La Cumparsita

Sometimes life has a way of telling you to go home. On my last full day in Buenos Aires, my phone service went out, I was stood up for dinner, and a major milonga put me at a table with a guy who proceeded to hustle me as a tango teacher. (I fled back to Practica X, where partners were less expert but more sincere.)

Even then, it wasn't a terrible day, just bad enough to tell me that, okay, I'm ready for a bit more predictability. As in rain and drear. Or so I try to convince myself. In the middle of the night before I fly out. After an 80-degree sunny day. Uh-huh.

The title of this post is the name of the song traditionally played to close out a milonga, so I thought it appropriate for the finale of this blog. In the course of my five weeks here, I've noted oddities and ironies which didn't quite fit my post topics. So I finish with this collection of Baires miscellany.

***On my way to visit the Goyas in the Museo del Bellas Artes on Sunday, I passed by BA's ritziest hotel and spotted an entrance-maker in its porte-chochere: a 1925 Lagonda, It bore a small plaque indicating that it recently had been in a Peking to Paris rally. Wherever it had come from in this case, it had bugs on the grille and grit in the wheel wells. I had visions of it putt-putting across the Andes.

***Speaking of traveling in style, there is Wifi in the subte. I'm not sure who thought this was a great idea, but there are signs proclaiming that, if you wish to boot up on a grungy subway platform, a signal will await you. Certainly people here carry on lengthy cell conversations during subway rides, so why not web browsing? But I've yet to see it.

***BA's many bookshops in tourist areas carry a small English language selection but no Jorge Luis Borges, the great chronicler of Buenos Aires life and a natural "read" while here. I found Shakespeare, Mark Twain and Danielle Steele. I even found an edition of poetry by Chile's Pablo Neruda. But no Borges. Next time, I'll bring my own.

***There is a shortage of coins in BA. Coins are needed for buses and parking meters, and they're in great demand. If you pay in metal, they practically hug you. If you pay with those measly 2 peso bills, you are not spat upon, but you sense the merchant's indifference...and disappointment.

*** Another currency twist is that, since July, it has been impossible to withdraw more than the equivalent of 100 USD from an ATM in any given transaction. This may be an inflation-control device, but it presents problems for certain transactions which are cash only, such as apartment rentals. And, of course, the fees attached to each withdrawal mount up.

***I love this Argentine term for North American: yankee, which is pronounced "shanky." It sounds irresistibly pejorative. The Argentines insist, of course, that it is not.

***This city smells. I've become aware that it has a fragrance, sweet and succulent, probably due to the many parrillas. This fragrance must be what any Porteno, returning from abroad, recognizes subliminally to know he is home. Every city has an odor, I suspect. Chicago has the scent of the lake, Portland has the odor of Doug Fir and Cedar and loam. With Tokyo I associate a burnt smell -- incense and a gorgeous burnt cedar plus bamboo.

How does your city smell? I want to know! Post a comment.

Ciao y hasta luego!