Wednesday, November 23, 2005
When in Buenos Aires ... , Argentina
Buenos Aires is not what Quang expected. “I expected … I don’t know … Mexico,” he said.
“What?” I gasped, choking on my cortado, a shot of espresso with a dash of steamed milk. “Mexico? You expected Buenos Aires to be like Mexico?” As far as I was concerned, there was little about the look and feel of Buenos Aires that reminded me of anywhere we´d been in Mexico.
“Yeah. I don’t know. I guess I just thought it was going to look like Mexico. But this,” he swept his arm into the air taking in the mess of neon lights lining Lavalle, “… this is more like Hong Kong or Tokyo or Shanghai. I bet if you showed someone a picture of this, right now with all the lights, they’d be hard pressed to say it was Buenos Aires.”
I looked up at the lights. They were flickering on as dusk set in. Quang was right. This street, Lavalle, and its twin pedestrian walkway, Florida, were a mess of commercial lights blinking and shining into the night. I´d been telling Quang to “look up” all day. As we walked through Buenos Aires, I kept pointing out pretty buildings. Some were topped with cupolas; some were adorned with thin balconies and twisted, wrought iron rails. Tall, thick wooden doors carved in detail graced others.
These streets looked much like they had when I was here seven years before. In fact, I am surprised, and pleased, by how quickly the city has come back to me – bus routes, subway stops, street names and neighborhood grids. I’ve picked up a map only to get my bearings.
Other Buenos Aires habits have come back as well. The habit of drinking coffee, for example. While discussing the early night-time lights of Lavalle, we were sitting at an outdoor café. Quang was drinking a peach smoothie in an attempt to ward off approaching sniffles. I was drinking coffee. Caffeinated coffee. Espresso. I was drinking a cortado. So were most of the people around us.
When I look back at the months I lived in Buenos Aires, coffee is one of the things that most frequently comes to mind. I drank a whole lot of coffee while I was here. Let me rephrase that. I drank a whole lot of espresso while I was here. I had a caffeine addiction a mile long and I fed it well. But I wasn’t alone. People, everyone it seemed, drank coffee anytime of day. Every block of the city houses a café, perhaps two or three or four. There are no Starbucks here. There is no need. There is already enough caffeine in this town to keep the city lit up until dawn. In fact, much of Buenos Aires is lit up till dawn.
It was little surprise to me, therefore, as soon as I hit the streets of Buenos Aires, that I felt overcome by an urge to find a café and drink a really tasty cup of very strong coffee. It was, however, a surprise to my system.
I now remember why, at home, I cut out caffeine any time after noon. I was awake until 4 a.m., and Quang, with his peach smoothie, was irritatingly fast asleep.
“What?” I gasped, choking on my cortado, a shot of espresso with a dash of steamed milk. “Mexico? You expected Buenos Aires to be like Mexico?” As far as I was concerned, there was little about the look and feel of Buenos Aires that reminded me of anywhere we´d been in Mexico.
“Yeah. I don’t know. I guess I just thought it was going to look like Mexico. But this,” he swept his arm into the air taking in the mess of neon lights lining Lavalle, “… this is more like Hong Kong or Tokyo or Shanghai. I bet if you showed someone a picture of this, right now with all the lights, they’d be hard pressed to say it was Buenos Aires.”
I looked up at the lights. They were flickering on as dusk set in. Quang was right. This street, Lavalle, and its twin pedestrian walkway, Florida, were a mess of commercial lights blinking and shining into the night. I´d been telling Quang to “look up” all day. As we walked through Buenos Aires, I kept pointing out pretty buildings. Some were topped with cupolas; some were adorned with thin balconies and twisted, wrought iron rails. Tall, thick wooden doors carved in detail graced others.
These streets looked much like they had when I was here seven years before. In fact, I am surprised, and pleased, by how quickly the city has come back to me – bus routes, subway stops, street names and neighborhood grids. I’ve picked up a map only to get my bearings.
Other Buenos Aires habits have come back as well. The habit of drinking coffee, for example. While discussing the early night-time lights of Lavalle, we were sitting at an outdoor café. Quang was drinking a peach smoothie in an attempt to ward off approaching sniffles. I was drinking coffee. Caffeinated coffee. Espresso. I was drinking a cortado. So were most of the people around us.
When I look back at the months I lived in Buenos Aires, coffee is one of the things that most frequently comes to mind. I drank a whole lot of coffee while I was here. Let me rephrase that. I drank a whole lot of espresso while I was here. I had a caffeine addiction a mile long and I fed it well. But I wasn’t alone. People, everyone it seemed, drank coffee anytime of day. Every block of the city houses a café, perhaps two or three or four. There are no Starbucks here. There is no need. There is already enough caffeine in this town to keep the city lit up until dawn. In fact, much of Buenos Aires is lit up till dawn.
It was little surprise to me, therefore, as soon as I hit the streets of Buenos Aires, that I felt overcome by an urge to find a café and drink a really tasty cup of very strong coffee. It was, however, a surprise to my system.
I now remember why, at home, I cut out caffeine any time after noon. I was awake until 4 a.m., and Quang, with his peach smoothie, was irritatingly fast asleep.
