The Argentines, and in particular, the portenos, live in almost first-world modernity, surrounded by the faded elegance of the past. Buildings here are a mix of old and new; many live in tall, modern rectangles. But even the most contemporary high rises are ensconced in the historical shadow of their neighbours--new is always pressed up against old here, both literally and figuratively.
state-of-the-art, clean private medical clinics partner with the often ancient, crumbling ruins that house the city's mostly-free public health care to offer a dual system that serves the millions of Argentines and extranjeros alike who call Buenos Aires their home.
In San Telmo's Sunday market, the young classical guitarists and dancers of tomorrow work side by side the aging tango singers and other performers who once headlined the city's most notorious dance halls, entertaining the throngs of tourists eager for a glimpse of the romantic city they've read and seen snippets about in travel books and movies.
They (the tourists) search eagerly for mate in styrofoam take-out cups from street vendors while the artisans at whose booths they browse for overpriced gaucho treasures to take home to their unassuming friends share a carefully prepared drink through the bombilla in a special ritual that only the most ardent gringos ever truly come to understand....
state-of-the-art, clean private medical clinics partner with the often ancient, crumbling ruins that house the city's mostly-free public health care to offer a dual system that serves the millions of Argentines and extranjeros alike who call Buenos Aires their home.
In San Telmo's Sunday market, the young classical guitarists and dancers of tomorrow work side by side the aging tango singers and other performers who once headlined the city's most notorious dance halls, entertaining the throngs of tourists eager for a glimpse of the romantic city they've read and seen snippets about in travel books and movies.
They (the tourists) search eagerly for mate in styrofoam take-out cups from street vendors while the artisans at whose booths they browse for overpriced gaucho treasures to take home to their unassuming friends share a carefully prepared drink through the bombilla in a special ritual that only the most ardent gringos ever truly come to understand....
This morning, I become part of the local fabric, blending in with the morning rush... but for the fact that I keep reaching for my camera to snap photos that give away my tourist identity!
I'm off to Retiro to pick up the kids, who are scheduled to arrive from Iguazu this morning at 08:00. I decide to take the train, and am rewarded with a free ride downtown (the ticket scanners for the train--which uses the same pay card system as the subway--rarely work here).
I'm off to Retiro to pick up the kids, who are scheduled to arrive from Iguazu this morning at 08:00. I decide to take the train, and am rewarded with a free ride downtown (the ticket scanners for the train--which uses the same pay card system as the subway--rarely work here).
At Retiro, BsAs' answer to Toronto's Union station, I disembark and head off into the world: My destination is the massive central bus station from which many people are coming, so it's a bit of an upstream swim along the already-crowded sidewalks.
Clumps of police officers stand around, their presence deterring would-criminals, presumably. Dozens of street vendors hawk their wares, screaming enticements to the crowds rushing by. Mostly it's fresh tortillas, homemade cakes and too-sweet cafe-con-leche, but socks and travel packs of tissues are also on offer.
Next to a tortilla stand (a makeshift BBQ perched precariously atop a shopping cart), a dog stretches luxuriously on a foam mattress already abandoned by the human who slept there overnight. Nearby, a not-yet-abandoned mattress still houses a sleepy street human.
Clumps of police officers stand around, their presence deterring would-criminals, presumably. Dozens of street vendors hawk their wares, screaming enticements to the crowds rushing by. Mostly it's fresh tortillas, homemade cakes and too-sweet cafe-con-leche, but socks and travel packs of tissues are also on offer.
Next to a tortilla stand (a makeshift BBQ perched precariously atop a shopping cart), a dog stretches luxuriously on a foam mattress already abandoned by the human who slept there overnight. Nearby, a not-yet-abandoned mattress still houses a sleepy street human.
Soon I am in the bus terminal, over a hundred bus platforms stretched out before me, a seemingly endless array of giant, double decker buses from over 50 different companies pulling in and out of platforms.
In the waiting areas outside as inside, people mill about, searching for their platforms. Luggage is interspersed with more street dogs, many of whom lie lazily around in the middle of the walkways, apparently unfazed by the people stepping over and around them.
More police are here. Army guys, too.
They are outnumbered by the street children who walk barefoot through the bus terminal with their mothers or older siblings, searching for scraps of food or strangers with money.
Now begins a waiting game for me. The bus from Iguazu is, as usual, late. I settle in next to some mate drinkers and gaze intently at the screen nearby, scanning the ever-changing arrivals list for the Crucero del Norte bus that will soon bring my babies home from their adventure at the rain forest.
The wait is not unbearable; less than an hour and a half later, the familiar orange and yellow bus pulls into the platform, and two boys are smiling and waving at me from the upper deck. Seconds later, they are in my arms, laughing, hugging, bursting at the seams to tell stories.
They are outnumbered by the street children who walk barefoot through the bus terminal with their mothers or older siblings, searching for scraps of food or strangers with money.
Now begins a waiting game for me. The bus from Iguazu is, as usual, late. I settle in next to some mate drinkers and gaze intently at the screen nearby, scanning the ever-changing arrivals list for the Crucero del Norte bus that will soon bring my babies home from their adventure at the rain forest.
The wait is not unbearable; less than an hour and a half later, the familiar orange and yellow bus pulls into the platform, and two boys are smiling and waving at me from the upper deck. Seconds later, they are in my arms, laughing, hugging, bursting at the seams to tell stories.
I help our friend with his bag, and the four of us head off to breakfast in Buenos Aires, a city steeped in rich history and architecture, where today's visitors and residents anticipate the future reflected in the mirrors of the surrounding past.