Strolling on a Groggy Sunday

Boy, today was a lazy Sunday - one of those days where you realize Spring might actually be coming, that it wasn't some cruel joke told to gullible tourists, with the gentle breeze accompanied by the sunny sky. . .ahhh, bueníssimo.

Actually, the story starts a little earlier on Saturday night, when I finally accumulated enough sleep hours to participate in Buenos Aires nightlife, which by the way, starts very late. After dinner at 10:00 PM, which is the norm, we headed towards a bar called Sugar to pre-boliche (pre-game). And at 2:00AM (which is the earliest time anyone goes to a club here) we took a taxi over to Crobar, the boliche (i.e. club), leaving at 6:00 AM just as dawn was breaking.

Woke up at 1:30 in the afternoon on Sunday. Took the metro to the neighborhood of San Telmo with three friends who managed to get themselves out of bed and we shopped the street markets on the street of Defensa.

Jazz musicians. A puppeteer and his marionette. Samba percussion beats. A painter painting with his feet. Objects that made chicken noises. Postcards. English. French. Trinkets. Head-massager contraptions.

Among my friends, I was the only person who bought something. I bought a book called Rayuela, by Julio Cortázar, having heard great reviews from my homestay dad, Horacio and his son, Horacito. Hopefully, I will read it, and it will not become one of those books that I never finish, that just sit on my shelf accompanying the dust bunnies.

Whew, I hope this lethargic feeling comes back every so often. I've almost forgotten how it feels!