Surreal Sunday

I like this photo I'm posting today. It is the shadows of trees on the wall next to the Plaza of the Israeli Embassy. The embassy was hit by a car bomb in 1992 and 29 people were killed. This plaza is where the embassy once stood.

I've walked by this plaza several times but didn't notice until today what it was. It's on Arroyo Street at the corner of Suipacha - just two blocks from where I live. I really like Arroyo Street. It's a short street in my neighborhood and when I've gone on Sunday walks, I've always ended up there. I don't know what it is about the street that appeals to me so much, but this plaza is just one more thing about this street which adds a new dimension to it. It was kind of a premonition of the surreal kind of day I was going to have today.

I woke up not really sure about how I was feeling. I still felt the remnants of the cold or flu that I had, and didn't really know where it was going to take me. After blogging this morning, I went to a neighborhood cafe for breakfast. Quite carby. It was their breakfast special. I got cafe con leche (coffee with milk), orange juice, toast, and croissants, with butter and peach jam. Mmmmm... now that is a healthy start to a new day. It was nice sitting in this little cafe, overlooking Plaza San Martin and these big green trees in the middle of winter. It's a small cafe, but clean and with fresh baked goods and decent food. I was thinking what it would be like in a cafe in my neighborhood at 10:30 on a Sunday morning - - - - chaos -there would have been the whirring and hissing of machines as coffee was ground and foam was made for lattes, along with the very loud talking, music playing too loud, babies crying, kids yearning for attention of their parents who are ignoring them and probably some dogs barking outside, but here I was in a very nice cafe that was seeing a decent business, but was not at all crowded, and even though there were tables with people having animated conversations, they were not shouting, and I could sit and read the newspaper and not be disturbed by too much noise from the people or the music (which seemed to be a best of the 80's CD).

After I left the cafe, I started off walking towards the microcentro, but felt a little weak and decided to walk back to my apartment. But, then I decided I wanted to walk a little in the clear, fresh, Sunday morning air (Sundays have so much less traffic than weekdays) as this was the first time I'd been out since I returned from school on Friday morning. I walked back towards Plaza San Martin and walked over to the big statue of General San Martin in the middle of the square. I saw a guy wearing this green and orange vest talking to a couple about the statue, and approached the statue to take a picture of the many pigeons resting on General San Martin's head. Another guy wearing a green and orange vest asked me from behind if I wanted him to take my picture. "No gracias", I replied. He then told me 'that was General San Martin, liberator' of Chile, Argentina and Peru'. I didn't want to be rude, but also didn't want to be bothered, so I said "I know", and didn't tell him I was taking a picture of the pigeons. He then asked in English, where I was from. Rather than fess up, I simply said, "esta bien" - 'it's ok' - I am not sure what that really meant, but it was enough to get him off my tail, and I walked away. I was sure he wanted something, or am I such a jaded traveler that I now think no one helps anyone without a hidden agenda?

I took a few pictures of Palacio San Martin and walked down a little street alongside it and ended up on Arroyo Street where I noticed for the first time that this plaza, which is kind of littered with garbage and is not particularly beautiful compared to some of the other plazas in Buenos Aires, was where the Israeli Embassy once stood. I read the plaque that described how and when the car bomb struck, and listed the names of those killed. I thought about the insanity of people killing innocent people to make a political point. I don't agree with Israel's policies, but don't believe in killing innocent people either. I took a few pictures and headed back to my apartment, as by this point, I was feeling weak and needed to rest.

I made an appointment for 1:00 to get a massage, relaxed a bit, and then headed over to Santa Fe to get a massage. Larry found this guy, Alejandro, advertising in one of the gay publications and he charges only 80 pesos for a basic massage. That's about 27 dollars for one hour. He's very good, and I had a lot of tension built up from laying in bed and on my sofa and dancing tango the past week - my legs and my lower back were achy, and he found both of those spots and worked on them for me. After the massage, I went to a restaurant next door to Alejandro's apartment building and had lunch.

The place was called, "La Mision" and was another one of these family style diners that I just love here. Any place that has deserts rotating in a glass case has to be good. The place was really a trip and I wish I could have caught it on film.

Picture a modern style diner. It had a bar and was actually quite elegant, with lots of activity, but at the same time, very reasonable prices, kind of along the lines of an IHOP, Denny's or something like that. I sat down at a table and found myself next to two people who appeared to be a mother and son. The mother reminded me of Margaret Thatcher. Her hairdo was very Thatcheresque, though she was blonder than Margaret would have ever been. She was also dressed in a very Thatcherly style, with a houndstooth jacket and a little scarf tied under her blouse. The man sitting across from her was considerably younger than her, but maybe in his 30's. Judging from the way she was dressed, I ruled out him being her boy-toy, but he very well could have been. I think it's safer to assume he was her son. The two of them sat there for at least 40 minutes reading the newspaper and drinking coffee. They had been there from before I arrived. They didn't speak, they just read the newspaper.

There was a large group in the back of the restaurant having some kind of party. The entire restaurant seemed like a very conchetto crowd. A small group of older folks came in, women with hair done, teased and sprayed, as they approached the crowd in the back, the people who were there began to applaud loudly. I was wondering if it were someone important who had just wandered in - I was going to ask my waiter, who was very friendly, but he spoke first, saying they were clapping for him. I figured it was a birthday party, so I didn't bother to ask what was going on.

I began to notice that even though a lot of the people there were very conchetta, well-dressed, looking like they had money, there were a few sort of borderline types. One woman with her arms full of newspapers, too much lipstick that kind of went beyond the borders of her face, was walking back and forth trying to find a seat she liked. She was a little eccentric, to say the least. She eventually settled in at a table.

The waiter complemented me on my Spanish, which was nice. Of course, I knew that if he tried to have a conversation with me beyond my ordering food, he'd see how limited my Spanish actually is, but I accepted the complement graciously. When he said he was studying English and then proceeded to speak to me in half English and Spanish, I responded the same way. We both said what we could in whatever language we had -it was nice and helped me to relax about speaking to him and ordering (I realize I am always trying so hard to seem like I am from here, which is ridiculous - it's obvious I'm not).

He told me he was from Chile and his parents had left Chile in 1975, after the military coup. I didn't ask the details (I just thought, 'they left one military dictatorship and came to another) . I thought he was a very nice guy and I would go back to that restaurant just to have him as my waiter. He liked practicing his English and therefore gave me a lot of attention and was very patient with my Spanish.

I walked home down Santa Fe, which oddly, was all closed up. Here it was, Sunday, what should be a major shopping day, and all of the clothing stores were closed. It wasn't because it was a special day, holiday or anything, but because it was Sunday. I hadn't noticed before that the stores were closed on Sunday. That meant that Santa Fe didn't have a lot of people or traffic. Freddo was open and I stopped in to have some ice cream to get the taste of the steak I had for lunch out of my mouth.

As I approached Freddo, I saw that they had the telephone number written on the windows. It was the same number that was on the piece of paper that I thought was my Freddo card that I read to the guy when he asked for my passport number. I broke out laughing out loud when I saw this. No wonder everyone who was working at Freddo was laughing at me when I gave that number. How funny!

I returned home, ready to relax when Hernan called. He was at the hospital visiting a friend and wanted to know if I wanted to meet him for a movie.

I was supposed to have dinner at Mike's host family's house tonight, but called Mike in the morning to tell him I thought it would be better if I rested. I also didn't want to spread my germs. But now, after my massage, a steak and ice cream, I thought I could handle sitting in a movie theater for a few hours. I was feeling like I had rejoined the living.

I settled in to watch some TV and waited for further instructions from Hernan.

I was hoping the show I discovered last week, a hidden camera show called "la Vendetta" was on, but unfortunately it wasn't. I watched a little of the tribute to Lady Diana on VH1, and then played with my computer a little, which had started acting up. I never got to my nap because Hernan called.

He wanted me to meet him at a "famous Volta" at Las Heras and Salguero. I wrote down the cross street and he told me he didn't have many credits on his cell phone so he would text me the address. He hung up. He texted me, "las Heras y Salguero"

I went downstairs and caught a cab. It was my first female taxi driver, who was looking very butch. I told her the address and texted Hernan and told him I was on my way.

He texted back, "I'm cold", to which I replied, "eh?" I didn't know what he meant - was he already there, what he standing outside? I didn't get any response.

I got out at Las Heras and Salguero. I wasn't sure where I was, but I knew I was in one of the Palermos. I recognized some of the places we passed from one of our school field trips. I looked for Volta, and didn't see it.

There was a little park there, which Hernan had mentioned, but no Volta. He sent me a text just as I got out of the cab that said, Nucha Salguero. I saw the sign of the street I was at that said, Joaquin Salguero. I thought he was telling me to go to another Salguero. "Shit!", I thought, as I walked around the square. I knew that sometimes there are two streets that appear to have the same names, like Alvear, but one is Alvear, where the hotel is located, and the other is Marcelo T. Alvear. So, I thought the same was true of Salguero - one was Joaquin and the other was Nucha.

I saw a little cafe, Nucha, that I thought would have been a perfect place for us to meet - the name didn't register, I was looking for the gleaming white of Volta, I was thinking I was in the wrong place and was feeling flustered and confused, every time I tried speaking to Hernan on the phone we got cut off. I walked around the block and saw no Volta. I called Hernan. He spoke for a few seconds and got cut off. I got a text from him, it said Nucha Salguero and some numbers. I was getting upset, because I didn't know how far this Nucha Salguero was. I was also feeling a little weak and wasn't planning on walking a lot, but didn't want to catch another cab. I was also frustrated that I couldn't speak to Hernan and we were sending each other these confusing text messages - well, my messages were clear - there was no Volta and I didn't know where Nucha Salguero was. I walked a bit up Las Heras. It was cold and I was feeling weak. I stopped at a newsstand and asked the guy if he knew where Nucha Salguero was. He said Salguero was back three blocks, I told him that was Joaquin Salguero, but I wanted Nucha. He didn't know what I was talking about.

I tried calling Hernan again, he said, "I don't have much battery - I sent the address..." and got cut off. I was kind of getting pissed. I turned around, walked past the newsstand again and texted Hernan -"I'm going home". He texted back, "Ok, we're communicating in Chinese".

I read his messages again. There was a message, Nucha Salguero 2557 al lado Persicco. It all seemed so cryptic to me.

Then I remembered that cafe, "Nucha" and it hit me - Nucha was the name of the place on Salguero - I had already been where I was supposed to be! I thought Perciscco must have been the name of the street that Nucha was almost on the corner of. I walked back, crossed the park and saw Hernan outside looking a bit stressed out.

He asked me if I was unable to read directions, and I told him I was looking for Volta. He told me that Persicco was the place on the corner, and was the same company as Volta. I told him I was not from here and did not know that. He thought I should have seen Persicco and known it was Volta, but under another name. I hadn't even noticed Percisso, though I had seen Nucha, but the name didn't register. It was obvious that neither one of us were wrong. We were both communicating clearly, but neither one of us was hearing the other. It would have helped if he'd had a charged phone with credits and we could have spoken, but I didn't push that point. Once we both had our say, and I think we heard what the other was thinking/assuming, and why we had mis-communicated, we ordered tea and settled down to enjoy our tea and the chocolates that came with it. Hernan was feeling bad about his friend in the hospital who is 33 and has meningitis. He seems to be dying, is wasting away and is now blind and deaf. I knew that even though I had been feeling very upset and frustrated, being lost and confused on my first day out after being bedridden for two days, it was better to just get over it and enjoy Hernan's company I couldn't stay mad, because it was just as much my fault as anyone's, so I had to let it go and relax.

We looked at the newspaper and there were no movies that appealed to Hernan. So he suggested we rent a movie and go to his place. As we started to walk, I was feeling weak again and also hungry. I told him and he said we'd pick something up along the way.

We stopped at his video shop and he chose a film with Claire Daines and Joaquin Phoenix called "Anything for Love" or something like that. I'd never heard of it, but Hernan liked the director. I didn't care, I really just wanted to collapse on his sofa and get something to eat.

Before we could do that, we went to the chino in his neighborhood and got some wine. He chose a bottle of wine by Luigi Bosca, the label was Linda - it was a cabernet - he said it was very good. It was 19 pesos - about 6 dollars. I noticed that the wines at the chino were about half of what I paid when I went to the Disco and got wine that Hernan recommended. Next time I need wine, I'm going to the chino. Hernan said it's because they don't have to pay bills - I don't know what that means, but the chino is definitely cheaper for wine.

Finally, we got to his place, which was toasty warm. I collapsed on the sofa, but got up to help him clean up his kitchen a little. His place was really a mess, other than the living room, which was very neat. , He's been under a lot of stress lately and it was clear from the messes in his kitchen and bedroom. He ordered pizza, we broke open the wine and within 10 minutes, the pizza had arrived.

We had a simple salad first with red and green lettuce and a simple dressing of olive oil, vinegar and lemon juice - it was really yummy, very fresh and clean. The pizza, which came not cut, was half provolone and half longoniza - a kind of beef pepperoni. It had a nice thin crust, and looked like it was homemade and the dough was freshly prepared.

The pizza, the wine and the salad were all delicious. It was a very basic and simple meal, but it was all sooooo good. I sat there thinking about how much I liked this lifestyle. It was all about quality. The music that he played, the food we were eating, the apartment, were all quality, but not expensive - it wasn't Las Lilas, over the top, fancy - it was just down home, very ordinary kind of living, but it was all very high quality.

Before the movie, Hernan had me watch an interview with Borges when he was 80 years old. I had told him about what I learned about Borges being a facist during my final exam. Hernan said he loved Borges, but didn't know about his politics. We watched this interview, which I understood some of, and Hernan repeated things and translated when he could, which kind of helped, kind of didn't, kind of got in the way of me understanding. I just let it be, because after a short time, I got bored with the whole thing - Borges was very old and the interviewer was irritating, I just wanted to watch the movie.

I noticed that this interview took place in Spain in 1980 - the military dictatorship was still in power in Argentina, and the worst of the killing and oppression was already underway. I asked Hernan what Borges had to say about the "process" -how the military referred to its campaign of repression and torture. Hernan repeated something Borges said in this interview - that he did not believe in any group, but rather the rights of the individual. I didn't think that was directly about what was happening in Argentina. Hernan said he didn't think Borges ever spoke out in public criticism of the dictatorship. I found it hard to see someone as being "great" if he had international access to the media and said nothing about the disappearances that were happening on a daily basis in his country to thousands of innocent people who were never to be heard from again. To me "greatness" comes with responsibility, and that is where I think Borges failed.

Hernan switched from Borges to a photographer he liked. I can't remember his name. The photographs were strange. Some of them were obviously posed, others were real people, who were almost hyper-real, and thus surreal. I wonder if the wine was already getting to me.

Then we started the movie. Almost immediately, it was clear that this movie was different. It was kind of like the photographs we had just seen. It was very different, very understated, and yet dramatic, the story was complicated, but not really. I don't want to give any of it away. It was a good movie, but definitely not your typical Hollywood boy-meets-girl blockbuster. It was like a 2 hour surreal painting in motion.

We finished the movie at 11:15. I caught a cab and headed home. The taxi driver went what I considered a legitimate route (sometimes I wonder if they take me down alternate routes to jack up the fares - in the end, the difference is no more than a few cents for me, but still I worry). As he turned onto Santa Fe, I felt I could relax. I watched as the city, still lit up, but mostly closed up on this late Sunday evening, whizzed by. I enjoyed seeing the shops, shopping centers, lines of people at the pharmacy waiting to talk through the little window*, restaurants open 24 hours with people still inside, and relieved to get to my corner and finally return "home".

*Lining up is a big thing here, which I didn't really notice until I found myself not obeying the line up rule. I usually am not in places where people line up - the bus stops are the most common places - if you check out the Buenos Aires Daily site that I have a link on my blog for, you'll see a picture of people lined up at the bus stop, which definitely seems to get the attention of visitors from other countries - even as orderly as we are in the US, people don't line at bus stops. I don't take the bus, so I have not been a part of that experience, but I think it would be pretty obvious for me to join the line. I sort of jumped a line that I didn't realize existed in the produce department at the supermarket, but when I realized what I had done, I walked away and went down an aisle so that I could get at the end of the line, but by the time I returned, everyone had been helped and there was no line.

It seems that some pharmacies are open 24 hours, or at least very late, but I guess for security purposes, they only have a little window open in the security gate. So, you can't go inside, you have to go up to this little opening, and tell the clerk what you want, and he will run through the pharmacy and get what you need. I guess this is just for a one-item emergency kind of thing, I don't think you could go there with a whole shopping list. So as my taxi moved silently through the city on its way home tonight, I saw a line of people standing there on Santa Fe waiting for their turn at the window to get whatever late night item they needed from the pharmacy.

The whole thing was very surreal.