I’m starting to think Café La Biela is a bit overrated. And judging by the amount of English spoken and guidebooks I see out of tables, a bit of a tourist trap. But it was on my list and I’m checking it off. Thanks, Frommer’s, I find you less and less reliable. I’m starving after my run and the hike out to get here, so I ordered a masa vienesa de ricotta. We’ll see how it goes. I doubt I’ll stay here too long. Just long enough to keep my self up-to-date on life’s goings on. And enjoy my coffee, of course. He poured it darker than blonde for me. I’m sitting outside – it has warmed up somehow – because what they don’t often tell you about these bares notables is that they usually look like the inside of your grandmother’s dated country club. Or chotzke-laden TGI Friday’s. Seriously, I considered grabbing my coffee at Aroma when I saw the interior, but the price of a café con leche is actually more at the chain restaurant, so I stuck with my intended plan. Andres did end up texting me around 12:30. He still wants to take me to Bio. I told him I had already made plans because I didn’t think he was serious but would tomorrow work? Tomorrow it is. And tonight I am doing something with Ezequiel because he “insists” after I opted to stay in last night. And Jamaican guy Sherwin e-mailed me about drinks or something. I offered up Taco Tuesday. I find it all a bit overwhelming, but Annemarie says I should just enjoy it (using good judgment of course.) This would never happen in The States. What’s one date? But after my experience in the subte with Mr. Pockets, I kind of want to eat every dessert in the city just so boys will leave me alone. But then I realize that’s a lot of dessert (read: calories) and I only have a month left. I don’t want to return home with severe weight gain and significantly damaged health. So today is set: coffee at La Biela, already went for a run, showered, and dropped off a load of whites at the lavandería, next I’m going to meander the upper floors of Bellas Artes, then meet up with Jenny and hopefully Annemarie for ladies’ lunch at Alamo. So now I get the check, go to the museum, call the girls so they can make their way over here, eat a late porteña lunch at an ex-pat bar, then try to find that silver something at the store by my locutorio. I’ve given up on finding art. Una sorpresa para ella. Less to write about than I thought. And I haven’t opened my book in a while. Oh, and La Biela is a café with an 1850s car-racing theme. Right up my alley, huh? NASCAR and all…
Now
Well, today’s plan did not work out as I had thought. La Biela was a disappointment, and I’ll admit, Annemarie had tried to warn me. But sometimes I just have to find things out for myself. And then I went over to Bellas Artes, and of course it was closed on a Monday. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of that. I might end up leaving this town without seeing the entire museum, but a trek out to Recoleta takes up a full day, and I don’t know what else I need to do there in the daytime. So I wandered around, sat in a park to pencil in all these dates I seem to be having, texted Leandro about tomorrow’s Rumi Gay Night and he says of course he will be there since he and Balca are such good friends. I invited him to Sugar for drinks before. He says we’ll arrange it all tomorrow. So around 3:30 Jenny and Annemarie arrive in Recoleta. I meet Annemarie on the street and Jenny is outside Alamo. It is closed. By the city health department. Does this mean for good? Looks like Jenny won’t get to have her barbecue pizza. I don’t remember the food being all that great, just cheap. But we decide to eat at Salto de las Ranas (literally, "Jumping of the Frogs,") a sister restaurant to Maria Felix on Rodriguez Peña. I ordered the vegetable fajitas and they were divine. On the way over there, of course I run into Carlos, ex-neighbor Pedro’s friend and my coffee date from couple of months ago. He was very friendly, met the girls, and we go on our way. Then Andres texts me: “do u want 2 c indiana jones 2night around 8?” I tell him I think I have dinner plans with a friend, but thanks. Since Ezequiel “insisted” and all. For a moment I consider throwing my phone in the garbage. So after finishing her bean and cheese tacos, Jenny heads home to study for exams and I walk over to Patio Bullrich to help Annemarie find a winter coat. But first we walk down her old street to talk to her old doorman, Angel. He is a very sweet man and immediately recognizes Annemarie. He’s learning English and studies reflexology. He says the new exchange students are not nearly as friendly. He warns us not to spend too much money at Patio Bullrich.
Angel & Annemarie
I get a text message from Ezequiel. It is almost 7:30 pm and he says he could do something at 8:15; do I want him to pick me up? I tell him “I am at coffee with my cousin, can I meet you somewhere at nine?” because I don’t think I want him coming up and I still need to change clothes. He suggests Plaza Armenia, the park over by Sugar, by the fountain. As I get there it is raining, and we realize a lot of places are closed on Monday. But he takes me to Antares, a brewery where I ate a fabulous salmon and sun-dried tomato salad and we drank a bottle of Cabernet. I find it funny to order wine at a microbrewery, but I prefer wine anyway, so whatever. He orders steak. He is nice and we speak entirely in English. He tells me about working for Verizon, and previously IBM. He likes my yellow coat. He was in a serious car wreck and never finished college because he was in the hospital during his final exams. When you cause a serious wreck in Argentina, your license is taken away. He can’t drive for another four years. He prefers Boca Juniors over River Plate. He used to be quite the golfer. His mom is a dermatologist. He plays the keyboard in a band with his older brother. His other brother is married and has a daughter around Woody’s age. His dad died of lung cancer. He offices in Puerto Madero, and he hates Microcentro. One time he slept for a solid 26 hours. He still lives with his mother. (Which is normal here.) He doesn’t understand the concept of American Halloween, and would like to be there for it some year. I tell him it’s a lot more fun when you’re a kid. He tells me about Christmas in Buenos Aires: at midnight on Christmas Eve, you open your presents then around 2 am you go out and party in the boliches. On Christmas Day, you sleep in and have lunch with your family. Children think Santa Claus comes when the glasses clink at midnight. We stay until about 12:30 am, and then he walks me home. When we reach my door I tell him thank you for dinner and for walking me home, and I kiss him on the cheek. Not sure if that’s what he wanted to hear, but he says he’ll see me on Friday at Sugar. He really is a nice guy. But that's about it.
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