Cheap philosophy, rubber shoes in Buenos Aires
Notes, recollections, and film from the city of “Fair Winds” and the capital of Argentina, Buenos Aires. Photo taken by me at Parque República Oriental del Uruguay, March 19, 2023.
My trip to Buenos Aires started with me getting scammed by a taxi driver. I watched the outskirts merge into bus routes, bus routes into metro lines, and was welcomed by Isa at her aunt’s house planted between tall, narrow walls in provinces laced with vines.
There was scorching heat infused with every unfamiliarity; the air conditioning participate fell on the sidewalk and my head. Photo by me, March 19, 2023.
Women wore rayon dresses and smoked cigarettes. Men wore bulky tees and smoked cigarettes. There were palm trees and maroon sidewalks. Orange buses with blue curtains. Haircuts with short bangs.
Isa Conti, my guide and model for four days and nights, poses with cat Bapho named after a medieval spirit of balance near Las Heras Park, March 19, 2023. Photo by me.
On the radio, I overheard Charly García’s 1990 Argentine rock album “Filosofía Barata y Zapatos de Goma” after which this article is titled. I became captivated by the music that captured my image of the city: impulsive, sporadic, and spellbinding, like a muse of its own heartbreak. García sings about heartbreak in his album, too, dedicated to ex-lover Zoca.
I sensed a strong feeling of impenitence as we walked the streets of Libertador and passed the constantly busy Avenida Rivadavia, the third longest avenue in the world after Toronto and Chicago. Photo by me.
At the Cementerio de la Recoleta, Eva Peron’s once-occupied tomb lingered a loud silence of change. The time wheel turned with our shadows, reflecting off of broken glass panes and statues of faceless relics.
Used apartment complexes peeked over the cemetery maze and so did the ghosts in their mausoleums. Photo by me at the Cementario de la Recoleta, March 17, 2023.
Later that day we went to the warm pool on Isa’s apartment roof that overlooked the concrete jungle of streets with no names. I drank herbal matte with hay and ate my first dulce de leche helado with Abril, Isa’s cousin.
We greeted more of Isa’s friends - Kata and another Isa - with besos on the cheek. I wore a chunky belt with an almost transparent scarf in my hair. Photo by me, March 19, 2023.
People watching was simple at a cafe in front of tango dancers and the colorful community center of Recoleta rushing with upscale creativity. By this time, I gathered a set of unspoken rules that porteños (“people of the port”) collectively sign to:
Standing away from the sidewalk when crossing the road to avoid biker pickpocketing;
The night starts at 2 a.m. with home-cooked meals.
After taking the first bite, the steam of our empanadas hit our faces because of their hollow-like interior. They were shaped like crescent moons. Empanadas are cited to be from Portugal and Galicia, Spain, the word “empanar” meaning “to coat in bread.” Photo of Kata by me on March 19, 2023.
On day three, it rained. The emblematic market stands were infused with herbal incense, clinking chimes of hanging beads, and marching Murga. The owners started packing their displayed handbags and jewelry as the sun rays became one with each falling raindrop.
Most stands at the San Telmo fair had images of las abuelas or The Grandmothers of the Plaza de Mayo: a human rights organization with the goal of finding the children kidnapped during the 1976–1983 Argentine military dictatorship. One of my favorite movies, Argentina, 1985, gives more perspective on that movement.
A charming trait that characterizes packed cities are balconies full of drying laundry and a lack of traffic rules on the road. Buenos Aires unapologetically shared that. Photo by me, San Telmo fair on March 20, 2023.
