The architect

The night train stopped in the middle of nowhere. No trainwreck or explanations: just a stop. Then raw voices telling us to get out. But there was something after all, a dark train station with a sign: “Azul”. A little town in Buenos Aires's province that I recalled only from school maps, basically blurred lines and a pronounced belly.

I was not afraid. Maybe was the quiet nineteen century train station, a palace for straw dogs and useless public phones. Or those red brick houses and enormous plátano trees along the main avenue in the dim light of dawn. After a while, we had old, funny cabs, paid by the train company. They took me, Vera and other passengers to three stars hotels around the city. I met her in the cab. Kind of a backpack, hippie girl with fearless eyes, brown hair and no rush.

Before even introduce herself, she told me: this is Salamone's city. I believed she was speaking of a soccer club, but in a tone that made it sounded as a superhero. I agreed to see Salamone (whatever it was) the next morning without any questions. I just wanted to sleep. We took separate bedrooms in “Hotel Roma”. In bed, staring at the roof, i thought How did i end up here?

The day after, Vera's big plan was go to…a cemetery. The most majestic, breath taking cemetery i have seen in my entire life. At the gate, a fierce guardian angel, holding a sword, 30 feet tall. An impasible gesture like a warrior of middle ages. Behind his concrete wings, huge letters, pure black stone twice the size of the angel: RIP. Vera explained that Salamone was not only an unique architect, but an alchemist, a magician.

Later, walking by the road, far away from the city and “Hotel Roma”, a crazy silhouette arose in the horizon. A giant monument, like a flat spaceship from the distance. Azul's slaughterhouse, another of Salamone's creatures. Hard, straight lines, as soviet structures in Pampa. Bodies trapped in concrete, still faces and shivering towers. I admit that the slaughterhouse was a little creepy, but shared a common pattern with the cemetery: a work that looked like born from visions in dreams, a will to tame the wild desert, sphinxes of pampas. Vera explained, again: many years ago, this guy turned plain cities into cult places.

Now I thank that train failure. Since then, Vera and i became more than friends: we're Francisco Salamone's followers all across the big belly of Buenos Aires's province. I assure you it's worth it.