Tierra Santa Cerrada y Rumi

Tierra Santa yesterday was closed. I met Andres at the Palermo stop by Juan B. Justo, and then Kristin and her friend Stephen met up with us at Wherever Bar on Oro. I had often passed by that place and thought it looked cool; turns out Con’s girlfriend works there and Andres is a regular. I just ordered coffee; everyone else had a Caesar salad. Andres insisted on paying and no one argued. It’s fun having work friends from a bar. “See you at the bar tomorrow,” it’s almost like having a clubhouse. I should stop by tomorrow, after Olsen and Kim y Novak. Work my way in from Palermo. Anyway, we stopped by Andres’ apartment yesterday to determine our route, and he decided he’d rather pay for our cab instead of deal with the busses. Again, no one argued. I made awkward eye contact with a man selling stalks of wheat on the highway. He put one in the windshield wipers and when Andres gave the man a peso he gave us another one, because Kristin and I are “hermosas.” She thought he thought we were making fun of him. (“Have you guys ever been to La Boca?” “Only to volunteer.” “Why, because you feel bad coming from a First World Country?”)

Visit Jerusalem in BsAs all year round -- except in winter when we're closed on weekdays

When we got there it was closed with a sign saying its new hours, which did not match up with the hours posted on its website. But we paid for the cab - well Andres did – and took some pictures outside and I tried to convince Kristin to sneak through the fence because she’s so skinny but then what would she do? There was a dude who looked like Lito White smoking a cigarette on the park grounds; he confirmed that it was closed. Admission is $20 pesos, and there are no roller coasters, but it still looks kind of cool in a kitschy way. Imagine a Disneyland Jerusalem.

Meg, Kristin & Mary Magdalene with our wheat stalks and a camel

Stephen took these pictures of Kristin, Andres & me standing at the gates

So after our photoshoot we walked along the river side of Costanera Norte (always wise to walk along the water when it’s freezing) and ate choripan and drank pomelo. Finally we were able to catch a cab, and decided to head to Andres’ studio to drink mate. Take mate. Tomar mate. “He’s got good wave.” Buena onda. But his animation partner was preoccupied and we decided what we really wanted was merienda. So we ordered coffee and submarinos and medialunas at the Kentucky nearby. His studio is cool though: it’s an old house and he showed us some the comics he made. The studio would’ve been cool to photograph with a better camera. Washed out colors and cracking fading walls. Cement cold dripping water, remnants of a summer fiesta in June winter.
From Kentucky we departed.
Jenny and I went to dinner in Las Canitas. Took the subte there and decided on Jackie O’s. The food was sub-par but cheap – I’m trying not to go to the ATM before I leave. It was freezing inside. By the time I finished my veggie half of the pizza, the zucchini slices were cold to the touch. Maybe we should’ve gone to Soul Café but Jenny doesn’t eat sushi and I didn’t want to split pasta with her. So to warm up we drank lagrimas at this bar called Mute. We had an hour or so to kill before we’d hear from Leandro. Mute is a gorgeous bar: white seats, teal velvet curtains, sleek lines. Jenny and I had a good chat over dinner and coffee and our hour long walk to Rumi. (Apparently it looked shorter on the map.)

Leandro & Meg

We met Leandro outside Rumi around 2 am. I gave him a big hug when I saw him round the corner in his red-and-white Rollinga scarf and hoodie. I had thought perhaps I wouldn’t see him again. His throat was sore but, “Don’t worry. It’s winter,” he told me. And how last year it snowed and Buenos Aires was covered in white as if it were part of Europe. We danced to this female DJ called Celestia. She was good. She normally only plays private parties. We danced until 4 am, when Leandro had to leave. He says he’ll call me today for coffee. It’s easier to pretend I’ll see him again than to say a proper goodbye.

Dancing at Rumi for one last time