Weekend entertainment.

a day out, and a night at the movies.

Salta City, Argentina

February 16th, 2026

Dear Reader,

The weekend passed pleasantly. Unfortunately my husband got sick out in the valley and couldn’t travel back for the weekend. Plus, he had the bad luck to be stung by a bee and one eye was practically sealed closed.

So I on Saturday I amused myself with a visit to a friend’s house out in the suburb of San Lorenzo Chico.

We went on a long walk around her neighborhood. She pointed out what once had been a lagoon but now was filled with pale green grass and pinkish purple flowers.

Walking in San Lorenzo Chico.

My friend took me and her daughters along to do some shopping for lunch. We returned with bags of charcoal for the asado, and her son and nephew got to work starting the fire in the asador on their patio.

Her teenage son brought out a hair dryer and set it on the tiny, struggling flames.

“Is that yours?”, I asked my friend.

“Yes.”, she said smiling. “It’s my husband’s method to start the fire too!”.

Soon the small fire grew and the hair dryer was returned to its proper home.

The women convened in the kitchen. There was me, my friend, her three daughters, and two nieces. The nieces were in their early twenties. Still another niece was watching the young children of the eldest niece outside on the swing set. My friend is from a large family of nine siblings, so she has nieces and nephews already getting married and having children.

We cut up tomatoes, sliced avocado, and washed lettuce for side dishes. Then we cubed up cheeses, and placed cherry tomatoes and chips in bowls for the picada - a snack before the meal.

Ice cold beer was served around, and the little girls got up on stools and made fresh lemonade.

Soon, the man of the house came in. He’d been out playing golf that morning. He took charge of the meat, freeing it from its packaging and scattering salt all over it. He inspected the fire.

“Good work, boys.”, he declared. Their chests slightly puffed.

Then, two big hunks of meat were placed on the grill, along with sausages, and blood sausages. The fire is always started in the corner of the asador, and then the coals are pushed under the grill to allow the meat to cook slowly.

When the sausages were ready, the women cut huge baguettes of white fluffy bread and made choripán - chorizo sausage sandwiches - for the kids. They ate, chattering gaily.

“Mom, can I have some Coca Cola?”, asked one of the little girls.

“Yes.”, said her mother.

Then, to one of the boys “Javi (pronounces Ha - vee) would you serve her please?”.

Javi took a big bottle from the counter and poured the little girl a glass of soda as she carefully held her cup with both hands.

“Don’t spill it.”, said her mother.

After the meal, I drove with my friend to take one of her daughters to a birthday party. We passed two extraordinary birds. They looked like a cross between flamingos and storks, with long delicate legs, and tufts of grey feathers on their heads.

“They eat snakes.”, said my friend.

These are called secretary birds, and they kill snakes by giving them a precise kick to the skull.

Secretary birds in San Lorenzo Chico.

Later in the afternoon, a taxi came to get me to take me back to the center.

“What a beautiful area this is.”, commented the taxi driver, a woman in her mid forties with big dark glasses, and slightly swollen hands.

In the evening, I went to the mall, about a five minute walk from my house. The latest adaptation of Wuthering Heights was playing in the original language of English with subtitles at the movie theater.

I can’t say I’d recommend it. For one thing it is a liberal adaptation of the novel, actually more of a sordid reimagining.

A friend I chatted with in London described it as a fashion show meets music video with lots of sex, and gratuitous death scenes.

Indeed, it’s a real bodice ripper, complete with heaving cleavage, scenes where the lead characters get caught in the rain (of course, the female lead wears a white barely there clingy dress), make love clandestinely in a carriage, and on a table. Even the servants go at it in the stables!

One critic stated that Emily Bronte is “rolling in her grave.”.

It was as if a Hollywood producer said to the writers, “just juice up this dusty novel, will you?”.

Wuthering Heights.

More to come.

Abrazos,

Mariah

P.S. If you want to read the review, click here.