just a small bit of fluffy texture on the inside.

“You have to let the oven heat to at least 170.”, Inés instructed me. 170 degrees Celsius is about 350 Fahrenheit.

So, on Sunday afternoon I carried coals from the fire in my office in a small shovel to the oven in the outdoor dining room. Then I added some paper and kindling. I set a match to it, and let it burn before placing a slightly larger piece of wood on top. Once I had a nice flame going, I added a substantial log.

I waited for the oven to heat appropriately, and slid the soft dough which I’d left to rise in a cloth by the fire, into a pot and into the oven. I checked on it periodically over the next 45 minutes. It rose and browned slightly. I took the lid off at the end to let it get a little more brown.

When I finally pulled it out, I was proud of the pretty little loaf, and happy that the oven had cooperated.

Yesterday afternoon I drove to Cafayate to spend the night before making the long trip to Salta today. I have a rehearsal to get back for, and a visit to the immigration office.

The road was pretty smooth and I got into the hotel I like to stay at called Villa Vicuña around 7pm. A vicuña is an animal in the llama family. They are delicate creatures and live in the wild, although people catch them to shave the fur from their chests which they make into yarn for fine shawls and scarves. Vicuña fiber is known to be the warmest and most expensive animal fiber in the world.

And a villa is typically a grand house. This one is located in the center of town and is comfortably furnished in a local style.

The living room at Villa Vicuña.

At reception I was offered a cup of hot tea, and shown to my room. Ramona had accompanied me, and she hopped right up onto the bed and snuggled amongst the pillows.

I took her for a walk around the square, and bought a little clay bowl for her water and food since I’d forgotten to bring her plastic travel bowl. After 8pm we sat down to have dinner at a restaurant on the square with an outdoor patio and heaters.

A pleasant waitress took my order: a cheese empanada to start, pacú al limon - pacú is a fresh water fish - as a main course, and for dessert, a lemon preserved in syrup with fresh goat’s cheese. I’d had never had this before and asked the waitress if she recommended it.

“Oh yes.”, she replied. “It’s very good, sort of sweet and sour.”.

Indeed, it was absolutely delicious.

Lemon in syrup with fresh goat’s cheese.

This morning I awoke to the shining sun over the mountains. Ramona and I took a brief walk and will shortly get on the road to Salta.

More to come.

Abrazos,

Mariah

June 26th, 2026

Dear Reader,

Three years ago today I made my first post shortly after moving down to Argentina. So today I’ll share that with you.

Abrazos,

Mariah

June 23rd, 2026

Dear Reader,

The restaurant where I’d arranged to play on Saturday night was still empty at 10pm, when the show was supposed to begin. Just three audience members sat at a table adorned with a bouquet of cloth flowers: my pianist Mikeas’s girlfriend, and two of their friends.

“Well.”, said Mikeas, turning to me. “The show must go on, my friend.”. He held out his hand and looking at me sincerely through his black rimmed glasses.

I smiled and took his hand.

“That’s the spirit!”, I agreed.

We climbed up to the small stage and performed our first set, taking our three friends through a selection of standards like Cole Porter’s I Love Paris, and April in Paris by Vernon Duke and Yip Harburg, the French ballads Hymne A L’amour - Ode to Love - by Edith Piaf, and Chanson de Delphine - translated to You Must Believe In Spring by Alan and Marlilyn Bergman - by Michel Legrand. We closed with Consuelo Velasquez’s Besame Mucho.

Then, we sat down to eat. The waiter brought us each a plate of delicious, hot food - seafood risotto for me, and a beef stew for Mikeas - and a classic Argentine cocktail: the Negroni. This drink is sweet and syrupy, made with Campari, bitters, gin, and an orange peel.

We talked and laughed, and around 12.30, I walked home through the cool night.

Performing I Love Paris to our three audience members.

Mikeas and I met up early this week to start on a new repertoire of country, soul, and blues for the next round of shows next month.

Salta can be pretty gloomy this time of year. After a couple of gorgeous days over the weekend, Monday was cold and grey, but this morning the sun shot through the clouds illuminating the mountains covered in a crisp, white icing.

The mountains.

Argentina played Austria in the afternoon. Adrien and I went to a café on the square to watch the game and have lunch. The main square and streets were empty. People having lunch hardly spoke. Instead their eyes hawked the screens. A couple of hours later, loud cheers erupted as Argentina won the match.

On Thursday, we head back to the Valley.

More to come.

Abrazos,

Mariah

June 20th, 2026

The Flag Day parade.

Dear Reader,

In my rush to leave La Arcadia for Salta on Wednesday I accidentally picked up my husband’s computer. When I realized this the next morning, I tried every password I thought he might have used.

None of them worked.

And because my husband had embarked on a trip to the mountains to round up cattle with our foreman in Gualfin, he had no phone service. He wouldn’t be back for 48 hours. When he finally got back to the ranch house on Friday night he told me the password, and I logged in.

So here I am.

He also recounted his terrible puna - altitude sickness - which left him mostly incapable in participating in the activities of the round up. The place he went to is at an elevation of about 10,000 feet.

“I was so out of breath that I had to lie down.”, he said. “The guys were really sweet. They brought me herbs and garlic which are supposed to help with the puna. But I was in a bad way.”.

This morning I walked with Ramona down to the main police headquarters of Salta to see a desfile - parade - in which our housekeeper’s daughter, a young police woman, would be participating. Today is Flag Day, and the event was called Juramento a nuestra Bandera - Pledge to our Flag.

We got there right at 11am and found a spot to stand in the doorway of a motorcycle shop. There was a step we could use to get a better view. There were lots of people, the families and friends of the police officers.

The ceremony started. Musicians dressed in gaucho attire played a rousing opening number. The hundreds of police men and women sang along. Then a priest said a prayer, and a speech was made. Parading and marching took place.

After about 45 minutes, the ceremony concluded and I went to find our housekeeper and her husband who’d driven all the way from La Arcadia for the event.

I found them and greeted them. Their daughter came up to join us, and we took photos.

I wished them a happy visit and walked off with Ramona.

Tonight I’ve got a show at a small restaurant with a stage at the back. The repertoire consists of American standards like Our Love Is Here To Stay by the Gershwins, Cole Porter’s I Love Paris, French classics such as Edith Piaf’s Hymne A L’amour and Michel Legrand’s Chanson De Delphine, and of course the bolero Besame Mucho.

More to come.

Abrazos,

Mariah

Me and Jamila, following the desfilé.

San Martin, Argentina

Dear Reader,

“You made my wife cry.”, said one man in his late fifties as I came offstage after my concert on Saturday night.

“This night was so special.”, declared a woman sitting at a two top table with her husband.

I sang mostly American standards like I Love Paris by Cole Porter, and the Gershwin’s Our Love Is Here To Stay, and French ballads such as Edith Piaf’s Hymne A L’Amour and Michel Legrand’s Chanson De Delphine.

To be sure I had something they all knew, I also included a bolero called Bésame Mucho which translates to kiss me a lot…I always introduce the song by saying that it was written by 13 year old Consuelo Velasquez, and that if I had been her mother I might’ve been wondering what she’d been doing up in her room…and with whom!

The words go like this:

Kiss me, kiss me a lot, just as if it were our last time…

Kiss me, kiss me so much, how afraid I am to lose you, to lose you forever…

I want to hold you close, to look into your eyes, and to feel you close to me…

You may think that tomorrow I’ll already be far away, far away from you…

I heard a man sitting near the stage singing softly. So, on the next chorus I invited him and the rest of the crowd to join in.

“Bésame, bésame mucho”, they all chimed. They sang out the rest of the words to the song gustily. An audience member took a video.

Bésame Mucho. Courtesy of Laura Maso.

After the show, I sat down at a table of female friends and chatted with them over a drink.

Soon the stiff drink had its effects and my weariness became such that I felt my head might fall right down on the table. I rose to take my leave.

I collected my microphone, stage clothes, and show bag, and headed out into the cool night. I directed my steps to the nearby taxi stand. It was just past one am and there was not a single taxi.

I looked out at the empty streets. There were few people and fewer cars, let alone a cab.

Just then, a black cab stopped at the intersection. I called out, and the driver rolled down his window.

“I have a customer.”, he said.

“Oh.”, I said. “Right. Do you know where I can find a cab right now?”.

The driver turned to the woman sitting in the back of the cab. They exchanged a few words.

Then to me. “Where are you going?”, he asked.

“Near the shopping mall.”. I gave him the cross streets.

“Hop in.”.

I did.

“Good evening.”, I said to the woman in the back. She was plump, maybe in her mid forties, and friendly.

“Hi!”, she said. She smiled. Her lips were painted a deep red and she wore a striped tight fitting sweater.

“This is really nice of you.”, I said.

“Oh it’s nothing. Where you’re going is on the way to where I’m going.”, she replied.

“What luck!”.

We settled into a comfortable silence as we zipped along the deserted streets. We arrived at the corner where we’d agreed I should be dropped off.

“How much do I owe you?”, I asked the woman.

“Nothing.”, she replied. “Like I said, I was going this way anyway.”.

I thanked her and got out. The cab idled while I crossed the street. I turned to wave as I entered my building. The friendly woman and the driver waved back.

I headed up to our apartment. Ramona was waiting for me in the same place I’d left her on the couch in the living room. Satisfied that I was home safe, she got up and trotted to her bed.

I turned in, filled with the peaceful, happy feeling of a job well done.

More to come.

Abrazos,

Mariah

Me and Miqueas Lopez take a bow. Photo: Milena Villa.

June 13th

“You want milk with your tea?”, the waitress asked.

“Yes.”, I said.

“You mean like hot milk with the tea bag in it?”.

“No…a cup of hot black tea with cold milk on the side.”.

The waitress looked at me blankly. Her glossy cherry red lips pouted slightly.

“Oh. People don’t ever ask for that…”.

“Well…do you have milk?”, I asked.

“Yes.”, she answered.

“Then how about you bring me a cup of hot tea with the box of milk, and I’ll put it in myself?”.

She frowned.

“I’ll have to check with my manager.”.

I waited. I was sitting in a café in the town of Cerrillos about an hour outside of Salta. We’d just wound our way around the Bishop’s Pass covered in thick mist.

Adrien had an errand to run so he’d dropped me off at this café on the square.

A few minutes later, an ample woman came out of the kitchen bearing a tray. On it was a cup and saucer, a small tea pot filled with hot water, a black tea bag, a glass of milk, and a round sugar cookie.

“Here you are.”, she said with a smile. I thanked her, and she bustled off.

The glossy lipped waitress threw me a disdainful look as I tried to pour the milk from the glass into the cup without spilling it all over the place. Luckily there were plenty of napkins on hand to mop up the mess.

I dipped my cookie in the milky liquid, and was just finishing when Adrien pulled up in his truck and waved. I paid the bill and headed out.

Descending the Bishop’s Pass.

Before leaving the Valley, I stopped in at La Arcadia to see where the washing machine might go.

Inés and I entered the worker’s lodge where our foreman has his office, and our mechanic has his quarters. There are a few extra bedrooms for itinerant workers to stay, a couple of bathrooms, and a makeshift kitchen.

The large white machine sat in a corner of the kitchen.

“Beautiful.”, she said approvingly.

Then, looking around at the bare surroundings, she wrinkled her nose.

“But I don’t like it here very much. No privacy…couldn’t we have it over at the banda (across the river)?”.

“I thought it wasn’t possible…but I’ll talk to don Adrien again.”.

“Bueno.”, she replied gaily.

She gave me a kiss on the cheek and headed toward her house.

I took a stroll over to see old Doña Luisa. She was sitting on a bench in front of her daughter’s house overseeing the butchering of a cow. Her hands rested on a cane.

She wore a sun bonnet, a cardigan sweater, and a woolen skirt. Her legs dangled over the edge of the bench, revealing her knee high stockings. When she saw me, she waved and reached her softs hands out to clasp mine.

“How are you Doña?”, I asked.

“Oh, I’m well. Except when it gets cold, and my arthritis acts up.”, she said turning down the sides of her mouth in a frown.

“I’m sorry.”, I said. Poor Doña Luisa, who also suffers from diabetes and a thyroid condition, smiled a defeated smile and shrugged her shoulders.

“That’s quite a cow.”, I commented.

“Yes, a really beauty.”, she agreed.

I kissed her on the cheek and bid her goodbye.

Top: the butchered cow. Bottom: Doña Luisa.

Later, I asked my husband if it really was impossible to install the washing machine over at the ranch house…

He called up the German fellow who installed the solar panels.

The verdict: it could be done, but we could only run the machine during the day. No problemo.

The next day our handyman came over to see how he’d install it in our very own laundry room at the ranch house.

More to come.

Abrazos,

Mariah

June 9th, 2026

Dear Reader,

At San Martín, it is winter. The trees have shed their leaves and when we rolled in around 5pm on Monday afternoon, a cold wind blew. Adrien lit a fire in our room, and thanks to the solar panels, I had a hot shower.

Later he lit a fire in the living room where we spend our evenings. In the mornings, the first fire is lit in the office, and in its warm glow we sip our first cup of coffee. We keep that fire gently burning all day till it’s time to move into the living room.

What I love about the Valley is that when the sun comes out during winter days, it gets warm and you can enjoy a few hours sitting outside before evening comes again.

We went to see where we’ll build my chicken coop. Growing up, my mother always kept chickens and every weekend we’d bring them scraps and gather the eggs.

Adrien has drawn up plans for the coop and Mario will undertake the building. It’ll be made of adobe, chicken wire, and wood for the nests where they’ll lay.

“What about a vaca lechera?”, asked my dad. A milking cow.

Growing up we also had a milking cow at one point, and when we didn’t my mother went out of her way to get fresh milk from local cows wherever we lived.

While I’d love a milking cow, it seems like it might take a but more organization than a flock of chickens. A ver…

There are still a few flowers in the garden. I clipped a few for the house and several more for the chapel.

It was rainy, cold, and grey when we left Salta on Monday morning. We had a few errands to run before hitting the road: pick up my brand new washing machine (more about that shortly), get vaccines for the calves suffering from diarrhoea, pick up two giant plastic tubes which Adrien and a worker carried across the rainy street and secured in the bed of the pick up truck on either side of the washing machine, and stop for meat, milk, eggs, and vegetables for our meals.

Our final errand was lunch in the picturesque town of Chicoana, about an hour from Salta. There’s a nice café right on the main square by the church. The fare is simple, good, and plenty copious.

Replete, we set off over the Cuesta del Obispo, a sinewy mountain pass which rises to 10,000 feet at its highest point. It shot us through the clouds into the sunny, wide expanse of the Calchaqui Valley.

Getting back to the washing machine, for the past three (almost!) years since we’ve been here, Ines has washed all our clothes, sheets, towels, dish towels, and rags by hand. At first I thought that’s how she and all the villagers did it at home.

But when I asked about it, Inés announced proudly that she herself has had a washing machine for the past 18 years. Because the electricity at our ranch house at San Martin comes from solar panels I had been informed that a washing machine was not possible.

For some reason it never occurred to me that we could very well have one in the workers’ lodge at La Arcadia, the village across the river where the church and garage are.

I double checked with our mechanic and he confirmed that there would be no problem. I asked Inés what model she had at home.

“I have a Samsung.”, she said. “And it’s given me no problems in 18 years.”.

I logged into my MercadoLibre account, the Argentine equivalent of Amazon, and placed my order.

A few days later it was delivered. Now it is sitting in the lodge at La Arcadia awaiting installation by our houseman and gardener, Mario.

I plan to drive a load over over once a week or so; Inés can hang them there to dry, fold them, and I’ll drive them back again.

More to come.

Abrazos,

Mariah

View of the sunset from my window in Salta.

June 6th, 2026

A rose in Salta.

Dear Reader,

On Tuesday I said goodbye to my parents, and headed off to a rehearsal. My next show is coming up and I have a lot to do to prepare.

I was thinking recently about a comment my dad made. He said he thought everyone should spend time living in a country that struggled economically. It would be a good exercise in learning resilience through economic ups and downs.

This came to mind because I wanted to start promoting my upcoming show. It’s a week away, and it’s time to put the word out. I texted the venue manager to confirm that we were still on, and ask for the reservation details to share on the flyer.

Over 24 hours later I hadn’t heard from him, so I wrote again. He promised to send the flyer and details later that day. He didn’t.

I realized that living here has been a lesson not only in the ups and downs of an unstable economy, but in going with the flow. The last show I did I almost cancelled because two days before the venue said no tickets had been sold.

My artist friends reading this might think “the same thing happens everywhere in show business.”, and that’s probably true. But perhaps it feels more pronounced here.

“Let’s wait till tomorrow at 12.”. I told the venue manager at the time. “If there are no tickets sales I think we’d be better off cancelling.”.

The venue manager assured me that lots of people would come.

“That’s just how it is here. You never know til the last minute. I’d go on with the show if I were you.”, a fellow musician weighed in.

I followed his advice and performed to a packed house. Perhaps it’s like that with life in general and you have to learn to roll with the punches.

But in the US at least things seem more secure. If you schedule a month in advance to perform a show, it might seem like not giving yourself enough time. But here, people are reluctant to schedule that far ahead, let alone promote. Two or three weeks is the general maximum.

“Things are changing all the time. And we don’t know if people will have money to spend.”, said a club manager.

Living here is a really good lesson in not taking things personally too. If people don’t come to a show, or if you are canceled which has happened to me a few times this year already, it’s not because you’re no good or people don’t like what you do.

Instead they really don’t have money to spend, or it’s cold out, or a lot of other factors…

I love to sing, and I feel a part of me is missing when I don’t. So with that, I go on, learning, and growing, and developing my craft.

Taking advantage of being in the city this week, I visited the workshop of a carpenter recommended by a fellow rancher in the Valley. I’d admired the doors at his home, and the elegant, hand carved columns on his patio.

“You ought to have him come out to San Martín.”, said my dad.

So I took his number and visited his workshop where he and his family have been making doors, furniture, and other other manner of wooden structures, for 50 years.

The workshop.

More to come.

Abrazos,

Mariah

P.S.

My new single, Wild Is The Wind, is out now! You can listen to it on Spotify and all other major streaming platforms like YouTube, iTunes, Deezer, and more.

Cover for the single.

June 3rd, 2026

Dear Reader,

We’d heard that the mass was at 10am, so we’d showed up at five past ten. Over a loud speaker we could hear a booming voice.

“The mass has started, we better hurry!”, said my mother, hustling toward the church.

Chairs had been set in front of the church for mass. There were lots of people already seated and many more standing or sitting at a distance.

We recognized our friends, also owners of farms in the Valley, and scooted into seats behind them.

It was Sunday, but not any Sunday. On this Sunday, it was the celebration of the 200th anniversary of the dedication of the church of Molinos to its patron saint, Saint Raymond Nolasco. As landowners, we figured it was important to attend. We’d also donated a calf for the lunch.

The man over the loud speakers was making announcements.

“And now will Doctor So and So please come up. Thank you for your service to the community, Doctor. Please put your hands together Ladies and Gentlemen.”.

The doctor presented himself and was handed a framed photo of the church commemorating the event, photos were snapped, and the man took his seat once more.

This went on for some time. Even a few of the old people of the village received commemorative plaques for their regular attendance at church.

Finally, our neighbors seated in front of us were called up. And then, my dad.

“Señor Bonner of Gualfín and La Arcadia.”, boomed the voice.

Dad was wearing his black aviator sunglasses, jeans, dusty boots, a checked button down shirt, and a broad brimmed tan colored felt hat. My grandmother always said he reminded her of Clint Eastwood, and that day he sure did look like a movie star.

He approached the podium, and received his plaque. My mom and I clapped proudly.

“Glad we got here early.”, said my dad laughing when he regained his seat.

After all the acknowledgements had been made, the mass began. The sun was hot.

It was past twelve o’clock when the service ended. Then, one by one, cakes were brought out and placed on long tables in front of the church. They were birthday cakes of varying sizes, iced with white, pink, yellow, blue, and brown, made by the people and donated for the event.

Each one was placed on the table in front of the church under the bright sun. The happy birthday song was sung, and we all clapped. White and yellow balloons were released into the air over the church. People took photos.

Balloons are released into the air.

“There are 47 cakes!”, said our neighbor’s wife, turning to me.

The cakes.

Then we all made our way to the tables which had been set under the trees near the church for lunch. A man dressed in full gaucho regalia draped our table with a white cloth. He set out glasses for us and opened our wine.

We were served the usual meal: potato salad, corn, bread, and meat. The meat had been slow cooked over a fire in the ground. It was tender and practically fell off the bone.

Following the meal, the cakes were cut and served.

We had a slice and then retired to the Hacienda de Molinos, a hotel and restaurant across from the church, for coffee.

The next day we left for Salta, and today my parents take off for Ireland.

More to come.

Abrazos,

Mariah

Mom and Dad in front of the church.

May 30th, 2026

“When I got married and moved here, I was 18 and I was a city girl. There was no electricity, and the only way to communicate with my family was by letter. I learned to cook from my grandmother since my mother died when I was 16 years old.

But there were two women who lived in the house so I didn’t have to worry about that. One cooked and the other cleaned. We had a kerosene lamp I could light if I needed to get up in the night.”.

We were having dinner at the home of our neighbors, also the former owners of the ranch.

The meal, cooked by our hostess, was simple and very good. There was beef stewed in a creamy mushroom sauce, oven roasted pork, and roasted root vegetables. For dessert there was flan, a type of pudding cooked in a round cake dish, and served with a dollop of dulce de leche.

All this was accompanied by our own wine which we’d brought.

Our hostess and host met and married almost 54 years ago. He ran the farms he’d inherited from his father until about 20 years ago when he sold several of them off. My father bought one in 2004, and then another in 2017.

A man from Buenos Aires took on another, and our neighbor bought a smaller parcel of land in between two of the ranches for himself. He raises cattle and keeps a herd of Peruvian horses.

He and his wife built a house on a hilltop looking out over the mountains. It is graciously appointed and comfortably furnished, in keeping with the style of the Calchaqui valley.

My parents are only here for a short time this year so we’re packing in the social engagements. The next day, we were invited to lunch with a winemaker, Matias Etchart, at his home about an hour outside of Cafayate.

Matias has been at this for many years, and produces about 30,000 bottles of wine a year some of which are sold through my brother’s wine club.

To get to his place you have to drive along a very rudimentary road, splashing through a river, and rumbling over heavy rocks. You can’t get there without four wheel drive. His bodega and private home sit on top of a mountain.

First we had a tour of the bodega where the wine is made and stored, and then we went over to the house for lunch. We sat down at a table made from an oak wine barrel.

Over a grill on an outdoor fire sizzled several pieces of meat: sausages, beef, and pork. The cook cut the meat and served it. She also passed around a large earthenware bowl of potatoes, onions, carrots, and squash.

At lunch with Matias (center), me Mom, and Dad. Taken by Adrien.

We tried all of Matias’s wines: rosé, Malbec, and Cabernet Sauvignon, and toured his house.

Following lunch we took a little tour.

Up at Gualfín, we spent a pleasant couple of days; the wind did not blow and the temps were pleasant.

Each day we took a long horseback ride. On one ride we went over to visit a woman who keeps goats and makes cheese. Here’s my mom standing on a stool to choose a cheese.

Choosing a cheese.

We returned to San Martín for the weekend; the last with my parents before they leave for Europe again.

More to come.

Abrazos,

Mariah

Riding at Gualfin.

Dear Reader,

I forgot to mention in my latest letter that my new single, Wild Is The Wind, is out now!

The song was written by Dimitri Tiomkin with lyrics by Ned Washington, and I recorded a version of it during my recent trip to Baltimore with local musicians Seth Kibel, Sean Lane, and Bob Abbott.

Listen to it here!

Artwork by Cover Art Factory; Photo by Kesler Tran.

More to come.

Abrazos,

Mariah

May 27th, 2026

Dear Reader,

On Saturday we rose early and had a quick breakfast. The mass for the feast of Saint Rita, the patron saint of our ranch, La Arcadia, would take place at 9am. The priest was short was time since he had another feast day to celebrate with another community that day.

Along with just one other priest, they serve 33 parishes in the area.

The mass took place outside in front of the church; pews had been carried out for the congregants to sit on. It was bitterly cold yet the sky was free of clouds and the sun was beginning to warm the air.

After mass there was a procession. The image of Saint Rita of Cascia, patron saint of impossible situations, was hoisted onto a platform and paraded around the soccer field.

A man beat a drum while songs and prayers were sung and recited. The youth police and the school children carried the flags of Argentina and of Salta.

The procession of Saint Rita around La Arcadia.

Then, we returned to the patio in front of the church.

“Saint Rita will now be retuned to the temple.”, said a woman through a microphone. “Say goodbye! Wave your handkerchiefs!”

Handkerchiefs and tissues were waved in the air as Saint Rita was replaced in the church. Then everyone lined up to go inside and touch or kiss her image.

Adrien made a brief speech, thanking everyone for coming and acknowledging the community for their hard work in organizing the event.

“A big thanks to the Familia Bonner for hosting us all today.”, he said. “You are all invited to have lunch in the galpón at 12 o’clock.”, he concluded.

There was clapping, and then everyone dispersed to catch up with friends and family, or peruse the various stands selling pots, pans, blankets, hats, household items, and cookies, until it was time to go in for lunch.

Inés, our housekeeper, dressed in form fitting boot cut blue jeans, high heeled boots, and a black leather jacket with fur trim, came up to me. Her black hair was coiffed in a half pony tail, and she wore dangly earrings with half moons and stars on them.

“Señora”, she said. “The children from the youth police would like to visit the chapel. May I take them over for a tour?”.

“Of course.”, I said. “We’ll head over too.”.

We’d invited a few friends, owners of neighboring ranches, to join us for the occasion. We drove with them across the river to the banda to sit a while by the fire before lunch.

The children arrived shortly thereafter. I explained that Saint Cecilia was patron saint of musicians, and that we’d chosen to dedicate the chapel to her because of my dad’s love of music.

“And you too, Doña Maria.”, said Inés. Then to them all, “She sings beautifully. Will you sing us something?”.

I lead off with the first verse of Amazing Grace. They listened attentively, some even filming me.

When I’d finished, they clapped, and thanked me for the visit. Each gave me a kiss on the cheek.

“Are you coming with us?”, asked Inés in her sweet, sing song voice.

“Yes. We’ll be over with our friends in just a moment.”.

“Bueno.”, she said brightly. “When you get there go straight into the galpón and take your seats. Roque will tell you where to sit. Then we’ll tell the gente they can go in too.”.

With that, she took off down the hill with the seven or so children.

Our guests, my parents, and Adrien and I got back in the truck and headed over the river to the party.

At the galpón, a huge garage with a domed steel roof, where we store farm equipment, and machinery, we were met by Roque, a big, tall, 20 something year old.

He smiled broadly, and showed us our table. It was at the front of the garage, and had a bottle of soda water on it, two bottles of our own wine, and a bottle of soda pop.

My mother made a seating arrangement on the fly and we sat down. Adrien stood, and said a blessing over the meal. The men and women of the village came around and filled our plates with generous servings of potato salad and beef.

Each year, we the dueños donate two cows for the feast day. The workers take charge of butchering and cooking them. The meat was tender and well seasoned. Following this there was locro - a thick stew made with corn and beans, or picante - a clear broth seasoned with chili, and full of tripes.

The villagers work together to prepare and serve the food for the feast day.

After the meal, we mingled and then invited our friends back over to the house for coffee and cake.

Once they’d all departed we set out on an evening ride.

Here’s a photo I took of the sunset.

More to follow.

Abrazos,

Mariah

May 22nd, 2026

Dear Reader,

Back at San Martín, we threw ourselves into preparations for the blessing of my dad’s chapel, which we decided to dedicate to Saint Cecilia, the patron saint of music.

A locro - a thick stew made with beans, corn, and the insides of a cow - was being prepared by our gardener and houseman, Mario, to share with the villagers afterwards.

The day was cold and windy, and the sky was grey and covered in a shroud of thick clouds. In the morning, a fire was lit to cook the stew. Mario put all the ingredients into two huge silver cauldrons which he then stirred with a large wooden spoon. Ines’s daughter helped by chopping vegetables, and keeping the fire going.

Tables were set up on the gallery facing the chapel with tablecloths lent to us by Ines. Each family had been instructed to bring their own cutlery and bowls.

Plastic chairs and benches were placed in front of the chapel for the mass. A table was set in front of the door of the chapel with a tablecloth I’d brought back from Paraguay on top for the priest to use as an altar.

My mother brought her collection of antique saints to place on the altar of the chapel, along with a crucifix. Ines and her daughter arranged flowers in vases, and affixed balloons to the outside of the chapel.

The altar inside the chapel.

I’d had a font for holy water made and hand painted by an artist in Salta. Mario secured it to the wall of the chapel, and I filled it with holy water we’d brought back from Lourdes in France.

The font, hand painted with the image of Saint Cecilia.

The padre arrived on time and the guests followed soon thereafter. All gathered in front of the chapel. Adrien said a few words of welcome, and explained who Saint Cecilia was.

She was a noblewoman who lived during the 3nd century; she believed in God and took a vow of chastity. Despite this, her parents forced her to marry. During her wedding she sang in her heart to God, and when she told her husband of her vow he respected her and converted to Christianity.

Up on the hill behind the house where the chapel is, the wind whipped our faces and chilled our bones.

The padre says mass in front of the Saint Cecilia Chapel, taken by Adrien.

Once the ceremonies were over we said prayers to the patron saint of the village, Saint Rita, whom we’d be celebrating on Saturday.

Then we traipsed down to the gallery. The stew pots were brought over from the fire and the locro served out. Bread was passed around, and Coca Cola poured.

The villagers went home after the meal, and we relaxed by the fire with a glass of wine.

Eating locro after the ceremonies.

More to come.

Abrazos,

Mariah

May 19th, 2026

Dear Reader,

Our hotel in Asunción was called La Misión, dating back to the period of the Jesuit missions. The staff was helpful and attentive, and the rooms spacious, clean, and well appointed. A guide took us on a tour of the city; we visited the first pharmacy, established by an Italian doctor, the Museum of Economy, and saw the president’s house from a distance.

At the Museo de la Economia, we were shown how the industry of Paraguay has evolved over time.

“Oh look.”, said my dad, pointing to a bunch of tobacco leaves held together with string in a glass case.

“I’m going to give you a little lesson in family history…that’s called a hand. When I was growing up, we’d gather the tobacco and make hands. Then you’d stack them up in a hog’s head as tight as you could, and send ‘em off to wherever they’d be sold.”.

The hand of tobacco.

Across the street from the presidential home is a row of beautiful old buildings. Our guide told us that at one point these establishments were in danger of being destroyed and replaced with more modern places.

So the people of the neighborhood made a human chain around the block protesting the demolition. It worked and the row still stands.

Row of buildings across from the president’s house.

In the evening, we dined at a steak restaurant recommended by a colleague. The meat was tender and well seasoned, accompanied by chimichurri sauce. The cieling was decorated with big metal racks filled with wood, and in a big glass case at the entrance hung a few large pieces of raw meat.

My mom and I visited the mall too - it was modern, and had a lush garden with a waterfall at the entrance.

There we picked up a laptop computer for our former housekeeper at Gualfin; the price was comparable to what we’d pay in the US.

Then we went to the Museo de Bellas Artes. It was a small collection and featured painters from Paraguay, Colombia, France, and the US.

Visiting the Bellas Artes in Asunción.

On Sunday we lunched at a restaurant perched at the top of an apartment building with a 360 degree view of the city. The menu was Japanese - Peruvian fusion. We had sashimi - finely sliced pieces of raw fish; ceviche - raw fish marinated in a spicy sauce served with with onions, corn, and grilled avocado; a sushi roll, and a piece of fish with grilled vegetables.

In the evening we attended church at a church next to the Recoleta cemetery. There weren’t many people, and the church itself was bare and neglected. We couldn’t really understand the readings or the sermon because of the distinct Paraguayan accents.

The highlight of the service was a duo of young women who sang and played guitar.

We walked back to our hotel, passing the wall of the cemetery which was decorated with mosaics of birds, representing the souls that have passed on.

Mosaics of birds along the wall surrounding the cemetery.

On Monday morning we got to the airport with plenty of time despite heavy workday traffic, and headed back to Salta. Tomorrow we’ll go out to the Valleys.

More to come.

Abrazos,

Mariah

May 15th

View taken by Adrien from his perch at a rooftop café in Asunción.

Dear Reader,

The remainder of our stay in Buenos Aires was relaxed. We met up with a few friends, did a little shopping, and visited the Museo de Bellas Artes. This is one of my favorite museums. I go almost every time I visit Buenos Aires, and am now getting to know the art pieces.

They become familiar over time and, like old friends or good wine, we develop a deeper relationship with each encounter.

A piece I love called Shawls, flowers, and fruits by Argentine painter Cesáreo Bernaldo de Quirós.

On Thursday morning we woke before the crack of dawn to catch a flight to the city of Asunción in Paraguay. The flight was just under two hours, and we arrived as the sun was coming up.

The purpose of this trip was business. Along with my family I invested in a cattle raising project with an Argentine family; they’d be showing us around the farm and introducing us to the herd the next day.

We pulled our many bags off the carousel and found our way to the Sixt rental car booth. Our car, a mini van that looked like a space ship, was brought around and we piled in.

Dad took the wheel and drove the five hours to Filadelphia, the town nearest to the farm. We made a few stops, and arrived around 4 o’clock in the afternoon. The hotel was a modern, square, brick building built and owned by Mennonites. We were in Mennonite country now.

The town of Filadelphia was founded by the Mennonites in 1930, and as of 2022 counts a population of 20,000 people.

A light rain fell. We were shown to our rooms, and then straggled to the bar for a hot cup of tea.

Revived, my dad went to write and lie down while Adrien, my mom, and I ventured out to see the town. Unfortunately the museum of local history established by the Mennonites was closed due to it being a holiday - Mother’s Day and Paraguay’s Independence Day.

Instead we took a brisk walk along the wide, unpaved avenues of the town. The houses were neatly and simply built, fenced in, and surrounded by tidy gardens. There was no town center, no bars, no restaurants, and hardly any people so far as we could tell…

We headed back to the hotel. In the evening we met our partners for dinner at the hotel restaurant. At a neighboring table, a group of tall, fair skinned patrons chatted in what sounded like German.

The next morning we rose early, breakfasted, and headed out to the farm, about an hour away.

At an intersection along the way, the farm manager met us in his mud caked truck and we followed him the rest of the way.

The road was muddy from the rain. We swerved and skated slowly along while our guide zipped on at an impressive pace.

“They have different tires than we do.”, said one of our partners, at the wheel of his Toyota Hilux pick up truck.

Here’s a video I took…

Finally we arrived at a fenced in field. Our rodeo, herd, had been rounded up and taken there just for our visit.

We got out. Three cowboys awaited us. All three hopped down from their horses, and one opened the gate to the pasture. He wore thick leather chaps over his jeans, a button up jean shirt and a wide brimmed brown hat.

He was burly, and his face was half covered in a thick black beard. His job, and that of his two companions, is to go around looking at the cows all day making sure they’re ok, that they’re eating, and that they’re safe.

“If they need any medical attention”, said the cowboy, “I have this pouch here full of supplies.”.

He pulled back the flap of his saddle to reveal a leather doctor’s bag. In a pouch behind his back he carried two knives.

My mom asked the cowboys if she could take a picture. Here they are astride their horses.

The cowboys.

More to come.

Abrazos,

Mariah

May 12th, 2026

Dear Reader,

My show on Friday in Salta went great. It was at the main cultural center called Pro Cultura. There were lots of people, and they received my selection of American standards and French chansons enthusiastically. After the show, several audience members wanted to take photos with me.

The venue got lots of footage and put together a short video for their YouTube channel. You can check it out here!

Afterwards we went out with friends to celebrate. Here I am holding a tiny ice bucket with an individual sized bottle of champagne. ;)

My tiny bucket and champagne bottle.

We arrived in Buenos Aires around 11am on Sunday. When we left Salta it was sunny and freezing cold. There was a light frost on the mountaintops.

The frosty mountaintops of Salta.

When we touched down in Buenos Aires, the sun was shining and the temperature was much warmer than in Salta but still cool, and breezy.

We took a cab to the Alvear Hotel, located on Avenida Alvear in the heart of Recoleta. My parents had already gotten in, and were resting in their room. We went together for lunch at one of our favorite places, La Rambla, just a short stroll from the hotel.

Like a French brasserie, the waiters are efficient and appropriately reserved. They wear green waistcoats over starched white shirts with bowties. The menu is simple, but satisfying. You can have breakfast, lunch, a drink, a coffee, an after dinner drink, or tea and cake.

We ordered their famous steak sandwiches, French fries, and, since it was Sunday, glasses of red wine.

We’ll be staying for the next couple days before heading up to Asuncion, Paraguay. No shows scheduled - just relaxing and enjoying the city.

Plaza Francia, in Recoleta.

Stay tuned for more.

Abrazos,

Mariah

May 8th, 2026

Dear Reader,

Tonight I’ve got a show at the main cultural center in the city. The venue is called Pro Cultura and hosts a variety of acts both local and national all throughout the year.

I’ll be presenting a show there this evening entitled Bajo Cielos Parisinos (Under Paris Skies). The repertoire is a selection of American standards like Cole Porter’s I Love Paris, and Wilbur Schwandt, Fabian Andre, and Gus Kahn’s Dream A Little Dream, and French tunes such as Edith Piaf’s La Vie En Rose, and Charles Trenet’s Ménilmontant.

During rehearsal this week, I made a short promotional video. Accompanying me is Salteño guitarist Aito Rodriguez.

Promo video with Aito for our show tonight.

In other music news, a single I recorded during my trip to Baltimore this Spring is set for release on May 27th!

The song is called Wild Is The Wind, and was written by Dimitri Tiomkin with lyrics by Ned Washington. I recorded it with Seth Kibel, Sean Lane, and Bob Abbott at Stages Music Arts with Evan Kornblum as sound engineer.

Cover art for the single by Cover Art Factory, with photo by Kesler Tran.

I’m very proud of the recording and can’t wait for you to hear it. Pre-save the song here, and on release day it will be automatically downloaded to your library for you to enjoy!

On Sunday Adrien and I will travel to Buenos Aires to meet up with my parents. We’ll be spending a few days there before heading up to Paraguay.

Stay tuned.

Abrazos,

Mariah

May 5th, 2026

The setting sun at San Martín, taken by my husband Adrien.

Dear Reader,

Along the drive back from Cafayate to San Martín on Sunday afternoon, we stopped to visit a couple who are ceramicists. One of them is from Mendoza and the other is from Buenos Aires. They live in a house nestled amongst the dramatic jagged rock chain called Las Flechas, the arrows.

The two met, fell in love, and moved to the Calchaqui Valley 27 years ago. They have a workshop in their home, and teach once a week in the nearby town of San Carlos.

“This wheel here,” explained Raphael, a thin man in his sixties, wearing a yellow tee shirt, green pants with elastic around the ankles, and a long bushy grey beard, “is the first potter’s wheel in the Calchaqui Valley.”.

Raphael at the potter’s wheel in his workshop.

“I’ll show you the house.”, suggested Cecilia. “We built it together with just one helper.”.

Cecilia is a tall, slim woman in her mid fifties. She has good bone structure and lots of dark, curly hair which she wore pulled back in a loose braid. She took me to the kitchen, the outdoor living room, the bathroom, and guest bedroom.

The floors were made of uneven stones, and the rest of the house was made of adobe. The furniture was a collection of handmade pieces and collected items. There were old photographs on the walls. An antique television sat on the floor of the guest room. The whole vibe reminded me of a New Mexican desert house from the 1970’s.

“There are the toilets.”, she said pointing to a little house some feet away from the main house.

“And this is where we meditate.”, she said. We looked in at a rectangular shaped room with bay windows facing the mountain range. Mats, rugs, and cushions lay on the floor. There was an altar on the far side of the room with various statues and images.

The meditation room.

In Cafayate we attended a wine festival, a two night affair held at one of the main wineries in town owned by a third generation wine maker.

“It’s the biggest event of the year here.”, our taxi driver informed us.

The evening began with a wine tasting. Each guest was given a complimentary glass upon entry.

We strolled over to the gallery where the thirty some wine makers had set up their booths. It was swamped with people. Young folks in their twenties and thirties wearing skimpy skirts, belly revealing tops, oversized jeans, trendy glasses, and folk inspired felt hats stormed the booths holding their glasses up in front of them.

The winemakers desperately poured one glass then another, trying to keep up with the pressing crowd. I felt bad for them. But our friend and maker of our own Tacana wine was optimistic.

“I know the organizers and they invite me every year.”, he explained. “Most of the attendees are young and wouldn’t normally drink wine so I see it as an opportunity for them to see my brand; maybe they’ll snap a few photos, and even decide they really like it…it doesn’t cost me much and it’s good exposure. It’s not really a tasting.”, he said with a laugh. “It’s a drinking! Here, let me give you a good pour.”.

With our glasses full of our friend’s white and red wines, we took off to check out the festival.

A huge stage was set up on one side of the park. Another friend had bought a table on the stage, so we’d be partying up there later. Vendors selling hats, shawls, and offering manicures and fake tattoos, had set up their booths under a tent.

Fire pits were ready to light for later in the night, and there were a couple of huge fur rugs on the ground for people to sit on. Food trucks waited on another side of the park serving Japanese and Argentine fare.

The setting was gorgeous - palm trees basked in the setting sun, then the full moon rose above the bare mountains, and the multitude of Coachella styled attendees laughed and danced to gentle electro beats.

Here I am wearing my own felt hat and with the stage in the background.

Tomorrow we head back to Salta, leaving our pup Ramona in the housekeeper’s care since we’ll be traveling from there to meet my parents in Buenos Aires, and then on to Asuncion, Paraguay.

More to come!

Abrazos,

Mariah

May 2nd 2026

Dear Reader,

Adrien and I met in Cafayate yesterday. I drove with friends, and we stopped on the way at a roadside restaurant where they keep chickens, goats, and llamas.

Baby goats had just been born, and I asked to pet one. Its coat was soft and its ears floppy and silky.

New born goats.

In the evening we attended a wine festival at a vineyard called El Recreo. There was a wine tasting, food vendors, and dance music.

Here’s a photo I took of the full moon rising up over the mountains.

Moon rising at the wine event last night.

More to come.

Abrazos,

Mariah

April 27th, 2026

Dear Reader,

Up at Gualfín, my dad’s ranch high up in the Calchaqui Valley of Argentina, the colors are magnificent.

Dad maintains that most people will never see a place as majestically beautiful as this in their lifetime…and he may be right. Especially this time of year - Fall - when the leaves are a golden yellow, and the temperatures still pleasant.

Morning sun streams through the golden leaves at Gaulfín.

When the wind blows, it shakes the leaves gently loose from their bows and sends them fluttering in a graceful cortege to the ground where they crunch under your feet as you walk.

I took a walk down to the corral where the cows were being vaccinated. The gate was closed. A calf had escaped and a burly cowboy in his mid forties named Samuel was galloping after it. He whooped and hollered, and wielded his lasso above his head.

Dust kicked up as he rode and two dogs followed, barking viciously as they closed in on the young animal.

I wish I’d gotten a photo or video but I was so engrossed in the scene that I couldn’t look away for a moment. Eventually the calf was lassoed by Samuel, and one of the dogs had to be pried loose from its ear. Samuel gave the dog a kick and it slunk away into the brush.

The calf’s ear was bloody and it whined pathetically. Samuel leapt off his horse, and led the calf back into the corral where it was reunited with the other cows. He saw me leaning against the stone wall of the corral.

“Ah, what a chase.”, he said in his low, gravelly voice which seemed to reside somewhere deeper than his chest. He grinned proudly, bearing brownish teeth.

I nodded. It sure was.

Adrien and I went to Pucarilla over the weekend and picked the last of the fruit: quince, figs, and grapes. We gathered walnuts off the ground too.

Laden with our pickings we went home for lunch. In the afternoon I busied myself with putting some of last years figs which I’d frozen and the few I was able to pick in the orchard this year up in jars. I made a sugary syrup and cooked them in the sauce for about an hour before turning them off to let them cool and then pouring them into sterilized jars.

Cooking figs.

Last year my work had yielded several large jars which we ate over the course of the year. This year I got only two. But I still have some frozen which I’ll get out and make in the dead of winter.

In the orchard by the house we gathered a huge basket of apples too. The trees were beginning to shed their leaves and these were the last apples we’ll see this year. I arrived just in time.

Sunset at Gualfín, taken by my husband Adrien.

Today I head back to Salta to rehearse for an upcoming show.

More to come.

Abrazos,

Mariah

P.S. If you haven’t had a chance to check out my podcast episode on Sanity Lounge you can do so here!