day 3

I arrived in Buenos aires being the second night for me without sleeping. This plus the factit seemed really bizzar to get out of the vanouver habit all of a sudden and leave the collective bodies connections i have there, made me arrive in a state of particular estrangement. I am writing this down quickly before the effect vanishes and i get repositioned my self and by my previous portenyo connections. i am deciding to try to keep this in english, maybe because i am afraid of losing the resonance of many talks in that language and also maybe to keep some sense of estrangement, the language of empire, also the language of good comedies. i will jump whenever i need anyways.


buenos aires started in the waiting room in Atlanta, full of two types of people. The first visitors expecting to find that energetic and strangely huge city they heard about form other fellow traveller friends, internet, guide books, travel agents, news. every one will love them, will show them how cool, interesting deep, combativos, we are. they will be overwhelmed, seduced, disgusted by the city. The second of course portenyos talking on their cel phones in spanish about how many good buisnesses they have done in the us, how great a trip they had, what they had bought. i can't stand portenyos pretending to be something that no one is very sure what it is. however none cares to show that they are pretending, nothing is covered or behind or below or in reality. is all there. we all know. the man with the belly looking grey, stressed telling his cel "no paramos de abrir locales, nos va barbaro" .

so the trip is going back, get surrounded by old objects, in a space that makes her wonder when exactly is that. space has some grip, stops and directs how and where will she start moving. more or less the same. retiro , a shower, put on some old clothes, eat a fruit, chat, make a couple of phone calls, san telmo, suitcases with what she was using yesterday with some other thongs around and in other assemblages of people, objects, music, ideas, temperature. unpack, clean, go to the computer space -which remains almost the same-. sleep. wake up. mate and off to the street. the grocery in front, some neighbour, microcentro, long lines of waiting, moving compacted, cursing. bakery the woman chats her she is hungry, about to eat, misses mate in the summer. stop at the fruit store, the peaches are too good, smell sweet. and on to an apartment. a bus guard fights with a woman with the wrong ticket, the rise of the ticket was recent, other people get anxious, tell the woman to get off or to pay, she pays tells the guard he can now be happy with his miserable salary siendo un buchon. fresh night air and now you can start the day again.

so this is my provincial experience. not of being nowhere or wherever, but in a city where most of the people is around. not only flow but lots of grip and happy or unwanted stopping. and the style of this writing is Kathleen Stuart even when the duration of the events are probably two long and linear.