My Blog

that monday after dusk, avenida del libertador was less than abound with the usual pedestrian traffic. it must be the season, as i recalled the weather forecast. cold air now gusting in front of your face, trapped only by the hood and the scarf wrapped around the neck. this is how less than ten degrees centigrade feels like as you pass through the district of recoleta.

there was a veil of silence only perturbed by the footsteps and the intermittent scuttle of motor vehicles. you knew your way into that calle called cordoba, where kiosks began to line the sidewalk. fifteen minutes of solitary walk, then a sparingly familiar lenguaje greets you.

"buenas tardes, senyor."

a few more salutations were raised. the porteño was talking in deep, colloquial rioplatense. you nod the greeter as you continue to pace your way past the cobbled street. the lunar glow now casting a silhouette behind your course. the sight of the usual string of cafe pans out as you now walk further down the lane. beyond the street lights, you cautiously detour a dark alley. it's not the usual path an uninitiated pursues. to proceed with caution is the aviso.

but this is the place you have wanted to witness. amigos beginning to surface as they notice a humanly arrival. a pack of wolves, ready for the roasting.

like at home, you contend solely at the immersion. and no doggie bag in the order.