Travel diaries

I have a couple days in Buenos Aires before I go back to the States. It rains pretty much the whole time that I’m there, so badly one evening that the streets are all flooded. It has me in a bad mood, but I try to stay positive. I’m excited to be in a place with good food, to be staying in a hotel rather than a dorm room or a tent and not to have to wear gross hiking clothes.

I spend one morning in the city center visiting the historic buildings that I didn’t see my first time in BA.  I also check out the Calatrava bridge, right across from which there is a Hooters, which I do not check out. Next I go to the northern neightborhood of Palermo to see the childhood home of the writer Jorge Luis Borges. It’s a small, unspectacular brick building, but it’s got an interesting entrance done in a sort of Byzantine style. I really want to go inside, but as far as I can tell, it’s somebody’s home. How cool would it be to live in Borges’ childhood house? I feel like there’s some crazy closet inside that leads to another dimension.

My next literary port of call is the Plaza Julio Cortazar, also in Palermo. There’s a street fair going on there, but otherwise there’s nothing special or related to Cortazar. I’m there more for the feeling of the neighborhood because it’s where part of Cortazar’s amazing book Hopscotch takes place. I like walking around the street fair, the shops and cafes and I realize that, despite my expectations, I’ve missed city life. I buy way too many clothes that afternoon, also something I’ve missed after three months of wearing a pair of those weird pants that zip away into shorts almost every day.

That night I have dinner with Nick and Joanna, who were my hosts when I first came to South America three months ago. We go to an excellent French/ Asian fusion restaurant in Palermo where I get a curry that actually has some spice to it. It’s nice to talk and be around people again after two and a half weeks of being by myself. I can’t believe how quickly the time has gone and that I’m about to go home.

The next day is Sunday and my last day in South America. I’ve been looking forward to this day for weeks because of the Sunday antiques market in the San Telmo neighborhood. San Telmo is so beautiful. It’s full of these ornate old buildings that are in varying states of decrepitude. If I were to live in Buenos Aires, I would want to live here in a crumbling old mansion.

It’s a rainy morning (again) and since my hotel is right in San Telmo, I’m able to get an early start before most of the tourists hit the streets. I’m on a serious mission for cool old stuff to add to my collection of things from the 20’s and 30’s. I come away with a pendant from the Buenos Aires jockey club from 1915, two old glass pharmacy bottles with cool labels in Spanish (one even still has the original powder inside), a patchwork beret from the 30’s, a white sequined cape from the 20’s and, also from the 20’s, a blue vest with stars embroidered in white and red beads and gold metallic thread.  Yay!

I decide to take a break from consumerism and visit El Zanjon. From the outside, it looks like a normal building, but it’s got an underground passage that takes you down to the city’s original houses and sewer system. It’s just the kind of hidden world that I imagined existing in Borges’ house.

Nothing very exciting happened that evening. I just walked and walked and walked around San Telmo, not wanting the day to end. I got melodramatic and kept thinking, ‘This is the last _____.” But the day did end and the next morning was a rush of croissants, coffee, luggage, taxis and waiting around until I finally boarded my plane. I was going home.