The El Eteneo Bookstore, Buenos Aires.
I sit in an ante room of the Hotel Elevarge. My purpose for being here is to view the final day of shooting on a short film directed by my room mate, Bujaka of Cameroon. The film will portray the love story of a Scandinavian man's fall for an Argentine lady, Dora. Bujaka wrote the script for one of the receptionists at Hostel Carlos Gardel. Broadly the plot has a foreigner falling in love, through the tango, with a lady called Dora. By coincidence the male lead of the movie fell in love with an Argentine, through the tango, called Dora.
This week I have…
Seen the Argentine National Orchestra perform in the vacant Harrods Building on Avenue Florida at the end of a day that included visiting El Eteneo, rated by the BBC as the second most important book store in the world. Viewed, due to the curiosity of Silvia, a fetching polish lady now living in London, the recreation of the history of Argentina from independence in 1810 performed by the Argentine military in period costume complete with musket fire and cannon blast. A lunch under glorious sunshine in the swish barrio (suburb) of Palermo and a tranquil stroll through Japanese gardens.
Had the pleasure of reading Jorge Luis Borges in his native country but sadly not in his native tongue.
Attempted without success, but through no lack of effort, to watch Boca Juniors play and in the process gained an insight into just what the team means to the down trodden residents of La Boca.
Had the privilege to see the tango danced in the milonga (dance hall) Cathedral. This gathering place is where the tango is danced by portentos (residents of Buenos Aires) for pure pleasure and not as a performance. I would not have had this pleasure if not for the good graces of the Mexican, Eduardo. After seeing the tango danced in this way I now realise that any attempt by me to dance the tango would have the same result as an Elephant trying to tip toe through tulips. Despite the best intentions it would end in disaster.
I have heard a German sing and play the blues as if he was born and raised in Mississippi and I have heard a Chilean trio play jazz as if it was a natural as breathing. Both of these events occurred in the common room of the Hostel.
With distress I have seen people attempt to scrape together a living by any means they can in a country that has no social security and felt helpless that any assistance by myself would only provide a temporary respite.
At every corner I watch in awe at the feminine beauty the passes me by.
A great deal more has happened…but I would spend all my time relating it so that I would not have time to experience more, therefore…
This week I have…
Seen the Argentine National Orchestra perform in the vacant Harrods Building on Avenue Florida at the end of a day that included visiting El Eteneo, rated by the BBC as the second most important book store in the world. Viewed, due to the curiosity of Silvia, a fetching polish lady now living in London, the recreation of the history of Argentina from independence in 1810 performed by the Argentine military in period costume complete with musket fire and cannon blast. A lunch under glorious sunshine in the swish barrio (suburb) of Palermo and a tranquil stroll through Japanese gardens.
Had the pleasure of reading Jorge Luis Borges in his native country but sadly not in his native tongue.
Attempted without success, but through no lack of effort, to watch Boca Juniors play and in the process gained an insight into just what the team means to the down trodden residents of La Boca.
Had the privilege to see the tango danced in the milonga (dance hall) Cathedral. This gathering place is where the tango is danced by portentos (residents of Buenos Aires) for pure pleasure and not as a performance. I would not have had this pleasure if not for the good graces of the Mexican, Eduardo. After seeing the tango danced in this way I now realise that any attempt by me to dance the tango would have the same result as an Elephant trying to tip toe through tulips. Despite the best intentions it would end in disaster.
I have heard a German sing and play the blues as if he was born and raised in Mississippi and I have heard a Chilean trio play jazz as if it was a natural as breathing. Both of these events occurred in the common room of the Hostel.
With distress I have seen people attempt to scrape together a living by any means they can in a country that has no social security and felt helpless that any assistance by myself would only provide a temporary respite.
At every corner I watch in awe at the feminine beauty the passes me by.
A great deal more has happened…but I would spend all my time relating it so that I would not have time to experience more, therefore…
No comments:
Post a Comment