So, this is how I got to Buenos Aires: Business class. And yes, the seats did recline fully and no I didn't have to ask for the extra pillows. The only real complaint I had: they ran out of the cereal and fruit breakfast trays. Wait, breakfast doesn't come on a tray in Business; it comes on a white tablecloth and sleek, modern ceramic plates. They of course made up for the fact that I had to eat the hot breakfast with a liberal amount of champagne.
I don't think I had any real expectations before heading down here; after all, it is my first time in South America. Of course, everyone assured me that I was going to love it and that, like Paris, Buenos Aires was romantically, tragically beautiful and *very* European. I am not sure what that was supposed to mean, but I think they were alluding to the scarcity of rice and beans on restuarant menus and kitchen tables everywhere. My boss even scoffed at Caribbean cuisine the other day when we were discussing the Dominican Republic. Of course, they (everyone who had previously traveled to Buenos Aires) were right. I have never been to Paris - except for once in a dream when I ate mangoes on a hill overlooking a medieval Seine - but Buenos Aires is it's very own. European with a latin twist, maybe. Some areas are gorgeous.
And then, there is Almagro. In most tourist maps Almagro doesn't even show up. Why? Because Almagro is pointedly, proudly porteño. There are perhaps two tourist worthy landmarks in the area: Abasto Shopping (which is actually in the neighborhood that borders mine) and Las Violetas (decidedly one of the most beautiful cafes in the city). During the day Almagro is chalked full of middle class families, students, family run groceries, quaintly tucked away pastry shops, cobblers, laundry mats - full service - cafes selling coffee and medialunas, pizza shops selling fresh raviolis. Bus routes 146 and 105 screech down Diaz Velez and connect us to the pulsing city center at all hours. There is even the occasional botellero who clops by in the morning in his horse drawn buggy chocked full of botellas rescued from every curb, gutter and trashcan in a ten block radius. Doesn't it sound quaint?
My Aunt (Cookie for those of you who know her) thought so too. Imagine our surprise when we walked up to 4474 Diaz Velez for the first time. In fact, as soon as we got back on the SUBTE (subway) we swore a pact not to divulge any particular information regarding the location, the neighborhood or the house outside of pleasing generalities.
But the truth of the matter is, having just celebrated my one month anniversary here in Bs As, I've decided that Almagro isn't all that bad. Just give it a chance:
Please don't panic, Mom.
I know, right. Cookie's exact words: "You're living in the hood." And yes, Almagro is the hood, but it's my hood now. Being blue collar and middle class means that the majority of people who live and breath Buenos Aires live here and live like I'm living (maybe with a little less fiscal flexibility) with no complaints.
I see them when I go take my morning walk in Parque Centenario; I squeeze in beside them on the overly crowded city bus. I smile at the verdurero who I buy my vegetables from even on days when I am not buying anything; I watch them coming and going from the porch balcony on a lazy Sunday just like I watch my neighbors back home.
Sure, the accommodations are pretty Spartan by maybe even dorm standards. This is my bedroom window. I like to sleep with it open, but you can pretty much hear every word - or every wailing baby or angry wife - from the adjoining buildings that magically crop up in a crosshatching pattern around us. But on a cool, sunny morning at 7am there is nothing better than the sunlight, faint smell of the empanadería two shops down - maybe that is my imagination - and (again) the familiar screeching of bus 146 pulling up out front.
Okay, and the mattress is pretty terrible. I mean, it felt good that first night and maybe the second, but it really is a dreadful, spongy thing. Don't even get me started on the pillow. It is the most European thing I've found here in Buenos Aires... Like those tile floors? Cookie did too.
Taking it all in stride, I have to say that I would rather be living here - in what could reputably be called the *real* Bs As - than anywhere else in the city. Do I suspect everyone is trying to pick pocket me - yes. Do I walk quickly and with my best Argentine scowl at night - yes. Am I glad my big red door (that has been painted red three times) has three locks - yes. Does it all feel like home at the end of a day - you bet.
Happy to be here.
With my bubble.
-S
Vocabulario de la bitácora:
el botellero - n. a person that collects plastic bottles from the trash to be paid cash for recycling them.
la botella - n. a bottle
unas medialunas - n. small croissant like pastries (made either either butter or straight up lard) that are often eaten in triplets for breakfast with a coffee.
el verdurero - n. a man that sells vegetables; a green grocer.
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