running

So I went for a run to Annemarie’s apartment, Carmex in tow, but she was unavailable. I can’t figure out how to call cell phones yet, so it was a crapshoot anyway. Nice run though, beautiful day. She’s off of Avenida Santa Fe, so I just thought I’d run in the direction I thought more likely to lead to Palermo. I was right, but running along Santa Fe at 5:30 pm on a Saturday is like the equivalent of running along The Drag in Austin at 12:25 pm on Thursday. I was weaving in and out of sluggish shoppers and people manning magazine and flower kioskos.

And just as I arrived back in the neighborhood, fully convinced that my iPod, running shorts, long sleeve Kappa shirt, and running shoes gave me away, a frail looking lady asked me for directions. But not really directions, she says (in Castellano) “I’ve been walking around and around this block, where am I going?”

I wanted to say, “Lady, I don’t even know why I’m going. How am I supposed to know where you’re headed?” But instead I stammered, “Uh, Avenida Santa Fe esta por alla…”

She patted me grandmotherly and said with a knowing smile, “Es extranejera, ¿no?”

Oh well, she instilled in me a hope that some day, I will pass off as a local. It’s only the first day.