Shortly after the game I took a nap and ended up sleeping for 12 hours. It was glorious. This morning I met up with Ben at Jospehina’s for café con leche and dos medialunas (croissants). It was delicious. And great people watching because today is still a holiday. We sat around for a while, talking. And the Jamaicans called me. (The ones whose house I helped to build five and one years ago.) Six times. So of course I think there’s some emergency in The States so I answer. Nope, just the Jamaicans checking in on me, but it cut out. So they called again. And again. I couldn’t afford to answer it again; I had to put my phone on silent. So Ben and I talked about Dallas and Tulsa and Texas and OU, then we paid our bill and split ways.
I went to Recoleta Cemetery; Ben went to buy groceries. I found Evita’s tomb with the help of a 4 peso map, and wandered around for an hour or so.
While I was meandering, I saw an older lady frantically scrubbing at a portrait on a tomb. At closer glance I see the word “GIL” painted in red near a man’s face. “¡Que lastima!” (What a pity!), I sighed (thanks, Daddy). She’s trying to remove the graffiti with nail polish remover. We chat and we she hears I am from The States she tells me she knows someone who lived in Salt Lake City and Montgomery, AL. I nod politely because I doubt I know them. She says she doesn’t have enough plata (money) to maintain the tomb. I notice the glass on the door is broken. The tomb is her relative’s. He was in the military. His grandfather was Presidente de la Repulica. Apparently “GIL” is a slang word for estupido, most likely written by someone anti-military. I walk by later and the red is faded but the word is still clear. She was a sweet lady.
After I had my fill of looking at tombs and taking pictures, I sat on a park bench outside the cemetery to read Augusten Burrough’s Dry. It took me over an hour to read one chapter, because people kept coming up to me to talk.
First it was the Jehovah’s witnesses, Estel and Pilar. They wanted to give me some reading material about the Armageddon. I accepted it, but only since it was not their last one because “Soy cristiana.” If I decide to read it, I’ll let you know what it says. Then there was the accordion-playing clown named Luis. He reminded me of the mimes in Paris Je T’aime, but he talks. He wore a blue and white striped shirt and a red nose. His cheeks were painted with white circles. He later took the nose off, and he looked semi-normal. After a bit he left to play accordion under the trees and allow tourists to photograph him for tips.
Then came the creepy old man who incessantly wagged his foot and complained that it was lonely to be a solteron in the city. At this point my journal was open and I had been writing. I was mid-sentence when he sat down next to me. Apparently that is an invitation to sit down and talk. He kept asking if I had already eaten lunch. What about coffee? Ice cream? Coca-cola? I refused each time, but he still sat there. Telling me about his family, places to go in Buenos Aires. He was polite enough, but I don’t think I’ll be sitting down to lunch with an octogenarian any time soon. He talked and I would gaze out to the young couples making out in the lawn. PDA is totally appropriate here. Finally I think he got the drift and left me alone on my bench to finish writing and tend to my book.
When the old guy left, I was able to read a few pages before another man approached me. He had been sitting opposite me on another bench, eating bologna sandwiches. He said he heard me talking and thought maybe I was German. I laughed. He is Peruvian. He looks Peruvian. Also named Luis, he is a tattoo artist as well as a body piercer and sells belly-button rings. He did not try to sell me one. We chat for a while about his travels (he studied for two years in Germany, might go to Hungary next) and the clown came back to join us, sitting with two Brazilian girls. So we all sat and talked, an American, a Peruvian, two Brazilians, and one Argentine dresses as a Parisian. Apparently the best way to make friends is to sit on a park bench alone.
Once everyone left, I was able to finish one chapter, bought some candied almendras (almonds) that smelled like New York City, and walked over to the nearby Catholic Church. I wanted to light a prayer candle, it being the day after Easter and all, but I didn’t realize you have to buy them outside the church. So I walked home and bought some bread stuffed with four cheeses on the way back. Walking and eating seems to be a very American thing here, but my legs were tired from all that sitting, and it felt very Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
When I got to my apartment, the doorman asked if he needed to help me with my keys again. I told him I hoped not. And I was able to do it: turn left hard until you hear two clicks.
The sun is setting here and I still haven’t worked out. And today was a weights day… might jog around Plaza Vicente Lopez in a few. It’s a safe neighborhood, no te preocupas.
¡Chau chau! ¡Te extraño un montón!
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