It´s winter in Buenos Aires, and my mother and Jenna somehow convinced me not to bring my winter coat, which seems to have absolutely no effect on how much I am loving BA. It´s a sleepy town, and I´m not sure if that´s because it´s the low season for tourism or if that´s just how it is. But it´s a perfect retreat from the noise and demands of New York living. Plus, I´m staying in the most charming Bed and Breakfast, where my room looks like a whitewashed version of a Van Gogh painting. I can´t remember the name, but it´s the painting of the room with one of everything--one bed, one desk, one chair, one lamp, one window, one pitcher, one glass, one mirror. Imagine that in all white, and somehow, less depressing, possibly because the window looks out upon an enclosed garden and patio. The only things in multiples are two framed drawings and a number of books on the bookshelf, including The Unbearable Lightness of Being and The Kite Runner. The minute I entered the room, I had a fleeting idea to retire here next year to write my dissertation.
Since I only arrived today, it´s been a slow day of walking around and trying to get my bearings. And trying to remember my Spanish and not answer in Italian. I don´t know how my friends (you know who you are) could remind me to bring q-tips and condoms, but not my Spanish phrasebook, the latter of which would have been infinitely more useful. Honestly. When the taxi driver asked for the address of the hotel, for 1779, I said "uno, sette, sette, noche" or "1-7-7-night." Excellent.
But, I was able to order wine in a cafe and sit and read Borges for 2 hours, uninterrupted, which seems to be what I would want to do even if I was fluent in Spanish. I know my mother is reading this and appalled by my solitary scholarly pursuits, but fear not, Mother! I have a tour guide taking me around the city tomorrow. And I will be buying a coat to make up for the one you and Jenna confiscated.