11/10/05
BUENOS AIRES, ARGENTINA

The travel jitters-- the shock that nobody called my bluff and as a result I'm in South America-- went away on the highway into the city. Buenos Aires looks bright and flat, full of trees, churches, and balconies. My hostel is in San Telmo, apparently the birthplace of tango, a neighborhood where the sidewalks are coming apart and the buildings are losing paint. These are colonial buildings on narrow stone streets, one side sunlit. You buy goods at hole-in-the-wall mercados, and you dodge the cars barreling around blind turns. It's an invigorating city. The locals are kind to my terrible Spanish.

It's not the Third World, because nobody carries stuff on their head, but it's not Europe either. Street markets sell knockoff clothing and weird brands-- a camera called "Skink"? The city is so busy that it looks chaotic. It smells like bus fumes and steak.

Politics are everywhere, judging by grafitti, posters, and doors labeled things like "Pueblo Peronista." A collapsed economy will do that, I guess. Today I happened across a socialist demonstration-- small, but with big flags and facing a wall of riot police. Leftists were getting "disappeared" only a couple decades ago, and here they are with hammer-and-sickle flags. It puts the American Left in perspective.

Random:

Public displays of affection/emotion border on the theatrical. Occasional wailing.
Favorite magazine title: "Muy Interesante."
The three food groups are pasta, pizza, and steak.