You should come to Brazil...

It´s very easy to get around Buenos Aires between the elaborate bus system and the Subte (subway). In addition, there are many different areas of the city with very different flavors. Palermo, for instance, is characterized by quiet residential streets and plenty of outdoor cafes. Fifteen minutes from Palermo on the Subte you arrive at the Microcentro. This is downtown at its finest, complete with hustle and bustle. A group of us decided to visit the Microcentro, and more specifically Calle Florida, a street known for its shops and ice cream. It was a hot day so we took the Subte.

When the train doors opened it was standing room only so I swung my daypack from my back to my front and put my left hand in its respective pocket where my wallet was. The other hand would be required for holding the nearest plastic ring dangling from the train ceiling. Ten minutes into the ride a couple of short young men began to fish their way through the packed traincar, presumably to get closer to the doors. But they kept walking past the door, stopping in a particularly crowded part of the train.

As I watched them, I wondered why it was that each man was carrying a coat on such a hot day. Also, I wondered why they had decided to stop walking in the most congested area of the traincar. Also, I wondered why one of the guys was trying to reach into the pocket of an elderly...Pickpockets! Of course!

I checked the zippers of my day pack while watching the elderly victim move away from the creeping hand. I had to share this with someone so I tapped my Colombian friend, Jorge, on the shoulder. He was already watching. We resolved to keep an eye out for these guys, but they got off the train at the next stop anyway.

It was a narrow miss for that old man and we began to talk about pickpockets and I recommended a French film called ¨Pickpocket¨by Robert Bresson for an almost instructional view at the world of thieves. Jorge said he´d never heard of Robert Bresson so we dropped it. Only three more stops until Avenida 9 de Julio, our gateway to Calle Florida.

I wondered how long we´d been on the Subte so I checked my watch. But it wasn´t on my wrist. Had I, a person with such knowledge of chicanery and prestidigitation, been burgled? The answer was no, because I remembered that I´d put my watch in my right pocket because it was hurting my wrist earlier. I reached down to grab it but someone was already in the process. Beneath a big plastic bag, this guy to my right was trying to finagle my watch from my pocket! His hands were shaking and his eyes looked very nervous.

I punched him solidly in the arm and said, ¨No me jodas,¨a phrase I´d learned from my Peruvian friend, Hegel. The guy looked guilty as charged but stayed right where he was, pretending like nothing had happened. What nerve! Maybe I should turn him over to the police, I thought. I would tell them that low-lifes of this sort shouldn´t be tolerated in a fine society like Buenos Aires. And then he would be in jail with all the other ne´er-do-wells, where he belongs. But then I looked at him again and realized that although he was a pickpocket and a theif, he wasn´t a particularly confident one. And since I´ve got a soft spot for that kinda thing, I decided not to say anything about it. I told him to keep practicing.

We got to Calle Florida alright and some girls we were with bought leather purses for pretty cheap. I bought a belt for about 7 bucks, but it was too big so I had the guy punch a few more holes in it. It´s a nice belt. Then we walked around the corner and arrived at the cinema district. There were several multiplexes next to small parrillas (Argentine bbq) and even more leather shops. We opted to try a small theater at the end of the street which was playing a film called ¨Hechos, no palabras.¨ The poster looked cool with its blue and white striped theme with the red title at the top against solid black. We decided to try it out.

It was a documentary about the Cuban Human Rights movement constantly underway in Havana. The film itself consisted mostly of talking heads without subtitles so for myself and the American girl I was sitting next to, it was hard to understand. What parts we did understand had to do with George Bush mostly, and also the great struggle for American money around the world. And it´s true, occasionally when I say where I´m from, the other person´s eyes will for a fleeting moment fill with contempt, or maybe they turn into dollar signs sometimes. But walking out of the theater, I wanted more than anything to have these prejudices disappear. So I did what any American would do and went with my new friends to an all-you-can-eat Parrilla. It was meat and more meat, delicious, and all for only $5 US.

Later that night, I reluctantly went with a group of Brazilians to a discotheque (reluctantly because I was tired. Went because I felt it was the right thing to do). It was an awesome time and I´ve never danced so much in my life. The music was sort of electronica, and looking back I probably wouldn´t listen to this kind of music anywhere else but in a discotheque. So that was a fun time and we got back to the hostel well after the sun had come up. In the taxi on the way home the light was beautiful, and my friend Guillermo from Sao Paulo was doing his best Bogart impression. It was oddly appropriate for the moment.

I spent the following day tracking down a few specialty camera shops in Buenos Aires that carry the type of film I need for my medium-format camera. This was my final goal before leaving BsAs, and now I am ready to continue my traveling. After the shops, I was a bit hungry so I stopped into a corner cafe in San Telmo (another distinct area of Buenos Aires). There was only myself and the shopkeeper who was an old, spirited man. He told me all about how he´d been working in the same cafe for thirty years and how the clientelle has changed since he opened up shop. He told me about the American tourists who attempt to buy sandwiches with US dollars, then pointed so a sign which read, ¨No queremos dinero extranjero.¨I felt proud for using Argentine pesos to buy my sandwich de miga. It consisted of ham, cheese, and tomato, and it came toasted. Que Rico!

After I´d eaten my sandwich and returned to the hostel, it was time to go out for the night. The spot...a pub called John John. The people...Brazilians. We made our way in three taxis to the Microcentro and found the pub. We got in after a cover charge of 15 pesos and were handed a Quilmes upon entry. After making our way downstairs we commenced dancing to all sorts of music, even Nirvana and Red Hot Chili Peppers. This is where I learned how to Samba. Granted, I´m not very good at it still, but I´m proud of myself for going out on a limb enough to try. It was a great night and I am growing fond of Brazilians, simply because their language is so beautiful. It seems that every word they speak, even about the most mundane things, sounds like a song. Also, they´ve got a zest for life I´ve never seen before.

When I told my friend Guillermo about this, he simply replied, ¨Yes, and you should come to Brazil...¨

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