Graziano's, Coral Gables, Florida

There is something primal about the sound of meat sizzling over an open fire. Something visceral about seeing golden fat drip off fresh meat onto crackling embers.

Just inside the door of Graziano's restaurant in Coral Gables, an asador brazier burns specially imported quebracho wood behind a glass wall. Its upright steel spikes skewer whole chickens, and generous cuts of beef and lamb that rotate slowly over a traditional Argentine style grill. Savoring the sight of the slow roasting meats and vegetables, I am transported back to Las Lilas restaurant in the Puerto Madero, Buenos Aires.

A juicy slice of Bife de Choriso (New York strip steak) dipped in chimicurri is heaven on a fork. The meat is not aged. No marinade is used. What you taste is fresh beef that aborbs its flavor and fragrance from the grilling process. Everything is made from scratch. Brie comes from France; stilton from England. Desserts and breads are made in house. For the vegetarian, there is a selection of salads and vegetables. Papas a la provensal - steak fries sauteed with garlic, parsley and white wine, is a house specialty.

Thirsty? Ruby red walls of the dining room are lined with over 3,000 bottles of wine; many imported from Argentina, South Africa, Italy and California. 

Graziano's is a family business begun over 18 years ago as a meat market and small gourmet butcher shop by its founder, Leo Graziano. It has now expanded to 3 restaurants in the greater Miami region.

Enjoy the cuisine of Argentina in Florida, and skip the 11 hour flight .

La Nueva Catedral, Managua, Nicaragua

In 1972, a major earthquake destroyed 90% of the city, along with the old cathedral in downtown Managua. Since the church’s structure was thought beyond repair, a new cathedral was begun in 1991 and completed in just two years.

Visitors approach La Nueva Catedral (the new cathedral) along a paved street that cuts through a field of tall palm trees. Here and there street vendors peddle snacks and chilled soft drinks from plastic coolers. The avenue abruptly ends at the lip of a broad grey block plaza in front of the church’s austere low facade.

Its architectural style is modern, with a roof composed of 63 concrete cupolas, each representing the individual dioceses in the country. Some locals call it “La Chinchona” because the many cupolas look like so many “chichas” - Spanish slang for breasts.

Doors and windows are open air, allowing birds and breezes to enter freely. It’s not unusual to see pigeons fly from their perches on a narrow ledge atop concrete pilasters to racks of pigeonholes near the choir loft.

La Nueva Catedral cost $4.5 million dollars. An American tycoon provided financing and construction supervision. Having built his billion-dollar Domino’s Pizza chain, founder Tom Monaghan experienced a religious awaking after reading “Mere Christianity” by C.S. Lewis, author of the Narnia series. The inspired Monaghan took a two-year sabbatical from Dominos, during which time he funded and supervised the construction of La Nueva Catedral.

Casco Colonia Parade, Quito, Ecuador

Early on a chilly Sunday morning, the distant sound of a tinny brass band drifted over the Plaza de la Independencia. I stepped onto the 2^nd floor balcony of the Hotel Plaza Grande to see a colorful parade of celebrants strolling over the petal-strewn streets of old town, Quito.

Dressed in costumes of northern Andes villages, girls danced by wearing delicate white blouses tucked into layered skirts of richly embroidered petticoats fringed in macramé. Fellows wore dark blue tunics over knee-length pants. Each wore rounded white felt hats festooned with colored ribbons and pompons.

In a curious mixture of Christian symbolism and native culture, Wise Men on pantomime rag camels followed attenuated angels; these followed by musicians and llama herders.

A young boy, standing not much taller than the animal he led on a rope, wore a rainbow striped poncho over white alpaca leggings. His mother was wrapped in a cotton shawl (panis) with a hand made woven bag (shigras) tied over her shoulders; her luxurious black hair bound by a brightly colored ribbon (cintas).

It was the last Sunday of Advent, 2008 and the procession terminated on the steps of the San Francisco cathedral, several blocks away. Dating from 1534, this is the American continent’s oldest church. Catholic Mass was said under a canopy erected on its broad plaza, made of large stone blocks that once formed the walls of an ancient Inca temple.

Quito, Ecuador lies high in a valley basin at the foot of an active volcano - Guagua Pinchincha. Watching dancers whirling and dipping with such energy was dizzying.

Or was it the thin air of this capital city that lies at an altitude of over 9,300 feet?

Taki-an, Chiran, Kyushu, Japan

The winter chill began to dissipate as we cupped frozen fingers around the ceramic hibachi. Filled with glowing charcoal embers, it was the only heat source in the room. Steaming cups of frothy green tea were set on the tansu (low table). A white velvet light diffused through the delicate paper shoji. Yet the screens provided little protection from the harsh seasonal cold.

On one wall hung a banner containing a favorite poem, written in hiragana script. Hand painted sliding doors (fusuma) enclosed little storage spaces tucked high above a window casing.

The muted clink and scrape of serving could be heard over the flutter of conversation in Japanese.

This is the Taki-an restaurant, located in a converted samurai house built over 250 years ago. We sat on zabuton cushions eating the steaming soba noodles made of buckwheat flour. Sipped Chiran tea served in delicate hand-painted porcelain cups - these having neither handle nor saucer.

An earthenware plate of nigiri rice, shredded daikon and cold spinach sat beside a ceramic tray filled with pickled things (tsukemono). A mizuzashi of extra water to freshen the tea was placed in the wooden tray.

Each container, each piece was different, and designated for use with a particular food or drink. Yet the beauty and harmony of all the elements knit together to give a sense of elegant, rustic simplicity.

When asked of our Japanese host the translation of tsukemono, he replied ‘there is no English word for it’.

And, perhaps no English words adequately describe the enchantment of the experience. 

Museu de Sitio Intinan, Ecuador

High in the Andes mountains, a few kilometers north of Quito, Ecuador, visitors to the outdoor Museu de Sitio Intinan can stand with one foot in the northern hemisphere and one in the southern.

This is the exact site the Incas determined to be the Middle of the World in 1460 AD. Hundreds of years later, using sophisticated GPS equipment, scientists found their determination to be completely accurate.

Today, visitors can wander through a replica of an Inca village, led by a local guide who talks about the archaeology and culture of the native tribes. You can peer into an open Inca burial mound, or try your hand at using a real blowgun. (It’s heavier and harder than it looks).

There are several interactive displays lined up on the 3 inch wide red stripe that marks the location of the Equator. You can try to balance a raw egg on the head of nail – and receive a special certificate if you can do it.

Exactly on the Equator, water drains from a sink by falling straight down. In the northern hemisphere it drains counterclockwise. In the southern, it drains clockwise. The guide demonstrates this with just a bucket of water, a portable sink and a few green leaves.

At an altitude of over 7,000 feet the air is thin, cold and windy enough to whip a hat right off your head as you gaze at a display of a real shrunken head, or a preserved spider whose body is the size of a grown man’s hand.

Middle of the World City is not in many guidebooks. It’s not crowded so you can spend time admiring the wonders of this little-known part of the country. And if you feel hungry, try a bite of cuy, the local delicacy. What’s cuy? Cooked guinea pig.  

Dunkerron Castle, Kenmare, County Kerry, Ireland

Dating from the late 1190s, this castle became the chief stronghold of the O’Sullivan Mór clan. Then, nearly 450 years after it was built, the family destroyed the castle rather than risk its capture by Cromwell.

The site is located near the town of Kenmare in the southwest of Ireland. A “Jewel on the Ring of Kerry”, the town lies nestled between the mountains of Kerry and Cork.

Today, the castle ruins stand in a wooded glen, vegetation crawling up the stone edifice of what remains of a grand tower. Emerging from the stillness of the forest, these ruins are a breathtaking sight. One can almost conjure the history and romance of this powerful clan.

Lush green foliage, the gentle song of wrens wafting through the glade and pervasive mists of an early spring morning gives the site its unique Celtic flavor.

Yet for those of us descending from the O’Sullivan Baera branch, our stronghold is a pile of rock about waist high, situated near Dunboy Castle on the outskirts of Castletownbere. It was blown to bits in 1602 in the Seige of Dunboy. Move along folks, little to see here.

Since Dunkerron belongs to distant cousins from a remote past, I’ve decided to revise my personal history. Skipping a few generations and facts in order to claim the enchanting Dunkerron, I’ve decided to trace my lineage back to Eoghan, founder of all the O’Sullivan branches.

Now, that’s my castle ... Is é do bhaile do chaisleán

Happy St. Patrick’s Day to those who are Irish … and those who wish they were.

El Cemeterio de Buceo

In a quiet corner of Montevideo, Uruguay, lies the municipal cemetery of Buceo, the oldest burying ground in the city. Built in 1835, it lies across the road from the lively, sandy beaches of the Rio de la Plata.

Much of it is laid out in grid-like fashion, its lanes bordered with palm trees, evergreens and flowering shrubs. Visitors wandering through the park-like necropolis encounter ornately carved white marble monuments, garnished with flowers. Here and there a statue (angel, saint, anchor, crucifix) pokes upward through the jumbled maze of marble, granite and bronze.

In this cluttered grove of elaborate monuments, one grave stands out. Not part of any row, column or grid, it endures alone. Near no trees, there is no shade to provide cool relief from the blazing sun.

She lies unadorned on a flat sheet of bronze, spread over a granite slab. Her procumbent body emerges from the smooth surface in high relief. Curled on her right side she lies in a fetal position; face blurred in a mass of tangled hair. Who is she?

Head cradled in her arms, the fingers flex to graze her tender flesh. A delicate shoulder emerges gracefully from the folds of her sleeveless dress. The hem of a garment flows to cover her heels. Only the toes are seen arched gracefully.  Is she asleep?

Grass fringing the grey stone slab has yellowed; died thirsting for rains that never came. Debris from dead vegetation encircles her neck like a garland.  The only green is the patina covering her bronze flesh and flowing dress. Does she grieve for someone, or is she to be grieved?

A marker inscribed with the name and profession of the occupant is the only decoration. There are no dates of birth or death. One is not able to tell whether the occupant is present or yet to arrive. Is she the guardian or the lost?

Gazing at her crumpled figure lying flat against the slab, ones eyes and the heart are drawn to the earth, rather than aspiring to heavenly heights. Is this the vision of death? It is faceless, nameless. At once peaceful and fearful, it is not grand. Angelic intermediaries between heaven and earth do not surround it. There are no florid architectural devices. Stunning in its simplicity, it stands alone.

And so do we.