I have been here for 52 hours. 20 of those hours were asleep, or more correctly: lying still, too tired to move. And I am just about to leave.
In contiki-tour terms, that would mean that I´ve "done" BA.
So some perhaps might even refer to me as an expert on Buenos Aires. They could be right... I ask you, how long does it take to know a city?
A city that never sleeps. (except when I do, shhh But it is wide awake at 12am, even 4am when I am!)
A city full of food. empanandas, "mozza" pizzas, chorizo, soft drinks with and without gas, massive steaks. scary steak knives. scary cuts of meat. people cooking meat in the parks. People eat dinner at 11pm. Breakfast that consists of two wierd soft biscuits stuck together with caramelised sweetened condensed milk, massive coffees with milk, teeny tiny coffees without milk. funny little croissants called "half-moons". People walking arounf with thermoses and little cups with little reverse tea-strainer spoon-straw things for a day-long supply of a strong tea called maté. Not alot of veges, but you can get a carrot and tomato salad. and very sweet bananas.
A city full of traffic. This is scary stuff. Zebra crossings do not mean this is a safe place for a pedestrian to cross the road. It is a place where if you dare, the speeding taxi, bus, little car, motorbike will at least honk before they hit you. I actually think it is a bit of a game here, cos I have seen some neck and neck races to see who can hit the stray pedestrian first. There is even an intersection where when the go-man flashes it is accompanied with a numerical countdown til stop. Now is this simply encouraging folk to beat their last score? I made sure I always crossed with an old lady. Cos their bodies would protect me. No really, they seem to have this kind of Moses parting the waves thing going on.
A city of Rich and Poor. I walked down a street aptly called "Florida". I never want to do that again. So much glitz, sparkle and yes, fur. That was a bare kilometre from where I spied a man pickpocketing my backpack in a shop window reflection. I was quite affronted as i beat him off with my bare hands, til I realised there was nothing really there to take. I would rather do that again than walk down Avenida Florida any day of the week. I am now sitting, I kid you not, in a bus VIP lounge, with free internet and coffee, cowskin couches and 4 different flat screen tvs, whilst 200 metres outside there are women with newborns begging on the street. Apparently my seat will go down to 160 degrees. By law. Cos of what I can pay as a richie of course. I might have to bring my sleeping bag cos the air conditioning might be a bit strong.
A city of dogs: big ones, small ones, shaggy ones, homeless ones, ones with big balls, sleeping ones, sitting ones and scratching ones. I saw a man walking 13 dogs. I think it was his job. They were wlking him, really.
A city of rubbish. They constantly have people cleaning it up, it just seems to keep appearing.
A city of artists, musicians and scholars. On every corner. And good ones too.
A city of pleasant surprises. I met an old man who ran a bookstore who patiently spoke in Spanish to me for 40 minutes. I met a musician who did the same in tiresome English. My hostel doorman kept my wierd breakfast biscuit for me all day cos I had "forgotten" it. A lady taught me to say pencil (lapiz). Another man kindly explained that to say anos instead of años means asshole.
So. I have done it. But is it done?
While I ponder this, I must go and get on a five star bus for probably the best night´s sleep in a week.
