San Telmo, Buenos Aires
Going out into the street without my camera is always a mistake, especially in Argentina. I walk not even one block from the house and see a group of people standing around looking sort of bewildered, as if something has just happened. As I pass, there’s an old man lying on the ground in a pool of deep red blood coming from his face, which is obviously a mess. I continue on down the street behind two schoolgirls in short green uniformed skirts that both make ugly faces at the same time. After another half a block I turn back to see if there’s anything I can do to help. No… the ambulance is on the way and he’ll be OK.
After looking at another smallish, expensive and out-of-the-way apartment I return to Caminito where Samantha is working. I wait and wait, finally catching her in-between dancing and laughing with her friends.
“What are you doing after work tonight?” I sheepishly ask. “Tonight… nothing,” she shrugs. Wait a minute… maybe she has a free evening, finally? “You can dine with me then, night?” I reply with a hint of hope in my voice. She simply nods. “What time is good for you,” I ask. “Whenever you tell me…”
“OK, how about 6:30PM?”
“I won’t be there, that’s too early.”
“How about 7PM?”
“Nope, won’t be there at 7… I have to go back to my house and change and shower and all that. How about 11PM?”
“But that’s so late.”
“OK, how about 10:30?” OK. At 10:30 I’ll be at the Constitucion train station.
“I’ll meet you at the ticket counter?” Yes, at the ticket counter, at Constitucion... at 10:30PM. Chao...
Walking back from La Boca I pass that same building that I shot the first day I arrived exactly one week ago today, the same day the President Bush arrived, and the anti-Bush graffiti still sprawls across the wall. But this time by foot, I can see inside of the building. It’s totally empty except for a HUGE stenciled picture of Che on the wall in the back. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a picture of Che that big. A man standing on top of the steps in front of the entrance asks me for a cigarette. “What’s this building,” I ask in exchange for the cigarette. It’s an old bank but now we live here. I want to live here too… not in this bank, but in La Boca, close to the soccer stadium. La Boca es vida.
On the next corner is a brightly painted green and blue hamburger shop. Suddenly I realize how hungry I am. I order a Maxi- burger with fries, one up from super. Not sure what the difference is since they both come with fried egg on top. Four blonde Germans swiftly ride past on matching black bicycles…. damn those German tourists! The kid behind the counter cranks up the music so loud, over modulating the speakers so that I can’t understand any of the words but I know its Bersuit, one of Argentina’s biggest rock bands that Danny turned me onto back in the States. When I glance at him he senses that I might be annoyed with the music and turns it back down to a normal level, normal for Argentina.
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