I met the man of my dreams on the chairlift in Bariloche, the romantic Argentinean ski destination. When it is warm in the off-season, it has the feel of the Swiss Alps with a hint of the Virgin Islands and a Spanish sensibility mixed in. The chairlift led to the top of a mountain, where there is a vista of the world below that looks like Never Neverland.

I had noticed my mysterious chairlift companion while standing in the queue; he seemed to possess a South American pimp factor and a sharp sartorial taste, with his fetching leather vest and shoes. Then, fate had its way with me, and we were forced onto the chairlift together, to enjoy our ride to the top. He spoke as little English as I speak Spanish, so our communication was reminiscent of the scenes between Colin Firth and his cute Portuguese maid in Love Actually. It was a delightful struggle.

What a romantic story of first-meeting it would make, if we somehow end up together. He is coming to Miami on holiday in April. Maybe we will meet again, though I doubt there is anything as whimsical as a chairlift in Miami.

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