Moving on

Como vuela el tiempo! So much has happened since I last wrote, nearly two months ago. I have a thousand stories to tell, but for now, a recap of Buenos Aires. In brief, I spent the month of June:

1) teaching English to precious little ones at a community center,

2) playing chess and dancing tango with a cute French boy,

3) practicing guitar in my tiny little bedroom,
4) watching the World Cup in corner cafes and outdoor ampitheaters,

5) and cooking and eating and hanging out with my two best chicas, Kenyon and Natalia

Because of all of this, and mostly number 5, saying goodbye to Buenos Aires was sad. I had a nice little life there for a while, spending my time in both unexpected and very familiar pursuits, with muy buena gente.



Emotionally, my two months there were the most turbulent part of my year abroad. It took me a while to find my place in that city, and the experience finally convinced me that I'm much happier living in quieter, greener places. There are times I wonder if I wouldn't have been better off moving on much sooner, to check out other parts of Argentina or Bolivia, or to find another farm volunteership. Maybe my May and June would have been happier. But a smart and self-assured Swiss girl taught me that there's no point in wondering what could have been, because it wasn't.

Ultimately, I wanted to stay put for a while, and so I did. And because I did, I had a chance to try out a bit of a life in Buenos Aires. I got to dip my toes back into the classroom after a year away. I got to learn to dance the sexiest ballroom dance of all in its home city. I finally found my groove once I stopped thinking so much about taking advantage of Buenos Aires, and started taking advantage of my free time, and the opportunity to spend it doing things I love. On July 2, I boarded a bus, on my way to Ecuador. I certainly hadn't "done it all" in Buenos Aires, but in the end, for me, I did it right.

Reasons to Love Buenos Aires

I'm fully recovered from my initial city-shock now and soaking in the advantages of urban life, but one discomforting aspect of the city that I noticed upon returning here a few weeks ago, and which I still struggle with, is the overwhelming presence of consumerism. I spent days holed up in my friend Andres's apartment, where I was staying, because, it seemed, to go outside meant to spend money. Of course, this isn't necessarily true, but after spending so much time on the farm, where I was only in the vicinity of commercial institutions once a week or less, and then in nomad mode, where purchases meant a heavier backpack, I found myself suddenly stable, and in the midst of seemingly endless opportunities for consumption. Not only that, but I also was reminded of how easily I fall under the spell of the wizards of retail. These days, my purchases are mostly of the edible variety, as I'm still trying to avoid collecting things which I'll need to find space for in my backpack someday soon. I frequently find, upon arriving home, that I have several bags of various food items hanging from my wrists. This discovery is somehow always surprising.

So in an attempt to overcome the temptation to buy, I set off the other day on a long walk, with the explicit intention to purchase nothing. With the Japanese Garden, several blocks to the north, in mind as my destination (I never did make it there), I went in search of those features of this city that define and enhance it.

I didn't have to look too hard. As I made my way north, through the neighborhoods of Almagro, Villa Crespo, and Palermo, I found Buenos Aires charm on nearly every corner. Here are the fruits of my latest afternoon stroll, and a few of the things that, for this girl, make this city special:

1) Free flowers! Okay, so technically this one involves consumption, but since there's no monetary transaction, let's let it slide. I had only walked a few blocks when I came to the "flower district," an intersection lined with flower shops, which I had passed before, and marvelled at, but which this time offered an important new discovery, which I think has changed my life here. Though it was the middle of the day, boxes of discarded flower bouquets and plant arrangement lined the streets and bordered the dumpsters. I'd been tempted by these flower stalls before, but, unable to reconcile a frivolous purchase of fleeting beauty with the nagging knowledge of the realities of the cut flower industry (pesticides, poor working conditions, etc.) in countries not so far away, I'd until now gone flowerless. Free, dumpster-bound flowers, however, posed less of an ethical hurdle, and so I rescued a still-beautiful bouquet of multi-colored daisies, which spent the day with me, riding around in my backpack (and are still, two days later, brightening up my room in yellow jug by the bed). Though surely not a feature unique to Buenos Aires, this floral free-for-all is a huge discovery--I have already started walking out of my way to pass by, and last night put together another bouquet to give to a friend I was meeting.







2) Old stuff: Cobblestone streets, antique subway cars, antique shops, old cars, nineteenth century architecture--history is everywhere in this city. Not just in the cute, touristy, historic neighborhoods like San Telmo, but all over the city. Cobblestones abound, peaking out here and there from under asphalt caps, or just as often, on proud display for blocks and blocks, in curved, fanning patterns or straightforward rows. Grand, ornate buildings with cornices and gargoyles and large wooden-shuttered windows provide a visual feast, and, though I didn't take it on this particular day, when I'm lucky I get to rest on the wooden benches of the 1920s-era cars of the A-line of the Subte (subway). These still-functioning relics make the city's distant past seem not so far off.




3) Street art: Again, all over the place. Vibrant, wacky creatures, political murals, artistic graffiti tags--they're everywhere, making a walk through the city like navigating a huge, labyrinthine art gallery.



4) Used books: Okay, so another questionable inclusion in this supposedly non-commercial list, but they're used, which in my mind is different, and I have somehow successfully resisted purchasing even a single one. There are rows of stalls lining Parque Centenario, where I go running each day, filling up a pocket of Parque Rivadavia, five blocks west of me, and along a median on Avenida Santa Fe, in Palermo, among other places, I'm sure. Though I haven't been buying books, I love browsing, and the very presence of so many yellowed, crinkly pages all over the place is reassuring.



5) Verdulerias: Fruits and vegetables are so much more alive when displayed on street corners in stacks of rainbow-hued crates. These I do purchase from, daily even, but also find it a soul-warming pleasure to walk by and absorb the vibrant energy of so much fresh produce.


6) Balcones y Terrazas: Especially after being a New Yorker for five years, I have a keen appreciation for the urban 'backyard' known as the balcony. While apartment searching a few weeks ago, it was all I could do not to exclaim out loud in excitement upon being shown the terrace, rooftop, or balcony. Only after visiting four or five apartments, all of which had one or more of these, that I realized that what in my city is practically an urban myth, is considered to be a human right here in Buenos Aires.

Each day I find new things to add to this list. I haven't completely cured my consumption blues, but at least, moving around with an eye out for the subtle beauty Buenos Aires has to offer, I've managed to hold on to a few more pesos.

Ghosts of Buenos Aires

I'm just recently emerging from a funk that I fell into upon returning to Buenos Aires. Last Sunday, after several days of drifting, unsure whether I was staying or leaving, and unable to muster enthusiasm about the many and various wonders of this city, unable to even call forth the excitement and pleasure I had so recently and consistently felt for travel, for adventure, for being abroad, I finally, mercifully, snapped out of it.

I had been staying for a few days with my friend Kenyon, in the charming barrio of San Telmo, and decided last Sunday, after spending way too much time inside watching movies, to get outside and see what there was to see. Right outside her building is a lively weekly craft fair, a dangerous spot to be living. I hadn't meant to seek solace in retail, but before I knew it, I had found a pair of handmade leather sandals that I couldn't resist, even though the temperatures around here continue to drop as winter sets in (I justified the purchase with visions of my upcoming trip to Colombia in August). I made a brief attempt to enter the madness of the Bicentennial events, set up along a closed-off avenue not too far away, but was immediately traumatized by the rushing current of stroller-pushing parents and their flag-toting children, and extracted myself as quickly as I entered.

I headed back to San Telmo, and by that time it had started to rain--the first real rain since I had arrived in Buenos Aires two weeks earlier. People out "paseando" took cover under awnings, umbrellas, and newspapers, and I was grateful to duck into the indoor antique market and wait out the storm digging for treasures and souvenirs. I began asking around for yerba tins, something like this to bring home as a souvenir, but I was soon sidetracked by a stall with two huge crates of old black and white photographs.

Forty-five minutes later, my hands full of other people's precious, faded memories, I was utterly transfixed. Unable to part with any of the gems that I had found, I finally pried myself away, and ended up spending as much on the photos as I had on the sandals. The images are incredible: Grandma crouching next to four little ones--all in bathing suits, sun-bronzed, squinting against the bright beach sun; two smiling women in the backseat of a twenties-era convertible, their male companion, seemingly oblivious to the camera, taking a swig from a bottle.



And my favorite: five well-dressed young folks, in their teens and young twenties, probably siblings, posing for a portrait. Each is looking in a different direction, and smirking in unavoidable delight at a shared private joke. The photo was taken probably seventy years ago, their hairstyles antiquated and their clothing old-fashioned, yet I couldn't help but smirk back, in knowing recognition of such a timeless game.



I found so many that called to me, for reasons both obvious and mysterious. The shopkeeper, a middle-aged woman who readily agreeing with me about the power and beauty of these simple snapshots, gave me a discount, and despite the fact that I still paid the equivalent of two nights at a hostel, the treasure was well worth it.



When I left the market, night had fallen and the rain was letting up. I found a nearby cafe, and over my beer and salad, sifted through the photos again, a smile lighting on my face as I studied each one. Beaches, vacations, car trips, family portraits--such typical subjects and settings, yet there was something inexplicably special about these images. Somehow, inexplicably, time-traveling to another time, to the Buenos Aires of unknown ghosts, the fog lifted, and life was good again.