And So It Really Began

At ten minutes to two on my third day in Buenos Aires my phone is ringing and groggily I step out of bed, steady myself and pick up the unfamiliar number. It’s Mariana. Hey! She says. My throat is dry and I scratch out a fairly enthusiastic hello. You sleepin? Me? No. I mean yeah but now I’m up. What’s up? You wanna hang out? I’m in your neighborhood down the street. And I picture an angel in a phone booth, and there is soft lighting as if in a T.V. interview and she has a big smile on her face and these big white wings that are all scrunched in this phone booth while she’s sitting down talking to me. I’ve got class right now I tell her. Oh. Well I thought we could hang out. Unnecessary dramatic pause. But I guess I can run around the mall alone. I try and think logically, as logically as one can for being up for forty-three seconds.

My class already started and will be half-way done by the time I get there anyways. And this is probably my only chance to see this girl. Screw it I’ll meet you. Great decision. Mentally I’m complimenting myself and I’m in a room with several gentleman and it’s smoky and they’re all holding brandy glasses and wearing vests and bow-ties and are mustached and bearded and nodding and bowing and smiling and I smile and they’re all congratulating me on my decision and I tell them the secret to making good decisions is to do it in the first minute of your day, that very crucial first sixty-seconds, when as I have just demonstrated your decision making capabilities are ultimately superior to those once you can think clearly and incorporate reason and rationale. Mariana responds on the other end and the nice men disappear in a flash. Great! Gimme like fifteen minutes I say. We agree to meet at the first store on the left-hand side of the entrance to the Alto Palermo mall. I do morning things (in the afternoon), wash my face and drink some water and peel open one of the bananas I got and pour and drink a glass of milk and brush my teeth and make my hair kinda messy and slip on some jeans and a belt and a shirt and a little band I wear on my wrist and in two blocks time I’m giving her a hug and a peck on the cheek.

We walk through and pass a lot of stores and we’re talking about some things but nothing relevant I suppose and I ask her what she’s looking for and she says she always gets rings from this mall and we start to look for rings but stop into this store that sells underwear and lingerie. I look at some and she looks at some and we tell each other which ones we like for the other and I don’t really need any but you can always have more underwear and so I buy the ones she liked which I guess I liked too and she gets a bra and panties and we pay and she jokes Hi I’m Mariana nice to meet you let’s go underwear shopping. Afterwards underwear in-hand we walk through and go into a store here and one there and look at things and pick them up and look at prices and mostly it’s her and she tries a couple shoes but doesn’t get them.

We walk through the mall and there’s a huge image, I mean this monstrous billboard of their God, the person that Argentineans apparently worship more than anyone or anything, a deity of the deities, a man amongst children, none other than, well, Robbie Williams. I look at him and it’s like one of those paintings that wherever you’re standing it looks like the subject is looking right at you, and here Robbie is looking right at me. I mean yeah he’s British and sings in English, but here his music is not to be blasphemously thought cheesy-pop for school girls, but The Word.

We finally find this ring place, but once at the ring place and after Mariana’s tried on like three different rings, nothing appeals to her and I tell her we need to eat. Mariani’s! Mariana says there’s a place called Mariani’s that she always goes to with her family and it’s the most amazing buffet with everything I would ever want. I tell her I despise buffets, because I get confused and eat too many different things and would rather just have one good meal but she insists that she hates them too but this is different. So different. So I suggest we walk, she says it’s by this street Avenida Scalabrini Ortiz and we need to take to the Subte. I like walking but have yet to take the metro here so we walk underground and in line to buy tickets and gazing at the map I see that we’re only one stop away and suggest walking and she says okay she thought it was like three stops away.

So we walk and it’s a little breezy and cloudy and cool and she says she’s cold but I’m fine and she’s wearing flip flops and a thin yellow sweater and she lifts it up to show me this little black lingerie top she has on that she fills in nicely and I nod my head to confirm that she should be cold and I suggest we stop at my place to get a hoody first and she thinks and says maybe but then decides to tough it out. We get to Mariani’s and she’s jumping around saying this is it and I take out a camera and tell her to stand in front of the sign and she smiles that smile that millions of people have seen her do on her show and we walk inside but they’ve stopped serving lunch now, and don’t start dinner for a bit. She pleads her case to the mozo but nothing and we’re out on the street and we hop inside a locutorio and check email.

I have some messages from friends and read a couple briefly and she’s seeing if there is anything from her agent and I tell her I’m going to step outside and wait. Next door on the busy avenue there’s three little steps and I sit down on the middle one. I take a deep breath and look at the evenly spaced trees, mirroring Paris. With each gust of the wind people breeze by and there’s a man walking six dogs, real dogs not toy dogs, labs and retrievers and such, and I look down at them and their tongues are hanging out and I bet if we could talk they’d have stories too, maybe not all of them but maybe five of the six and I see my self sitting at a table with a coffee in front and they all have bones except for the one because you only get something if you have stories to tell and we’re all chatting and laughing and there is a lot of nodding going on. They scatter by and I’ve been cheated of my stories, for now, and someone’s car has turned off and they’re distressed trying to start it and all the cars behind honk their horns and an especially pleasant taxista sticks his head out the window and kindly delivers appropriate obscenities.

There you are! I get up and we start walking backs towards Alto Palermo and I suggest we try and find this restaurant I passed the other day and she says sure and so we turn off Avenida de Sante Fe and west onto Araoz and then south onto Guemes and walk a few blocks but I don’t see it and I know it’s around and I was only a few blocks from my place when I spotted it but it’s not on this street so we turn off and then try Charcas and then Mansilla and then Paraguay and nothing and now she’s hungry and cold and I’m hungry and annoyed so we decide to stop into this café, a pizza place a couple blocks down from the Alto Palermo mall and my place and we’re back to Avenida de Sante Fe and after all that.

We take turns walking down this tiny narrow spiral staircase to get to this tiny narrow hallway leading to these tiny narrow bathrooms to wash our relatively normal-sized hands. Back upstairs I look at the menu and study it and realize that this will be my first sit-down meal in Buenos Aires, and it’s fitting to be in a pizzeria because it seems like there is one on every block. We order the special pizza of the day and I get a mineral water and she gets a Coke. I look out the window and there are people walking by, a gust of wind kicks up some leaves and a big bus drives by and there’s a huge picture of Robbie Williams looking at us as we wait in the pizzeria and he doesn’t let his eyes off us until the Avenue curves and finally he’s out of sight and I ease up a little. The waiter comes out with a pressed towel around his arm and a round shiny tray and two Collins glasses and a large bottle of mineral water and a little swivel bottle of Coke. He puts her glass down and then my glass down and then pours her Coke filling the glass one-third full and then pours my mineral water a third-full, bows and walks away and that ends the mini-performance and all for us and I sorta want to clap but don’t.

We talk about aspirations and plans and goals and then our pizza arrives and the waiter has the pizza on a big tray and he places it down and takes the a large food-turner (commonly mistaken for a spatula, but it’s not) and a sort of spoon thing and serves her slice first with a romantic, dramatic swoop of the slice into the air so that the stringy cheese can say goodbye to the rest of the pizza and it does and it’s on her plate and then my slice and the swoop as if offering my slice to the heavens and pizza Gods above and then it finds it’s way on my plate and each slice has exactly one green olive placed exactly in the center.

Mirroring Mariana’s proper etiquette I take out a fork and knife and begin cutting away and eating and it’s yummy, the dough has a light crunch on the outside but is fluffy, warm, soft and light inside. I remember this girl once saying that if you use a knife and fork for pizza, it looses exactly fifty-percent of it’s flavor, and I don’t remember if she was drunk, or I was drunk, but there was definitely some inebriation because there had to be, and I asked her how she could be so sure of such an exact percentage, and she looked at me like I was crazy and said that it was well known scientific fact. Cutting sandwiches diagonally was thirty-percent. Or maybe pizza thirty and sandwiches fifty. Anyways I bite and look and wonder if I’m depriving myself of taste, and then I forget about the whole thing and begin cutting another piece.

I think the pizza is great but has way too much cheese for my taste and so I take some off, and Mariana thinks it’s great but has way too much bread in relation to cheese and so she eats all the cheese and leaves like half of the bread on her plate and takes her next slice. I tell her she should just eat all the cheese and me all the dough and sauce and she laughs but I’m totally serious. When we’re done there’s enough cheese on my plate for another half-pizza and enough dough on hers to go under it and she says we should assemble it back and ask for half our money back. I laugh but really I’m still hungry and looking at her dough, and she’s smiling but really looking at my cheese, and we both are smiling and enviously admiring the plates in front of each other and then the waiter pops by and asks us if we’re done and we simultaneously say yes so he picks up the plates and it was great and no, no dessert but thanks and just the check.

I nab the check when the waiter brings it and pay the bill and she puts up a faux(?) fit and I tell her she’s getting dessert. She says I need to try facturas which are like these croissant, pastry-like things, and that I need to try alfajores (cookies with filling) from Havana, which is like the Starbucks of Buenos Aires. Basically there’s one on every corner, but they’re great and so we decided to go to the Havana in Alto Palermo, there’s this little coffee stand with three little stools and we go and occupy two of them. She doesn’t drink coffee only tea, but I insist that she get a coffee and its café con leche times two and we get one of the famous alfajores to split.

The barista prepares our coffees to order, and serves them on these little trays with three small cups, one with mineral water, one with orange juice, and one filled with two little crisp chocolate-covered cookies, and all this comes with every order of coffee. Mariana suggests we get a Myspace picture of my first alfajor and Havana experience and takes out her camera and extends her arm and gets one of the two of us. I take out my camera and ask the woman behind the counter if she can take a picture and bashfully she says she doesn’t want to ruin my camera and I insist and she takes it and asks us if we’re ready and sort just holds the camera and we smile and then she just hands it back to me and Mariana and I are confused and we asked her if she took the picture and she just sort of smiles and I double-check and no, no picture. I ask her to take it again and she insists she doesn’t want to ruin my camera and then I realize that she’s probably never taken a picture before and I show her where to push and she takes the picture and it turns out great and I show it to her and she proudly smiles.

The alfajor melts in my mouth and I shoot back my coffee, which is tiny by American standards, little more than an espresso. I’m going to order another but Mariana gives me hers and says she’s already feeling it and it’s so strong and I don’t put up much resistance and savor each sip, or I should say, both sips. Mariana pays for the coffee and It’s now close to six o’clock and she has her cousins picking her up soon and I tell her we need to hang out again but she says it will be tough with her limited time and she needs to see her family but that she’ll be back in December and then it’s for a month not four days and I think to myself I’ll be back in California, or in Oregon celebrating Christmas with my family. I tell her to call me if she gets a chance this trip and she smiles and says she’ll try but I doubt it and we part.

I sit for a few minutes on the stool, I think about our exchanges, I think I was especially conscious of every time she grabbed my arm and emphatically pointed something out, or gave that smile with the eyes that glittered. I ask for another coffee and the woman thinks I’m crazy and I think about telling her that these three coffees are smaller than one I drink back home but I’m lazy and I just smile and she makes it. I try and take inventory on the afternoon, and I realize that the futbol game I was gonna play in is going on right now, and that I missed that but I think it was worth it, I had fun and walked some streets and ate in a restaurant for my first time and I finish the second gulp of my contemptuously small but strong coffee and there are just some grounds left in the cup and I put it down and walk out of Alto Palermo.

Outside it’s gotten colder, the wind gusts strongly and I look to the sky but I don’t think it’s going to rain. I decide I need to find a ferreteria or hardware store so I can get a converter for my laptop. I hop into a pharmacy on the corner and ask where I can find one, and am given instructions for a place about five blocks north of my place and so I head off and walk down Guemes and I find the place and I walk in and see they have one of those little ticket-holder things where you pull a number and wait your turn and there’s this big display indicating whose turn it is, and the place is basically like a Home Depot, but like 1/32 of the size.

When it comes to me I formulate with good cause my inquiries and they have a converter and I buy it and go home and realize that this only is made for plugs with two tongs and my laptop has three and it’s back in the box for the converter and down Guemes for me and into the ferreteria for both and back to the same guy and I explain my dilemma and he nods and says no pasa nada and tells me not to worry and that I can just flip my plug and plug in two of the three tongs and it will work just fine and I ask if he’s sure and he says not to worry and so I thank him and go back home, and out the box again for the converter, and I do what the guy says and the light on my laptop goes on! For about three seconds. Then it’s off and won’t go back on again and I realize that it probably blew a fuse or some other erroneous electronic babble something. I want to cry but I don’t, and it’s back into the box for the converter and down Guemes for me and back to the ferreteria for both and the doors are closed and the lights are out and if I was a dog I’d whimper, but I’m not so I just sort of moan, I’m not sure if it was audible or mental, but there was some moaning, and defeated, body weak and limp, I crawl back home.

At home I scamper in and place the converter on the bar-top (sounds fancier than it is, seriously). I open the fridge and eat a handful of almonds and then another. I open a yogurt with fruit-on-the-bottom and it’s peach and I lap it up and then open another, an unidentifiably sweet, fruitish, berryish, heavily colored and saccharin flavored thing. I grab a bowl and pour in some milk and cereal and then another bowl and I think I’m going to turn on the radio but as soon as I do it’s a Robbie Williams song and I shut it off and I go to lie on my bed. While I’m on my bed I’m looking at the map and realize that I came within a block, on three separate occasions, of the plaza where the restaurant I wanted to go with Mariana was. I toss the map on the floor and lie on my side and stare at nothing in particular.

When I wake up my eyes cringe and the sun is beaming in and I try to get up but I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck and I lie back down and close my eyes. When I awake again it’s mainly because I have to pee and I crawl out of bed and do the necessary and I think if I had a million bucks in my hands and someone told me I either had to hold it for ten more minutes or could go now but had to give them all the money I’d probably have thrown the money at them and darted into the bathroom.

I wash my face and look at the clock and it’s one in the afternoon and I do the math and realize I just slept for fifteen hours. My Spanish class has just started and I lay down on the futon and try to think if I had any assignments to do, and I think back to last night and the ferreteria and turn onto my side and look at the stupid converter. When I wake up it’s just past two and I think this is getting ridiculous and I dart out and turn on the tap and fill a glass and drink thirstily and amazingly I haven’t gotten the runs or a stomach ache or anything and maybe that agent was right after-all, the water seems drinkable. I sit on one of the barstools and try to think why I’m so tired. Quickly jet-lag pops into my mind, and time difference, and I think it’s only 10a.m. in LA and that’s not so bad.

If someone made me, I mean absolutely forced me, to explain in one word why traveling and getting out of what you know is so important, I would hesitantly, grudgingly answer change. Some people just get excited when they buy a new comforter for their bed, or a new painting for their room, and yet others when they discover a new restaurant or see a foreign film. In about sixty hours my mind, body and senses have been assaulted by change and it’s all very exciting. Everything’s different. The air is different, and the pollutants and humidity or dryness. The water is different with all it’s microorganisms and parasites and bacteria. And I’ve been given that new comforter, and sheets and bed to go with it. I’ve been given a new apartment and a new neighborhood and a new language and new food and new restaurants and here all the films are foreign to me and everything is basically change-to-the-extreme.

Even things that are routine are different. You go to the supermarket, but here you’re given a new market and a new system and totally different products and brands and a new layout. You go to the gym but here there’s different equipment and classes and kinds of people that go. You get your morning coffee and pastry and the coffee is different, it tastes different and is served differently and your pastry can be the same thing but it won’t taste the same. Somewhere a farmer is planting grain, and this grain grows in soil with different minerals and ratios of them and it’s more or less fertile, and this grain is cut and fed to a chicken who hungrily (mindlessly?) pecks away. The chicken lays an egg that doesn’t quite taste the same, and it’s properly treated and shipped for consumption, used in conjunction with other ingredients that go into making this pastry that will taste, to a greater or lesser degree, different than any pastry I eat back home, even if it’s the same thing. Apple pie in the Argentina, for better or worse, will taste different than apple pie back home (If I was a politician I already see a neo-con attack on this: “he even tried to suggest that apple pie could be better in another country!” and this of course would be spun to show my lack of “faith” and “values”). But I digress, basically everything is different, there is so much change, and that is what makes it so exciting. I also think all the change has taken it’s toll on my body and this is how I justify to myself sleeping off half the day.

I feel in many ways as if I’m in a new relationship. When you enter a new relationship everything that is new, novel, is exciting. First phone calls and kisses give you butterflies in your stomach and a nervous feeling and you’re all giddy. That’s what it’s like in a new environment, and you can appreciate a new cityscape just like you can appreciate some new person’s appearance, and in both cases you’re striving to reach a comfort zone, which eventually leads to taking things for granted. Just like a couple having a conversation-less meal, or someone walking or commuting home and not seeing what’s around them, and we need to get to the point where we’re always consciously appreciating things.

Every time I leave the city I grew up in, and come back, even if just for just a week or even a weekend, I notice something new, and travel allows for excitement by means of change, by giving us a new environment, a new relationship. Some people reach a point where they don’t want that excitement through change, and they want to settle or get “married” to their environment. Even still, couples will need to take vacations, getaways, and experience excitement through means of change by traveling.

Anyway I look out my window and it’s a gorgeous day, warm sun and blue sky and I dress accordingly and have a banana and a bowl of milk and cereal and then a handful of the cereal dry and I put the boxes away and then open them again and another handful and then the raw Chilean almonds that are a little softer and then I wash a big red apple to take with me. I slip on my backpack and turn the key twice in the lock to open the door and turn the key twice in the door to lock it and walk down the two flights of stairs and turn the lock to the front door to open it and turn the lock once back to close it and I feel like chucking my keys in the street and using a baseball bat to smash open the glass door in front next time and kicking down my own door but then black exhaust kicks out into my face from a bus and I smell the diesel-soot and I begin walking if only to escape the black cloud.

I turn right off Guemes onto Avenida Coronel Diaz and walk the one block down to Avenida de Sante Fe and then it’s straight for like twelve blocks until Junin and then nine more blocks to our special X-men campus. On Sante Fe I pass a café and a newsstand and someone’s selling flowers that smell sweet and then Havana and then Aroma which is a Euro-sleek coffee and gelado place. I’m walking by another of the green newsstands and this woman who must be like eighty years old and sorta resembles Barbara Bush collapses onto the magazines and I jump! Grab her and try to steady her and all the magazines are sliding out from under her and her husband or equally old companion is just realizing that something is happening and turns and tries to process the sight in front of him and I’m holding the woman up by her arm and she’s just staring straight but as if at nothing and I think she’s shocked, and I’m shocked, and just looking at her and she’s stiff and doesn’t move and before I know it a couple of policemen are holding her up and one takes her arm from me and I don’t say anything and now there’s a crowd and they’re all mumbling and the old man is looking at her and still trying to process everything and the woman is stone faced and my heart is beating and I don’t think she’s moved and the cops are screaming things at each other helping her up and still this empty blank look and I think there’s probably nothing else I can do and so I walk off.

I walk past boutiques and cafés that I tell myself I’ll try and I read street signs and mumble them under my breath and I hear someone talking into their cell-phone saying no es nada but in this heavily accented cut Rio Platense Porteno way that comes out noehn’a and I mumble noehn’a about seven times under my breath until I get it just about right. I walk by this heavily pregnant woman and I think she looks beautiful and I think of my sister when she was pregnant and I thought she was the most beautiful thing ever and if I could have seen my mom pregnant I’m sure I would have thought the same thing and what can be more beautiful than giving life?

While I’m walking I stop for a second and think how amazing it is to be able to walk everywhere. In Los Angeles you get in your car for everything and I feel as a result you’re cut off. The car becomes a casket because you’re trapped inside and outside there is all this life going on but you’re just cut-off. There’s no spontaneity, you get in with a place in mind, maybe a restaurant or the mall or the supermarket or something, and you drive over and park and do your thing and then back in the car and then you’re back home and it’s all predetermined! Today I saw the newsstands and smelled the flowers and heard the noehn’a and there was that excitement with the lady and all these interesting people scattering by and I felt alive. I cut right onto Junin and I think back to the old woman and I just keep remembering her cold frozen eyes and that gaze and how stiff her body seemed and I all I can think to myself is May Robbie be with her.

When I’m at campus I get into my class that’s already started and the teacher is this woman who looks like she should be a librarian, and she wears these huge, humongous, gigantic, enormous (and like three more analogous words), glasses that make her eyes look like little peas behind these two magnifying glasses. She’s really nice but utterly boring and I ignore most of the lesson and so have the other kids, because mainly we’re supposed to be making some abstruse, highly-perplexing list of “things you might find in a drawer.” What! What drawer? What things? What is the point of the exercise? Couldn’t she have thought of something slightly more stimulating than listing drawer components?

During our break we’re sitting in the cafeteria and I bite into a toasted jamon y queso (ham n’ cheese) sandwich. It’s pretty tasty and I say it’s pretty tasty. This tall, lanky, curly-haired kid from Berkeley says Dude those are like tasty for the first week you’re here. Then he tells me that they get old fast. Real fast. And I bite, and savor, and some other kids gather around me with a conspiring air. Well what do you think? they ask. Think of what? I inquire. Our teacher! She’s whatever I say. She blows says this one young Harvard-girl. She must go! Says the girl from Belgium in a heavy French accent. The others nod and agree and it’s decided that something must be done. We go back to class for the remaining hour and assemble outside just after. The girl from Belgium gets the dean of the language school. Protests are made and arguments and there’s some nodding and a show of hands and before we know it we’ve thrown a coup and replaced our teacher! The day after tomorrow you will switch with the other class says the dean. Smiles around and the director leaves and one girl says she feels bad and we all nod and then the girl from Belgium says she doesn’t and then we all nod and then disassemble.

The young Harvard-girl and her young Harvard-guy friend and I decide to walk together because we all have to go see the director of the program to ask basic questions and the office is a fifteen-minute walk from campus and we decide to walk together and when we step outside it’s pouring rain and the sun has gone and it’s windy and cool and we’re in shock. Serious shock. It was like eighty-degrees without a cloud in the sky. The girl is prepared and takes out a poncho, but me and the guy have nothing and I say wait a sec and hop into the cafeteria and ask if they can get me the biggest trash bag they have and I get one and rip a hole in the top big enough for my head and two small ones for my hands and we’re off, with young Harvard-kid in flip-flops sans umbrella, young Harvard-girl in a poncho, and me wearing the latest trash fashion. I suppose if someone wanted, they could, rather erroneously, point to me and say “white-trash.”

We walk and it’s really coming down and my head is soaking wet and young Harvard-kid hops into a kiosco and asks if they have umbrella’s and no until we find one that does and he buys one and we continue walking. We walk by an umbrella that has been torn inside-out and is all broken and kind of laugh and say that sucks. The gusts pick up and we can barely see it’s coming down so hard and then whoomp! A gust of wind smashes into us and we hear some kind of sound and I look back and young Harvard-kid is trying to adjust and toy with his umbrella that is now broken, inside-out. He tries to pop it back into place and it’s still pouring down on us and the umbrella is broken beyond repair and he chucks it and young Harvard-girl and I look at each other and say that sucks.

We get to the building on Avenida de Mayo and it’s beautiful and built in this French style and inside we go up this marvelous spiral-staircase to the fourth-floor and the Harvard-kids go first and are done and are off to make their tango class. The office is tiny and painted bright green. I take off my trash bag and the director laughs and asks condescendingly is it raining? And this as I try and rub out all the water in my hair and am dripping everywhere. I sit and she’s seated and I’m wearing a blue tee-shirt and she says my eyes seem blue today, not green and I tell her they change with what I wear and she laughs and says nonsense. I try to explain that if I wear green they seem more green, and blue=blue, and gray and they’re more grayish and she laughs and doesn’t really buy into it. I ask her some things and we sit and talk for fifteen minutes and then I’m done and she says she’s really craving a cigarette and will I step out in the hall with her while she has a smoke and yes and we’re out and she lights and inhales and exhales and she smiles and I smile.

She tells me of the history of the building and says that on the bottom floor there are statues and designs on the wall and it’s supposed to represent hell. She says there’s a big cupola at the top and there are angels and clouds and etchings of heaven things and that we’re in purgatory. I laugh and she says en serio! I ask her what the “purgatory” things are and she takes an inhale and smiles and blows smoke out slowly and smiles and says “there are purgatory things.” I smile and leave the vague elusive answer to float up into the heavens and the clouds and the etchings.

I’m in a cab and heading home, I had the director call me one because I thought the trash bag was fun for fifteen-minutes but not for the thirty-minute walk back home. The cab driver snickers out at the traffic and out at people on the street and asks me where I’m from. What do you think? I ask. He shrugs and snickers and says how the hell am I supposed to know. I don’t really say anything because I was told to try and avoid letting people know I was American if possible. I say nothing and he says England. I say nothing but think the pound is stronger than the dollar and that financially I’m probably more of a target and politically it’s at least close to equal. France he says. This is better but then I think what if he asks me a bunch of France questions and I falter, or on the off chance he can chat me up in French my accent will shine through in a heartbeat.

Estados Unidos I finally acknowledge. He nods and snickers and screams out obscenities at the car in front of him and says Argentineans are the dumbest people on the planet. I’m a little surprised and he says they’re all crooks. He asks me what I think. A test? I remember the Berkeley-kid saying that his friend was coming from the airport on his first day, and either the cabbie was in on it, or the mafia overheard on the dispatch that they were probably tapped into, but at a red-light three men came up to the cab and one hit the driver over the head and they effectively kidnapped the kid at gunpoint and accosted him for twenty minutes and robbed him of everything he had save for his money-belt under his pants with his passport and credit cards. They then kicked him out of a car in some sketch neighborhood and left him.
I try and think and maybe the story isn’t true. I mean maybe it’s like in elementary school when we had that experiment where the teacher whispers something in one kid’s ear, something like “Debbie ate a ton of chocolate, and gained a lot of weight” and then the kid would turn around and whisper it in the ear of the next kid and then that kid would turn around and so on. Soon one kid goes from saying “Debbie ate a ton of chocolate, and gained a lot of weight” to “Debbie ate tons of chocolate and gained a lot of weight” and then “Debbie ate a tons of chocolate and gained tons of weight” and eventually when it gets to the twenty-seventh or thirtieth or some absurd public-school-number of kids in a class Debbie has eaten the world’s supply of chocolate and weighs like seriously a lot, like nine-thousand pounds or something.

In the cab I weigh my words and say I think Argentineans are fairly nice. More or less, to be exact. More or less is a great way to express anything, I mean they could be really, or not really nice if they’re more or less nice. Crooks! He screams out erratically shooting his index finger up towards the hood of the cab. I say nothing. Son falsos amigos he cautions me. I nod. They only want your money! No more money (he smacks his palms together for dramatic effect) no more friends! He snickers some more. Falsos Amigos. Even though I’m like ten blocks away from the address I gave, I nicely, somewhat nervously say this next corner will be perfectly alright to drop me off. This next one!? Yeah, or I mean actually you can drop me off in two blocks, that’d be perfect. In two blocks he stops and the fare is like six-something and I take out seven pesos and hand them to him and bolt open the door, and then try to casually step out of the cab and he shouts Ciao! And I shut the door and raise my hand bye and open my backpack and fake-search for something so this guy can leave and doesn’t see in which direction I walk home.

On my walk home I get distracted by this little coffee and pastry place on Avenida Pueyrredon and walk in and it has orange walls and is cozy and though it’s not raining anymore I want a hot café con leche and there’s a display with a million little facturas winking at me and glistening proudly. I walk up to the case and choose two especially delectable, doughy facturas, one plain with sugar on top and another with custard in the middle. The girl tells me if I get a third it’s actually cheaper because of a promotion they have when you get a coffee, and she’s smiling at me, and I choose this jelly factura, and I think the wayward pastry girl thinks I’m cute or some nonsense and she winks and throws in another jelly one into the basket and now I have four and then says for me to sit and she’ll bring them to me. I go and sit and there’s a T.V. and the Argentinean version of Wheel of Fortune is on except the Vanna White girl is wearing a tinny-tiny skirt and these high heels and is a brunette. I watch for about three seconds and lose interest and it’s just in time because the girl is there and she has a tray with my coffee and facturas and a little glass of orange juice and a little sparkling mineral water. I ask for a paper and she says which and I ask for a Clarin.

I bite into the first factura and it’s ridiculously delicious and then in true Porteno style I dunk it into my coffee and take a bite and oh my something it’s gotten even better. I finish the first and lick my sticky fingers and wipe them on a napkin and sip my coffee and start reading through the paper. One headline reads “Smoking Like Nothing.” This is in reference to a law that was just passed, like the one in Los Angeles, or California that was later adopted in Ireland and eventually New York that bans smoking in public places such as indoor restaurants and bars. Apparently Portenos decided that this was ridiculous and are ignoring it so far.

There’s also a huge article about the big match-up this weekend, the biggest rivalry in all of South American futbol, the match between Boca Juniors and their biggest rival El River. There has been a lot of hoopla all over the news and in the streets and there is great anticipation and police are prepared for the usual violence and fervor and excitement. Another article says Swiss banks are divided fifty-fifty on which growing South American economy to invest in, Brazil or Argentina. There are related facts and figures in support of both. Meat exports are apparently growing and inflation was 0.9%, and twelve people died in Bolivia for control of a mine, Argentina is looking to improve relations with Mexico and there’s a picture of appropriate officials holding hands and shaking and smiling. Condoleeza Rice arrived for a surprise visit in Iraq and she has a big smile on her face. Cities in China are feeling the effects of global warming, and some accord has been reached on the “energy problem.”

I bite into the custard factura and decide I like this one more than the sugar one I just had and I guess it’s fitting because custard doughnuts have always been my favorite. I look up at the T.V. and it’s still the Wheel of Fortune and absurdly three woman are now on the screen in tinny-tiny skirts and super high-heels and they’re shaking they’re butts and throwing confetti in the air or something and I sip my coffee and order another café con leche and back to the paper.

There’s a quote from the president, Nestor Kirchner directed at critical church officials who’ve been at odds with his administration and issued scathing remarks. The quote fires back saying “God is for everyone, but careful: The devil is also coming to all: To those that wear pants and those that wear cassocks.” I’m a little shocked and think it daring for the President of a country almost wholly under the cross to make such an emphatic statement. There’s another headline saying El ‘Correo-Basuras’ No Para De Crecer and apparently the amount of inbox junk-mail in Castellano has grown forty-two percent this year and some great sage, a real expert suggests that often they can contain viruses and be careful and okay thanks. There’s a huge one page ad, and there He is, looking at me again, none other than, well it’s Robbie. I nervously smile and think if I’ve committed any sins and then I quickly turn the page.

I’m enjoying sitting in this little cozy place sipping my coffee, and I think if I was still in that cab I would have never stepped in, probably not discovered the place but the spontaneity of walking in a city like this allows for the discovery of little jewels. I glance back at my paper. Other important and urgent matters suggest “Jenny says enough.” Apparently Jennifer Aniston and Vince Vaughn are no more. A study suggests that sixty-percent of people over thirty don’t know their cholesterol level. There’s a pic of Matisyahu in full garb and under it “I’m not trying to influence people.” There’s some more analysis of the River and Boca game and an article saying Diego Maradona “asked God for Boca to win.” I close the paper and push it away and my second coffee arrives and the girl has brought me another factura and I think tonight will be the perfect night to pay a little visit to my gym.

When I’ve done the key-dance and gotten into my apartment I see that stupid converter and it’s in my hands for the converter and more jingling for the keys and down Guemes for me and to the ferrreteria and I’ll be happy to finally get the proper one and charge my laptop and I arrive and oh, no, you’ve-got-to-be-Fuck! The lights are out and the door is closed and Why! Why! I just want my stupid freakin convertor! I kind of look inside as if that’s really going to change anything and I futilely and ineffectually shake at the door back and forth and it rattles and I want to scream and I sit on the corner of the still dampen sidewalk. I feel like crying but decide on just doing that moan thing, this time I’m pretty sure it’s internal. I get up and try to see if there are any hours of operation listed and say something stupid like it’ll never be open! And there’s nothing except a sign saying “sixty-five years of service” and I think where are you now when I need service! Defeated, once again, I whimper back home and my keys fumble through the Pentagon series of locks and I finally make it up and it’s on the bar-top (still not that fancy) for the converter and on my bed for me.

I decide to take my frustration and make it work for me and I hop up and change into some jersey shorts and a white tee and a hoody over that cause it’s still cold outside and I put on my tennis shoes and key dance and Guemes to Coronal Diaz and I’m in the Megatlon gym. I walk into the locker room and check-in my hoody and keys to this guy that gives me a number and back in the weights area I find a mat and some space and do a couple stretches and some push-ups and more stretching and I pick up a set of dumbbells and do a set of curls but I don’t really feel like lifting weights so I walk over to the treadmill and hop on and work up a good sweat while watching subtitled made for T.V. American movies that I would never watch at home, but only to take my mind off the fact that I feel like a hamster on a wheel do I watch and then get off and get some water and then hop on the bike and do that for fifteen minutes and more water and treadmill for a little more and stretches and home and shower and shave and snack and bed and nap.

When I get up from my nap it’s about midnight but I have a lot of energy and so I decide to call around and see what’s going on only it’s expensive to call on cell phones and everyone sends text messages here so I send one out to the girl from Belgium and one to the Brazilian guy in my class and one to the Austrian girl and one to this British girl, and to a girl from Connecticut and another from Massachusetts and to the girl from Maryland who’s cute but I thought was my age and was shocked to learn she’s a freshman in college.

I get total crap service in my studio and it takes me about three attempts to successfully send this message hey everyone, what u guys up to 2nite? And I get no replies and I’ve fallen back asleep and suddenly my phone lights up my dark studio and it’s vibrating on the bar-top (even in the dark it’s not that fancy) and all of the sudden I have four messages at once and I look at the time and it’s past one. The Brazilian guy and girl from Belgium are together and say to come meet up at some bar, the girl from Massachusetts and the girl from Connecticut are with Kat the British girl and they’re at some bar on the other side of town, and Maryland says eating din with some kids, gonna go somewhere wanna meet?

I send out another message assessing the updated status of everyone to decide the best course of action and kinda wait on my bed holding my phone and it’s close to one thirty when I look and then it’s vibrating and I look and it’s 4:32a.m. and I have three new messages that read things like yeah come meet up! And it’s time stamped 1:37a.m. and why am I just getting it now! And there’s another estamos en bar … and that at 1:39a.m. and Maryland Hey, yeah we’re in Palermo shooting pool come if u want it’s chill 1:43a.m. I look back at my phone and 4:38a.m. and I put my phone down and close my eyes.

When I wake up it’s 12:42p.m. I do my morning things (again, in the afternoon), I wash my face and fill a glass with the finest agua de la canilla (tap) and drink thirstily and I turn on the kettle and fix a cup of instant coffee and pour a little milk into it and heat up some bread and spread jam on it and sip coffee and take bites of the bread with jam. I’m still hungry so I get out a big frying pan and some broccoli and tomatoes and slice them up and toss them into the now hot pan with olive oil and crack open three eggs and use half the yolks and scramble everything up and I sprinkle some salt and I look, remember and crap! I forgot to by pepper. No Black Pepper.

For anyone that knows me I don’t really need to go on. I can’t really taste my food unless it’s black and covered in pepper and I look at my broccoli and tomato omelet disdainfully and if I was a dog I’d snarl and raise my upper lip and show my fangs and I might as well be eating yellow and green and red. I heat up some more bread and sadly mop up the egg concoction and wash an apple, a green one today and I eat some raw Chilean almonds and brush my teeth and get my keys and we dance and down two flights of stairs and key dance, I suppose the tango if I had to choose a dance because I’m in Argentina and right off Guemes and onto Coronal Diaz and right on Avenida de Sante Fe and I walk by the newsstand and Havana and Aroma the coffee and gelado place and the sweet smelling flowers and all the snippets of chatter and characters and faces and I smell the exhaust and hear the horns and walk past the cafés and it’s right on Junin and who knows what the day will bring.

Two blocks from X-men mini-campus I run into Maryland and pinch her from behind and she doesn’t turn around but grasps her bag more tightly and picks up the pace and I weave in and out of the people and place my hand on her shoulder and she flips around nervously and behind her huge buy-eyed sunglasses looks pale and then smiles and puts her hand to her heart and I say hi and she says hi and we walk the two blocks together. How was last night I ask and decent she says. We just went to this pool place and drank some beer and it was whatever. Cool. I was kinda tired anyway and sent you a message I think. Yeah I got it but at like five in the morning and I colorfully explain and enlightened we say we’ll talk later and part for our respective classes.

Apparently the director thought we should have our new teacher starting today and his name is Isaac (name changed cause..) and he’s young and energetic and hilarious and we’re all pretty much laughing the whole time and I look down at my notes and realize I actually feel like I’m learning things, and practical things and I think about our little coup and democracy in action and smile and before I know it class is over and I’m satisfied. After class Kat the British girl and Connecticut and Massachusetts all come over and ask me what I’m doing and I say nothing planned and lets go get a coffee or something and they say sure but one wants to check her email in the lab first and the others suddenly have emergency emails that need to be checked and fine and I say I’ll go to the cafeteria and get a coffee while I wait for them so that we can all go get coffee.

In the cafeteria there is Reggae music blasting and I kinda like it and I get my pre-coffee coffee and take a seat and grab a copy of La Nacion off this rack and peruse the paper and sip my Americano. At first I hesitated ordering an Americano thinking it too typical for an American to get an American coffee, but whatever and it comes in this tiny plastic cup like the kind my dentist gives me to rinse my mouth when I’m getting my teeth cleaned and whatever and I decide to sniff it for a while to make it last longer.

The headlines suggest the Vatican is concerned with the recent gaff between Kirchner and the Church. There’s more pictures of futbol players and half the bottom part of the page is dedicated to Boca and there’s a picture of the captain and the other half for River and there’s a pic of theirs and some statistics and more about the great anticipation and the players are ready and the police are ready and the fans are ready and it won’t be much longer now and it says El Partido Que Todos Esperan and it’s the game that everyone’s waiting for in Monumental Stadium. There’s an article about the assassination of Anna Politkovskaya in Moscow and it says that she was the journalist most publicly opposed to Putin’s politics.

Amazingly there’s an article on Hilary Clinton in Ohio campaigning for Sherrod Brown for the Ohio Senate. Ohio’s Senatorial race! Here thousands of miles away, most Americans probably don’t know that the President of Argentina is Nestor Kirchner and here is state-specific senatorial race updates! There’s a University of Belgrano study indicating that Portenos believe that women are more ethical and would prefer one as president. I think they’re more ethical too but for a woman to overcome such political obstacles, to ascend to the highest level of the political spectrum can they really remain ethical? What sorts of people go into politics anyways? Were they ethical to begin with?

New numbers suggest that despite four years of consecutive growth Argentina’s poverty rate has only declined marginally and still one-third are at or below the poverty line. A travel article says Praga: El Nuevo Corazon de Europa and apparently the city of a hundred cupolas and centuries of history, the city that inspired Kafka, is now in fashion as a travel destination and I think about my own experiences in Prague and recall them fondly and turn the page and a headline poses “What is Political Freedom?” and there’s a fascinating quote “To be free is to not be obstructed, to have the capacity to do what you want to do. To be absolutely free is to find oneself in a state where nothing can oppose your wishes: To be omnipotent.”

I read this two or three times and let the words roll off my tongue and have visions of addressing a massive crowd and the image is in black and white like old newsreel footage and I’m emphatically delivering these lines and people cheer and flags wave and then I sip my coffee and everything is in color again and I’m back in the cafeteria. But I think about the quote for a moment. I have personally freed myself and it’s not really political freedom and I’m certainly not omnipotent but I broke down hindering obstacles in front of me and confronted opposition and in some very small scale won a very large victory by just being here. By taking action. By breaking free of what I was in, to allow myself, if greedily, a fresh perspective.

Kat and Conn. and Mass. are together and tapping my shoulder and we’re off and east on Junin and we talk and there’s more of this legitimating ourselves and pertinent background information and talk about things in common and past Corrientes and Cordoba and Avenida de Sante Fe and now we’re in Recoleta and it’s my first time in this neighborhood and we’re at a café and my Spanish sadly is the best in the group and I’m talking to the mozo and ask about what they have at the café and look at menu’s. Kat exclaims look you get crisps with beer! And we all look to the table next to us and they bring out chips and various fried crunchy things and there seems to be a platter with cubed ham and olives and peanuts and suddenly I’m hungry and Kat wants crisps and the other girls sorta shrug and instead of coffee it four cervezas and Quilmes on draft and it comes and it’s cold and crisps and crunchies and ham and olives and peanuts and there’s a small discussion about how amazing peanut butter is and the girls already miss it and Kat says she doesn’t understand Americans and peanut butter and I vehemently defend the peanut and all of peanut-kind including in smashed, mashed up form. I tell them how my brother and I practically grew up on peanut butter and honey sandwiches, our personal favorite but PB&J’s and PB and banana’s and PB and celery and PB ice-cream and everything peanut butter and Kat laughs and shakes her head.

Connecticut gets cold and we all decide to go in for round-two and the cubes aren’t cutting it and I order a chicken sandwich and it comes out with the beers and it’s dry-slices of chicken breast and a baguette and nothing else. I ask for hot sauce and none but he brings ketchup (catsup?) and mayo and golf sauce which kinda just tastes like mayo with a little ketchup and I ask for black pepper and open like thirty-little ketchup packets and the thing is still dry as hell and I chew and swallow and it barely goes down and I take a healthy sip of my beer and its cool and runs down my throat and I feel calm and sit and we talk more and I finish the sandwich and we pay and start walking and see this really cool bar that looks like it’s just out of the Village in New York or something and it’s happy hour and you get two belinis for like twelve pesos and what a deal and we’re sitting inside and there’s a DJ and red brick and leather modern red and white couches and heavy red curtains and the cute waitress comes over and round-one and we toast and talk about travels through Europe, or mostly Kat and I and then round-two but actually four and we’re laughing and joking and more people come in and I walk up to the DJ and ask him to play a couple songs and he says he has to look and see if he has them but we pay the bill and say we’ll all meet up later tonight where like everyone from our X-men mini-campus is gonna be and we part and they take the subte home and I walk and sadly I have like no tolerance and feel pretty buzzed (drunk?). At home I fill up a glass of water and drink and pass out.

I wake up dizzy at just after midnight. I crawl off the bed and it’s cold in the room and I didn’t get under the covers and just slept in my clothes and I take them off and put them on the bed and go in the shower and sort of squat and let hot water run over my hands and I splash some on myself and adjust the temperature a little and stand and pull the little knob that switches it from down to up and it’s spraying out hot and I turn around and let the water run down my back with my eyes closed and then wash up and towel and dry and teeth and hair and shirt and khaki-colored jeans and watch or no watch? I think it’s safer with no watch, and I do a band on one wrist and another one I got in Cinque Terre on the other and shoes and socks (?) and camera or no camera?

I think about all these stories and I don’t want to get jumped and have my camera stolen but I think I want to get some pictures I don’t really have any except of the digital map on the screen on the plane and the ones of Mariana and where is she and I think and she’s already hovering somewhere over Brazil or the Atlantic or maybe the south or D.C. or back in New York and I do the key tango with the door and on the other end and push the light on in the hall because it’s pitch-black and down the two flights and key tango with the front and right off Guemes and onto Coronal Diaz and this time north on Avenida de Sante Fe. The cafés are crowded and the streets are crowded but my eyes are peeled and cautious and I walk and observe.

Passed Alto Palermo and past Mariani’s that we never got to eat in and past Scalibrini Ortiz and Plaza Italia and Avenida Bullrich and I try to follow close to groups and couples walking and finally I arrive at Bar Kimia. Just outside waiting is young Harvard-kid and a kid from Colorado and another from California and he says the state cause when he says the city I’ve never heard of it and he already knows this cause no one’s heard of it and so California it is and there’s some other guys and before we walk into the bar I see Him. A bus passes us and on the large billboard Robbie and I exchange an intense glance and hold it until the bus fades off and I ease up.

Into the bar and down to the back and up the stairs and I see young Harvard-girl and Kat and Connecticut and Massachusetts and hugs and pecks and cheeks pointed outwards and smiles and hey’s and hi’s and it’s dark and already crowded and there’s some electronic song ringing out all over the place. There’s a system to getting drinks, a rather ridiculous system. You wait in a line and go up and tell the cash register girl what you want and she gives you a ticket and you have to pay for the drink. Young Harvard-kid and I order Isenbeck’s and I’m really in the mood for a cold beer and now it’s into the second phase of the system. You wait in another line and then hand your ticket to this guy and he confirms the drink you want and then phase three and you wait in another line a little ways down to pick up your drink. Colorado comes over and joins us and we all partake in a little inane conversation while waiting.

Someone’s tapping me on the shoulder and it’s the director of the Spanish program and she’s dressed up and smiles warmly and a peck and she jokes that I’m wearing a white shirt and so are my eyes white? And no, no they’re not but I defend my shirt-eye-color theorem and we talk about some other things and she steps away for a second and Colorado bends over towards me and shouts over the music dude you should totally hit that! Why is this guy standing here and fine I make some attempt at an explanation of her boyfriend and such, and he just kind of looks at me indifferently and I’m not sure if he just hasn’t processed what I told him or just didn’t hear me or just doesn’t care and I turn away and thankfully young Harvard-kid and I get our beers and we walk away and talk for a bit. I learn from adolescent-Harvard that California is thirty-four years old and has an eighteen year-old girlfriend in whatever crumb of a town he lives in and my eyes widen and young Harvard-kid shrugs and adjusts his glasses and I sort of shrug.

Connecticut and Massachusetts come over and we all talk and they’re fun and flirtatious and I look down at their cups and wonder how ahead they are of me. They’re both drinking Vodka-tonics in tuvos. I wanted a bottle of beer but got chopp or draft instead and I normally prefer it but not when you’re in a club and there are people dancing and hands swinging and it’s dark and people bumping into you. I see Adam who’s doing a graduate program at UC-Irvine and is also a writer and lived in LA and originally from Cleveland and so I go over and we talk for a bit. Brazil and Belgium have just arrived from a Milonga or tango show and young Harvard-girl comes over and we’re all in a pretty good mood and joking and laughing. Maryland comes over to me and smiles and I kind of walk-off with her a bit and we talk and she looks good and I still think she’s cute but remind myself she’s young. So young.

Some other people come over and we’re all taking pictures and laughing and have to shout everything like three times to understand each other. I survey the crowd and I swear some of these kids have to be like fifteen and I think it’s like Europe where there’s no real age restrictions enforced for anything. It’s pretty smoky and apparently that law really isn’t being followed and I wonder if and when it’ll catch on. I go and dance with Conn. and Mass. and Kat and there are these Argentinean kids dancing up really close to them and they’re kind of like little dogs humping away at a thigh or doing these short erratic dance moves and Kat and Mass. look over at me and I sort of dance closer to them and phase out the other guys and Mass looks relieved and says something but all I hear is ank..ew! and I say what and then tha.. ew! And I smile and wink and we dance a little more and the songs are getting more horrific by the minute and we decide to step off the dance floor for a bit.

I see Maryland in a corner and she’s talking to Wales and Colorado is just sort of looking at Maryland, not really talking but looking at her talking and her back is to him. Maryland jumps up at me and shouts hey som..gon’a ooo! What? We’re gon’ go! Where? ‘ther bar! I don’t know who’s going and try to get this information and there are some shrugs and smiles and I say okay gimme a minute and she says she’ll be down getting a cab or down! Ab! What? Axi! Oh. I try and think logically, and this time I have the misfortune of having to make this decision after being up for more than sixty seconds and I decide that I’m not gonna go alone but try and gather a little group so I go and gauge interest. I come back and some girl who I haven’t met yet but that’s part of our X-men group is asking me if I’m Matt and I nod and she says good cause Maryland wants me to come with, and don’t go anywhere she’s going to get the others and there’s a cab waiting.

I go talk to Brazil-guy and Belgium-girl, and Wales-girl and young Harvard-duo and Adam and Massachusetts and Connecticut and Kat and twice-the-age-California-guy and some others and finally it’s decided that everyone is ready to go to ‘ther bar! People take turns finishing drinks and getting in a dance cause this song’s decent and where’s this person lemme go find him and then the person that was missing comes over and says where’s blank and I say they’re looking for you and they say they’re gonna go get them and forty-five minutes later it’s decided that we’ll stay because it’s too hard to leave and I walk over to the dance floor to save Conn. and Mass. and Kat from thigh-humpers and through the pulsing strobe-lights I see Maryland and some guy’s practically licking her neck, or doing something equally malicious like talking to her and they’re fairly close and Maryland seems drunk and I kind of get possessive and keep dancing but my eyes keep peering over through the strobes and this is ridiculous because she’s a kid and I don’t want to do anything but still maybe she can’t think straight right now. I walk over and ask if everything’s cool and the guy is looking at me like stop cock-blocking and he hates my guts already and she says she’s fine and that’s it cool and I suppose I can’t pull her away and so I walk off and go back to the girls and somehow they’re getting thigh-humped again and I go back and shoo off the culprits and I look over at Maryland and I can’t even see if her eyes are open and it looks like oversexed guy is holding her upright.

I try and distract myself and look around a bit and a couple Argentinean girls are looking my way but I turn my head and look back to Maryland and I see that Massachusetts has gone over and they’re talking and it’s dark and then boom bright white and dark and bright white and the pulsing continues and someone bumps into me and I turn around and it’s some guy that has already passed and he’s hugging some girl now and I turn back and right before me are Mass. and Mary. and the latter is oddly thanking the former and what? Confused I ask Mary. why she didn’t leave when I came up to her and she says she wanted to practice her Spanish and she sort of mumbles it out and it’s loud and crowded and I nod still confused and walk off the dance floor and Brazil and Belgium and Wales and Colorado and Adam and young-Harvard-duo and twice-the-age-California are all sitting. Brazil says he and Belgium are going to check out some Brazilian bar he found and invites me but no, no thank you, have fun and they’re off.

Young Harvard-duo decide to call it an early (4:00a.m.?) night. Others make plans both objectionable and reasonable and before I know it I’m on the street with Kat and Mass. and Conn. and Mary. and Colorado and some guy named Jay hi nice to meet you, Los Angeles, yeah, pretty cool, yeah how long you here for? Really? Yeah cool and this act with another guy named Conrad and oh Washington state, yeah my sister lives in Oregon and yeah Portland and yeah it’s cool and yeah I love it and yeah Seattle’s cool and you live just outside nice and we’re waiting for two cabs to take us to some kid’s house in Palermo Soho where there’s supposed to be some sort of party going on.

Kat says she wants some crisps and Conn. goes into an open kiosco and buys some chips and I look at Maryland and she’s holding a beer and her eyes are closed and what the fuck! I walk over to her and nab the beer out of her hands and her eyes bolt open and I chuck the beer on the street and she slaps! Me on the chest and I could have finished that asshole and I tell her she’s had enough and Mass. nods her head and Kat and Conn. come back and they’re munching on chips and extend the bag and no and a cab pulls up but refuses to squeeze all of us in so me and Kat and Mass. and Conn. get in this cab and me in the front seat and Jay stammers over and yo just uh, bro just um and he looks like he’s trying to think of how to tell us where to go and he says a street name and I think, am almost positive that this street doesn’t exist and it doesn’t even sound like something Spanish or like anything really and certainly not on the map and more emphatically he yells out just bro look, tell the guy wannamajanga! What!? Just like, jammanachangu And I realize this guy probably can’t even really speak Spanish and he’s our source for this party and then he closes the door and my window is up and he yells out calabazoo! And taps the hood twice and we start moving. I flip my head back and look outside and Jay’s already turned around and is hailing another cab and Colorado just wrapped his arm around Mary.’s thigh and I’m not even sure if she’s realized this and now in the distance I see a cab stop for them.

In our cab the girls are smiling and giggling in back and Kat asks if I want some crisps and Connecticut hands me the bag and I reach in any grab a handful and they’re salty and greasy and perfect and now the taxi driver is asking me where to go and I attempt Wannamachangu and assorted variations and he looks over at me and just keeps shaking his head saying these streets don’t exist and then he asks me if I know a real name and I tell him hold a sec and try and get the girls attention but they’re all laughing and giggling and Mass. says she’ll call Jay and she does and he just keeps screaming things like labazumanga! And I try that and no and then Choolopatanga! And the cab driver seems to be getting pretty aggravated and one of the girls has just put her feet up on the middle console and he looks at them and then at me and I kinda do a half-smile but he’s not amused and I try and distract him and ask him absurd things like is it going to rain tomorrow and what time does the mall open and such and it sorta works because he answers but then just seems annoyed and finally Mass. hangs up the phone and says confidently that it’s a block off Plaza Serrano and I thankfully tell this to the cabbie.

He looks at me and says there’s no such thing as Plaza Serrano, however there is a Plazoleta Julio Cortazar and it’s on calle Serrano and I shrug and say just take us there and Mass. keeps screaming tell him it’s on El Plazo Soraino and I try to act like I don’t hear this and then from the back what happened to all the crisps? And some more giggling. We arrive and oddly, surprisingly, at the mini-plaza are Conrad and Jay and Mary. and Colorado following closely behind and they scamper towards us and we’re in the heart of Palermo Soho and I think it looks exactly like New York but not Soho, rather more like the Village but I suppose Palermo Soho has a better ring to it than Palermo Village. There are bars and cafés and they’re all packed and there are brick buildings and we walk off a little and turn on a street and look to see the name and, well, I think he wasn’t that off on at least a couple of those attempts and it’s Gurruchaga.

Connecticut interlocks her arm with mind as we walk and whispers that the guy who’s party we’re going to is exactly like Chris Farley and I laugh and she whips her head at me and goes no, no she’s super serious and Mass. and Kat must have heard this because they turn around and nod. We stop at this gate that apparently leads up these stairs and to the party and from a not to distant rooftop we hear chatter and music and laughing and voices and general party sounds. Jay keeps banging on the gate and just yells Jon! Out loud and I think Jon probably would have been able to hear this, Jon and about three hundred people who are probably, or were probably sleeping and not participating in all of the festivities.

Some guy scampers down and screams hey! And then I think he burps and Jay says Dude let us in, come on man. And then Jon just looks at us and the way his head is moving he resembles very much a bobble-head doll and he’s short and portly and has redish hair and a double-chin and freckles and just keeps looking at us and screams heeey! And then oh! Keys! Keys sin-yor! And he scampers back presumably to go get the key to unlock the door so we can come in, and I see I’m not the only one with the key-tangoing. When he comes down he has them and opens and we go up and with each step it gets louder and when inside we see there’s a fair mix of Portenos and International kids and there’s an open bag of these fried pretzel things and I point them out to Kat and say look crisps and she says she likes this party already and I grab a handful and they’re salty and good and I walk through the kitchen where a couple people are dancing and onto this rooftop patio and there’s a couple sucking face in the corner and some more Brits and another couple and some girls smoking cigarettes and a couple of guys talking in a corner and people walking in and out. I walk up to Maryland and she’s smiling and I ask her how she’s doing and Colorado sort of lurks up behind and I say what’s up and he nods his head and if only to get him away from her I start talking to him for a minute but he’s only really looking at her and she walks off and his eyes trail her and Kat comes over and puts her arms around me and says darling are you having fun and I answer naturally and then, as if they were in the corner of her mouth or something, her jaw goes in motion and think she’s chewing on crisps.

The Jon guy comes over and it’s his place and I say hey and put my hand out and he sticks a sweaty paw out and his hand is damp and while he’s holding my hand he asks may I call you Ingrid nickeloper? I think he attempts this as a joke, but I don’t laugh and just say no and he looks confused and his body shakes as if there was some mini-explosion within, a little bomb that was just detonated and he blows out burp fumes to the side and says well then, I’ll call you Matt and I remove my hand and nod and Kat comes back a puts a crisp in my mouth and Maryland comes over and smiles and she starts walking towards the kitchen and I follow and we dance for a minute and then what-the-fuck! One of the thigh-humpers from Bar Kimia earlier tonight is here and I think you’ve got to be kidding me and who does this kid know and Colorado comes on the dance floor and just sort of stands there looking at us and I walk away into the hallway and there’s a line for the bathroom and I wait third in-line.

In-line I hear a Spanish accent! As in from Spain! I turn and there’s a guy speaking in Spanish and I ask him if he’s from Spain and yes, yes he is and then he lifts his tucked in shirt to show a yellow and red striped belt with the Spanish insignia on it. He leaves the girl he was talking to and he’s seriously an inch away and he leans in and I sort of mini-panic and his face is an inch away from mine and he reeks of alcohol something and in English he says haaave you beeen to Espana? And he’s so close and what the fuck is this guy gonna try and kiss me and I try to back my neck slightly back and I answer yes and I’m thinking this must look extremely bizarre and try to look around a little but no one seems to be looking over and then he says it’s a be-uuutiful count-ry and I nod and he says well then, I must be off and he puts out his hand and I take it and shake it and he turns away and walks off and relieved I flip back and I’m next in line for the bathroom.

When I get out I go back and am in the kitchen and start talking to this Argentinean girl and Conrad and Mary walk by and she says she’s leaving and I’m sort of startled and I ask where and she says home and Conrad says we’re gonna get pizza man and I nod and they walk off and Colorado walks by me and looks down the hall where they just left and is just sort of staring after them and I don’t think he moved for like three minutes but just stared at the empty hallway. I walk back outside and the sky is light blue and I catch a whiff of something faint, and it’s either pot or hash or a clove or maybe just a cigarette and it’s so faint and I think it’s coming from a group huddled in the corner just standing and holding their drinks and then it’s gone and there’s some Brit guy talking to Conn. and I think he’s making fun of her to her face and she doesn’t seem to notice and I’m looking at him and he makes some snide comment to me and I throw it back in his face and I think he might get defensive but he doesn’t and then comes over and starts asking me all these questions in this very genuine way but I’m not in the mood to converse and Kat puts her arm around me and just keeps shaking her head and says what, I mean really what, are we doing here? And I try to think if she means here at this party but I gather it to be on a more philosophical level, like here on earth, or at least here in Argentina.

She tells me of her studies at Cambridge and how she loves art and studied art but really everything’s been done, all the extremes have been pushed, and I try to think about writing, and she says there’s nothing left to be done, all the people have been shocked in everyway that they possibly can be. I think about this and tell her that maybe you don’t need to shock or push any envelope, but just do something really solid, something pretty damn good and that’s enough, there is plenty of satisfaction to be had in that. But what sells is what shocks! And I just go back to the doing something good and seeing that through and now she’s more philosophical and like the Spanish guy before she’s like an inch from my face but carrying on a full on conversation and I wonder what it is tonight with the proximity and she’s talking and yup! I think our noses just touched and we’ve effectively done an Eskimo kiss of sorts and her eyes are right in front of mine and it’s intense but impressively, with the proximity and the all the drinks she’s still carrying on a fairly adequate conversation and I take a moment and am impressed. And now she’s back to what’s left to be done, and I suggest that any endeavor can find it’s merits and now the sun is up and I glance down at my phone and it’s 6:43a.m. and I say I’ll be back and I go to the bathroom.

I don’t really have to do anything but just wanted a moment and sort of stare in the mirror and I think I’m exhausted and I want to leave so I go out and I’m back on the patio and there are a few people sitting and I walk up to Kat and Mass. and Conn. and tell them I’m leaving and they all say they’re leaving too. We walk down and Jay comes with us and apparently they’re all going in the other direction and a cab stops and they all hop in and scream out bye Matt! And a few variations of that and I say by and walk down to Plazoleta Julio Cortazar and a couple of the cafés have closed but there are still two or three bars going strong and people are still walking in and now the sun is completely up and it’s just past seven. I wait for a minute and a taxi comes by and I hail it down and get in and sitting I think about Maryland and wonder what happened to her and if she actually went and got pizza and I try to assess what I think about Conrad and I really didn’t get a chance to see what he was like and I think about Colorado and what happened to him? I didn’t see him after he was just sort of staring blankly in the hallway. The woman, I’m a little surprised that it’s a woman, asks me where we’re headed and I ask to be dropped off on the corner of Coronal Diaz and Avenida de Sante Fe. She repeats what I said and I nod and she nods and turns up the volume on the radio and yes, wait, yes He’s on and it’s Robbie Williams and I think he will be the last voice I hear tonight.

We stop on Sante Fe and I look at the meter and pay the fare and the café on the corner is open and there are some people inside and some out and I walk past on Coronal Diaz and turn left onto Guemes and tiredly perform a clumsy tango and I’m in my apartment and I look at my bed and I rip of my clothes and climb in and it’s 7:27 and the sun is bright and coming through my windows.