The smell of asado wafting through the windows is distracting my concentration. I'm hungry, wrestling with a deadline and the extreme heat is making it hard to focus. If it's true that the biting cold of a European winter puts people in a bad mood, then it's also certain that oppressive heat does nothing to bring out the best in people.
Today the city woke up nasty. Impatient taxi drivers and rushing-to-work commuters pound their horns with heightened intensity and the pre Christmas streets are teeming with pedestrians, less patient than usual; a rowdy rabble of jabbing elbows and sidewalk-hogging window shoppers.
Santa doesn't wear Bermuda shorts in this part of the world. With 35 degrees of heat you would think the red cloak, thick flannel trousers and beard would be reserved for colder climes. There is something slightly absurd about billboards of snow scenes and sledges, when the asphalt is melting beneath your feet.
The city is hot, dirty and draining today and no one has any desire to be part of it. I don't want to go out; I don't want to stay in. I just want someone to feed me grapes and fan me gently as I lie motionless upon a sofa. My father informs me that it's snowing again in their corner of the world; a record-breakingly cold winter before the worst has even begun... I guess you can never win.
17 Dec 2010
15 Dec 2010
The city I love
The broad, tree-lined streets are so familiar to me. I walk along the sunny side and an amused smile dances across my lips as catcalls of "hermosa" and "diosa" remind me that I'm back in Buenos Aires; this decadent and thriving city that draws such an eclectic mix of characters and a people who don't keep their feelings to themselves.
I walk past a "parilla" - a steak house - with plastic green tables arranged, somewhat awkwardly, about the sidewalk. The delicious aroma of meat slowly burning on the grill invades the air. It's only Monday and yet the place is over-spilling with people sitting, laughing, chinking glasses and enjoying some of the finest meat in the world. A jewellery-clad lady with a Gucci bag and over-sized, dark glasses leans back in her chair, observing her dining partner with distain, dropping a coil of ash from her cigarette onto the floor and passing pieces of bread to the kickable canine by her side.
A young, painfully thin woman taps her heel nervously on the floor, eyes darting from side to side, willing the slow-moving waiter to bring the bill so she can rush home and regurgitate her lunch. A group of yellow-haired, sandal-clad gringos laugh loudly as they order another bottle of wine, unknowingly observed by the young boy with the fast hands that's pretending not to look as he circles twice around the block.
A silver haired man sits alone with his coffee. A sleepy smile exposing the crow's feet aound his eyes spreads across his face. As he nods his head he lights up with a soulful expression that seems to say "I know about fine wine and women".
My ankle jars as I step upon an uneven tile that sprays a splash of dirty, stagnated water up the back of my legs. I had forgotten about the broken sidewalks; I must be off my game. I used to have an inbuilt radar that would guide me safely down the street avoiding any crumbling surface, tree root, impromptu construction site or dog faeces.
Ahh Buenos Aires. In any given moment this city can be engaging; captivating; exciting; then suddenly the wind blows and the panorama changes. The streets that were so inviting become dirty, cluttered and hostile. Some days are good; some days are great; other days are just plain awful, depending upon how many buses you have missed or unions are on strike, cordoning off parts of the city and clogging up kilometres of traffic. I have always had a love-hate relationship with this city. It's an organized chaos that somehow works; a rat race that simply draws you in - a place that has become my second home.
I walk past a "parilla" - a steak house - with plastic green tables arranged, somewhat awkwardly, about the sidewalk. The delicious aroma of meat slowly burning on the grill invades the air. It's only Monday and yet the place is over-spilling with people sitting, laughing, chinking glasses and enjoying some of the finest meat in the world. A jewellery-clad lady with a Gucci bag and over-sized, dark glasses leans back in her chair, observing her dining partner with distain, dropping a coil of ash from her cigarette onto the floor and passing pieces of bread to the kickable canine by her side.
A young, painfully thin woman taps her heel nervously on the floor, eyes darting from side to side, willing the slow-moving waiter to bring the bill so she can rush home and regurgitate her lunch. A group of yellow-haired, sandal-clad gringos laugh loudly as they order another bottle of wine, unknowingly observed by the young boy with the fast hands that's pretending not to look as he circles twice around the block.
A silver haired man sits alone with his coffee. A sleepy smile exposing the crow's feet aound his eyes spreads across his face. As he nods his head he lights up with a soulful expression that seems to say "I know about fine wine and women".
My ankle jars as I step upon an uneven tile that sprays a splash of dirty, stagnated water up the back of my legs. I had forgotten about the broken sidewalks; I must be off my game. I used to have an inbuilt radar that would guide me safely down the street avoiding any crumbling surface, tree root, impromptu construction site or dog faeces.
Ahh Buenos Aires. In any given moment this city can be engaging; captivating; exciting; then suddenly the wind blows and the panorama changes. The streets that were so inviting become dirty, cluttered and hostile. Some days are good; some days are great; other days are just plain awful, depending upon how many buses you have missed or unions are on strike, cordoning off parts of the city and clogging up kilometres of traffic. I have always had a love-hate relationship with this city. It's an organized chaos that somehow works; a rat race that simply draws you in - a place that has become my second home.
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