I'm back

I’m back. It isn’t like the first time. The plane didn’t burst into applause when we landed at Ezeiza, the taxi driver didn’t kiss me, although he was very civil, I wasn’t bowled over by a bedroom in a penthouse, giving out onto a four hundred square foot private terrace... but it’s still all good. I still feel privileged to be here, having a second preview of tango heaven. And I’m getting better and better at being sweetly forgiving of all that glisters and is not gold. I must be careful not to get too saintly, though. When you reach too good, you die.

The planes took off and landed on time, but the journey was still about nineteen hours long - twelve hours to Sao Paolo, four hours in the transit lounge (including a massage, because I’m worth it! Yep, I know how to live...) Then two and a half hours to Buenos Aires. Counting the journeys to and from airports, that’s nearly one whole day of travel. ¡Caramba!

Thanks to Craig’s List, it wasn’t hard to find modestly priced accommodation. I was spoiled for choice and opted for a large double bedroom with a view, in a shared flat in San Telmo. It is situated in tree-lined Avenida Independencia, opposite the Church of Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception, near Avenida 9 de Julio, reputed to be one of the biggest roads in the world.The jacaranda has finished blooming, but I am happy to say there are still pink flowers in trees - I shall have to find out what they’re called.This is a transport-rich area, with four subte lines virtually at my doorstep and numerous bus routes. I have walked the barrio and discovered the local verdulería and panadería (fruit ‘n’ veg shop and bakery) and already run up a debt of one peso, because nobody likes to give change. They would rather risk not being paid. Lots of smiling and head shaking. No change there, then.

I have been here about twenty-four hours and have already moved house once! Yesterday, I was on the third floor, which was decorated twenties style, with gold wall paper (the building is about a century old.) I got to have a dinner with my Norwegian flatmate, Kristina, before having an early night. I had lunch today with the dueña’s mum, Lucia, and met her younger brother, Cristian. (I say ‘the dueña’ because I’m not yet sure what to call her. She appears to have a number of pseudonyms.) Then, later this afternoon, two French girls arrived, friends, who wanted to be on the same floor and I was asked if I would consider moving to the floor above, so I did. It’s quieter higher up, but now I can only see the church if I crane my neck out of the window and would have an unremarkable view, if it wasn’t partially obscured by an extraordinarily virile, triffid-like succulent, which rises out of a glass window box like the briars surrounding the Sleeping Beauty. Very apt. And very arty, you can see the roots through the glass and everything. I just hope it doesn’t harbor any creepy crawlies or iguanas, because I might just die. No gold wallpaper here. The room is painted white and there are huge, original acrylics on the walls, one of a mysterious tower with two tiny figures in the forefront (whatever can it mean?) and the other of two nude beauties having, er, a serious cuddle. The dueña’s brother, Sergio, is an artist. He lives upstairs in a typical artist’s garret, a gigantic room covered from floor to ceiling in pop art. It’s all very basic, here, but I’m happy.