Thursday 26 May 2011

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In the window of the City Museum, among old dolls and toys, is a plaster head of a grinning man with screws in his scalp and a huge open safety pin on his nose.

Breakfast in the shopping arcade, with no music videos today. Coffee, orange juice and tostadas with sweet red jam. We picked up a newspaper from the next table. There were pages of upbeat comment and photos of the thronging crowds marking the 201st anniversary of independence. Cristina the President spoke of a homeland for all and recalled the memory of Nestor Kirschner.

As we walked back to the hotel, the Plaza was back to its usual self, with people striding purposefully and attentive kindergarten teachers guiding their young charges, each labelled.

At a table outside La Biela in Recoleta, one of two young men in V-necked sweaters and blazers - the one wearing a white scarf thrown round his neck - has his shoes shone while he sits and drinks his espresso. Beyond the hedge, two federal policemen have stopped a youth in a hoodie and are scrutinising his ID. At the cab rank, the drivers chat; two white-shirted waiters lean on the red pillar box.

On the walk back to the hotel, we stopped by chance into a cafe on Florida, the Richmond, which we now know to have been a regular haunt of Borges. Downstairs from the huge panelled room, we could see elderly men competing in chess tournaments with intent spectators standing round.

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