Buenos Dias Buenos Aires

Spring is in the air! It’s Friday the 21st, and actually it’s the official first day of Spring. Schools are closed and lots of people are out walking about. The grass is green, and the trees are budding (my hope is to leave before my usual spring allergies wake up and smell the pollen). Yesterday when we got here we were more than a little burnt out. Why? Well, we left our hotel in Paris on Wednesday at 2pm, took a cab to a train to London into another cab to Heathrow onto a plane for Buenos Aires then into a cab for our client’s offices where we shot three interviews (and had a very nice little lunch of empanadas) then into a cab destined for our hotel (passing, along the way, a motorcycle shop where a huge, tricked out chopper was being polished under the watchful gaze of three color-wearing members of Hell’s Angels Argentina). By the time we got to the hotel we figured we’d been on the go for about 33 hours. Then we watched Latin American Idol and fell asleep.

Buenos Aires is an interesting city—a most definite european influence, but it has that somewhat-worn latin american thing going on, and not much separates the more-forgotten parts of town and the fancier parts of town. The famous obilisk is wrapped in the colors of Argentina and Germany, as they celebrate and commerate 150 years of diplomatic relations. The obilisk is in the center of the Av 9 de Julio, which is like fourteen lanes wide. I think it was somewhere near here where my Dad was in the mid-1950’s, hunkering down on the floor of the AP Bureau during the Revolution, as the percussion from the tank fire was lifting him off the floor. It still feels like politics is quite a sport here (people accusing each other of being Peronistas in the newspaper, that sort of thing). And there’s graffiti all over the place, mostly just the name of one of the presidential candidates, a guy named Lavagna, over and over and over again. We got out early and tried for some morning sun shots—starting with The Pink House (the White House of Argentina, home of the Executive Branch)—but el sol is hiding from us. Why is The Pink House pink? When it was constructed it was meant to show peace between the two dominant parties of the time: Los Federales, whose emblem was red, and Los Unitarios, known as “the white ones”. Anyway, our very nice driver Julio (formerly of the Cuban Navy, who believes that any problem you have can be sorted out if you go and just spend some time on the sea) is being patient with us as we wait for the sun. Got a quick cloudy stroll in along the San Martin park/square (where our hotel is located) then along Florida street, a store-packed pedestrian street, had a small snack of french food (quiche) and italian coffees—yes, we are dorks—now we’re back in the room once again awaiting bright sun and blue skies. Julio thinks it will happen soon, perhaps around 2pm. Forgot to mention breakfast this morning! So, we get the little continental breakfast and there is a tiny jar of dulce de leche, which brings happiness to the taste buds and brings back big memories of being 13 and watching my step-grandmother Alice, my step-aunt Nancy (my stepfather was born here I think, and their entire family spent MANY many years in Buenos Aires) and my mom all making dulce de leche in the kitchen. Ahhhh…., sweeet. Anyway, we continue to wait (it’s looking promising!), and we’re told that tonight we’re to go see a Tango, and perhaps we can find some yummy milanesas, or some sort of asado restaurant.