San Telmo

Due to my overly effective ear plugs and my complete inability to pull myself out of bed, I missed breakfast this morning. I didn't even get up until noon which, I think, is one of the nice things about traveling by yourself. You get to sleep until you wake up, no judgements.

I walked to San Telmo, Buenos Aires oldest barrio. It's where the people go for good antiques, good food and good company. The streets are all cobblestone and the balconies are wrought iron. Instantly, just through the windows of shops, I could see things I would have loved to buy. But other than food, I've been pretty good about not spending any money so far.

I did end up breaking down and getting a pair of really sparkly, lovely earrings for $120 pesos (about $25 US). They're fancy and I don't know when I'll ever wear them, but I fell in love pretty quickly and really, for $25, where's the harm?

As I walked into an antique mart shaped like a horseshoe, the overweight proprietor of the cafe out front stopped me to talk. I gave him my spiel about not speaking much Spanish, but per usual, it didn't seem to matter. He chattered for a while and I did my best to keep up and answer his questions. Finally he asked, "Un cafe?" and gestured back toward his coffee machine.
"Ah." I said, completely in English and sure he wasn't understanding. "Maybe when I get back, I'm going to walk around." I made the 'around' motion with my hand.

When I did get back around, I was headed out the door when I just happened to make eye contact with him. "Un cafe!" He yelled, and held out a cup of coffee he'd obviously just made for me. How could I refuse?
I came and sat down. "Gracias." I said. I looked up in my Spanish phrase book how to compliment his coffee. "Que ricura." What deliciousness, according to the book.
"Que?" He asked, not understanding me. Seeing I was holding a book, he whipped out his reading glasses and I pointed to the phrase I was trying to say. "Ah!" He exclaimed to the four, middle aged gentlemen at the table next to me who had obviously been eavesdropping. "Ricura! For me!" Pointing at his own chest, he strutted around in a circle.
A curly, red-haired man at the table pointed at him and said to me, "Pleasantly fat?"
Laughing, I said, "No, beautiful."

Two of the guys spoke English and two didn't, so they asked me questions and made fun of each other while translating. "He's full of it." One guy told me about curly hair.
"Yeah, I got that." I said.
He laughed. "You have a good eye."
At some point during the conversation, the man who made my coffee started calling me mi amore, and he seemed to get a kick out of it when I called him that in return. Mi amore became fascinated by my phrase book and started picking out the ones he liked and the ones he didn't. One phrase teaches you how to hit on someone while riding a train by calling them mamita or papito.
"Don't call anyone papito who is not your actual father." One of the guys told me. "That will not go well for you."

Eventually two women sat on the other side of me who also happened to speak pretty good English. They started by asking me basic questions; Where are you from? How long are you here? But the conversation eventually went to politics.
"Argentina is a beautiful country. If we could just get rid of Christina, we would be much better." One woman told me. "I'd like to trade Brazil for their president, and they can have her."
"How do you like Obama?" The other asked. I tried to explain to them about drones and my opinions on the president.
"Politics is all about war. War is all about arms and arms is all about money." The first woman told me. "It's very sad, there is a lot of troubles."

When they said goodbye, the woman leaned down to hug me and kissed me on the cheek. "Good travels."

I asked mi amore for my check, but he refused to give it to me. "No, no, no," I said. "Cuanto cuesta?" But still, he wouldn't take any money. I thanked them all and continued down the street.

A tango show was taking place in the middle of a park cafe, and I stopped to watch for a while. It made me remember that this was the birthplace of tango, and I really need to get into a show and try to take some lessons. The sexual energy of Buenos Aires is palpable at all times. I see at least three couples a day full on making out in the streets, and it's no wonder to me now that they invented the forbidden dance.

After that, I just took a lot of pictures. San Telmo in particular is extremely photographic.

Coming back to the hostel, I realized that I am covered in a fine layer of dirt and grit. Like I said, it's a dirty city. So I'm off to shower (sans towel, as they don't provide them here at the hostel and I get to dry off with my old clothes). Tomorrow I'm thinking of renting a bike and going to Palermo, I read about a place with amazing eggs benedict. Eggs benedict in South America is not the worst way I can think to spend Thanksgiving. Buenas noches.