Primero Saturday

It was only 11:00 am and I was already heading back north, walking Avenida Patricias out of La Boca, one of the most eccentric and southernmost barrios (neighborhood) in Buenas Aires. The sun was burning through the clouds for the first time since I arrived in Almargo, the barrio I am calling home for the next 7 weeks. But it has been no different here in La Boca, no in the rest of the region. Sante Fe Province, to the northwest, in fighting through a mass inundación: 40,000 people have been evacuated from their homes. The rains washed up so much garbage in the streets of Almagro last week that the people took to the streets banging pots and pans in a mass call for public services. They were clean by the time I arrived, but the rain poured on. Perhaps residents of Kansas City should take some notes from the porteños on how to get things done. Next time you crash into a pothole on 39th St. gather your friends and make some noise.
But protest wasn´t yet on my mind, a mantra lifted from the pages of the holy text ''Roughguide Phrasebook: Latin American Spanish'' was: ''¿podria decirlo despacio? ¿podria decirlo despacio?...'' En inglés: could you say it slowly? could you say it slowly? Words are tools; in my world right now I am not well equipped. My feet churn, the mantra rolls on and my eyes keep close watch. The terrain in this barrio is nothing like home. Of primary concern at that moment were the elevated sidewalks--sporadically elevated sidewalks. Cement flats four feet or so off the ground stretch out from various storefronts in no coherent pattern. Up the stairs...walk aways...down. This next polatform is low enough to jump to...the sun is shining, up I go. Now I have a tendency to take things in with an ewith what I´ll call an engineers perspective: what´s it here for? it´s function, it´s role? what does it do? how well? --To give you a little slice of what it is to be me--since I´ve been a small child I´ve been in the habit of evaluating and citiqueing the efficiency of streetslights as it relates to city planning. I´ve been known to get pretty caught up. Cool.-- On this day though I became bored very quickly with the why´s of the walks and admired instead the seeming like of purpose for these things and expanded the thought to my surroundings as a whole. I held the idea in contrast to the American imperative of uniformity and efficiency at the expense of character, of individuality. I swept myself away and as my mantral rolled on and I focused on these exotic caminos de gentes I nearly fell of one. Slow down.
Achieving balance is the most pressing dillema in my life here. At home the rhythm of my feet is therapeudic. Walking is often the only way I can think clearly. Somehow the physical contract between the earth and myself calms the mind and brings semblence to my all too often chaotic mental life. But here it´s hard to find my stride. I´ve remembered my compass today; I am northbound; but I´ve forgotten how to walk.
Regardless, I put one foot in front of the other and tredge on. The near fall wakes me...and I am back in La Boca two hours previous.
The dogs here are not so well behaved as they are in Almagro. My entry into the barrio was down a barren street, wild grass growing helter skelter to my left--a blank spot on my city map--weeds I´ve never seen before pushing through cracks in the cobbled Calle Irala. I knew I was heading in the right direction when I saw La Bombedera five or six blocks ahead. La Bombedera is the home stadium of the Boca Juniors, arguably the best soccer club in all of Argentina. But my mind wasn´t on fútbol. La Boca has a reputation for eccentricity and barrio pride. At various times in its history its residents attempted to cede from Buenos Aires. It never happened for the people, but in my wandering mind the dogs might have won their own battle.
I met the representatives of the canine community before those of the human. They were free but civil, not wholly domesticated, but not ferral. As I walked this barren stretch of land I imagined--in true porteño fashion--a canine revolution, a battle for four legged independence; and I imagined their revolutionary leader: a noble welsch corgie. Based on the physique of these muts, his valor ensured the success of his progeny for generations. But enough of dogs and my strange imagination.
La Boca is a beautiful place. Look it up. I haven´t the endurance nor the ability to lay it out in words right now. But I saw it. I knew it, sitting there on that wall watching a man and a woman dance an awkward tango at 10:00am. It was an engaging scene: clotheslines strung from pink apartment to orange, women hanging clothes and sweeping stoops, children shrieking as they cahed each other through a tangle of people and trees, tourists aimless and old, men holding numbered signs to keep the respective herds together , both deterring and encouraging these lucrative wanderers to puruse the boothes chalked full of commemerative La Boca handicarafts, peruvian woven goods and emblematic tango figurines, while the well dressed but entirely mediocre dancers slide along an ancient cobbled square in slick shoes and high heels...a real amalgam of life. Oh, and I, legs swinging from the ancient wall, crashing back into myself as the speakers crack, the CD skips and the dance fizzles and stops.
Back on the Avenida Patricias, Northbound, my boots clap firmly on the tiled sidewalk and I too stop. A line from the book I was reading the night before creeps into my mind: ''We are confused and brilliant and stupid, lost clumps of living ash.'' I disgard my mantra, reserving only the last word, ''despacio'', and shake off the resin of disillusionment that lingers from the square in La Boca.
It is easy to fall into the trap of classifying everyone and everything one sees meandering in unfamiliar places, too easy to partition the ¨real¨ the other, ¨tourists¨ and self, ''authentic'' from ''inauthentic'' experience. But while it may be the case that these divisions do have a place in the world they cannot now in mine. I am in a sea of people and symbols I cannot read. Experience is all I have. And though I continued to move through Buenos Aires alone late into the night, and though my legs and mind throbbed by sunset, I drove forward with ease and didn´t fall until I hit the bed that night.

That really only brings me up to about 11:00am that first Sasturday. I don't have it in me to write well about the rest but I can offer a quick synopsis. The northbound trip led to the South America explorers club--I'm a member so I decided to check it out and introduce myself. It's a great place. English speaking internationals all over, food on the stove, books, computers. Good stuff. I'll make some friends here for sure. After that I walked though El Centro, the city center and on my way to school where I was to meet a woman that was going too take me Palermo Viejo. On the way a ran into a political demostration on Av. 9 de Julio. Hundreds of Peronists banging drums, waving flags, yelling into megaphones. Elections are coming up. I hung around awhile and checked it out. My school is located in the Plaza de Congresso, I have pictures on the way. So I walked there and walked around there. Hugo Chavez was here about one month ago and his presence is still felt. Pictures. Then I was off to Palermo Viejo with Marianna. She's a former teacher at the school. She was fresh off the plane from Brazil. Very nice lady, probably late twenties. She spoke slow spanish and I actually understood most of it. This part of toen is one of the most historic and inportant in Buenos Aires. The Argentine design movement is located here. Artists, performers, actors, architects. This is the place to be. Again, too much to tell in detail now. But long story short, I got a three hour history lesson, one on one as we walked the crowded streets drinking coffee and wine. After a long walk home I decided to finishh this big day with a big meal. Parrilla--Argentine cuisine. Parrilla is meat-centric, slow roasted goodness. I ordered Parrilla libre y ensalada completa and a bottle of red wine, a multi-course experience. It went as follows: empenada carne, chorizo, blood sausage, papas fritas, chinchurones, liver, mollejas (sweetbreads),asado costillo (a type of beef ribs), bontiola (roast pork), and matambre (delicate, slow roasted skirt steak. Good stuff. I slept well

My photo plans have been foiled again. I'll keep trying.

Take care friends!