Freedom

I don’t really consider myself a traveler. This may come as a surprise to many of you who have witnessed one of my “there she goes again” escapes. There was Budapest, and Italia many times, London, Portugal, Turkey, France, not to mention LA, Santa Fe and Berkeley (what an odd land that last one is). None of these locations are grandiose or even far, far away. 

I travel to shake it up, not to boast that I’ve been here or been there. Like clockwork, about every 4-5 years, movement is needed. I use these “adventures” to push myself into a new cycle, out of an old habit or simply into a different frame of mind. I don’t land somewhere and turn up all the corners, talk to the locals, or even try to tick off all the landmarks on my to do list. Sometimes I talk to locals or I may curse them for trying to get one more American dollar out of me. 

Most of all I wander. I watch. I ponder. If you’re wondering why I pay thousands of dollars to do what I can do at home—passively sit in cafes or quietly wander the streets—it’s not that simple. Plus, many a memorable and crazy adventures can arise from all of that wandering and pondering (Both Chrissie and Lisa can attest to that!).

But what is most critical here, what finally hit me today is that after about 5 days, I am beginning to feel that veritable taste of freedom.

Dead Weight 

And this got me to thinking as we wandered through one of Buenos Aires’ biggest tourist attractions, the Cementerio de la Recoleta. While for many cultures and some religions, death is the ultimate freedom, it struck me that there is probably nothing more confining, heavy and absent of freedom than being laid to rest in a gazillion ton stone mausoleum watched over by hefty marble angels.

So far this has been my most favorite part of our first week in BA. Not because of my sometimes morbid views, but because when I think of travel I think of freedom. The freedom from habit, the freedom from obligations, the freedom from expectations, even in some sense the freedom from identity. No one here, except for Chrissie, knows me. I can be whoever, whatever I want, not what I think someone wants me to be. I could try to be a polite American or a loud American, or I can simply be quiet, watch people walk by and not be anything but someone at a café, drinking a coffee and talking with my friend.

Broken, in a good way

The weight of meetings, social engagements, email, phone calls, assignments, to do lists…all those things that start to feel like a stone casket on top of me, they have begun to erode. Amidst the 4,800 mausoleums that fill this part of Buenos Aires, there are some that looked like I was beginning to feel—walls were coming down, markers were unrecognizable, windows were broken and chains had come undone. A glimpse of freedom was visible amidst the rows of hard marble and stone.

With this first flush of freedom, I do ask the following: may angels with open wings guide us to new places, safely and with a bright spark of adventure.

Highjack

Time to move on from the eloquence of Berkeley to the gritty realism of Islington, London N5 (i.e. Ingrid's gone for a shower & I've managed to hijack the keyboard) .... 

So, what have we been up to in the last couple of days?  Well, more of the same in the sense that cafes (particularly those with good patisserie) are high on the agenda but other than that, we've been trying to get to know our neighbourhood (Retiro) & to walk our way around a few others: Palermo (the groovy, funky part of town), Recoleta & Barrio Norte (affluent, packed with great shops & home of our favourite cafe so far - Nucha - where the cakes rival those of the Belle Epoque in Newington Green - those who know the BE will appreciate that I'm talking "class" cakes here) & Microcentro (business district - how can those men wear suits in this heat?)  

We've still got edgy La Boca & San Telmo to go.  We'll be visiting San Telmo tomorrow before we head off to see River Plate play Rosario Central.  Yay, a football match - how better to spend a Sunday evening?  Who needs religion when you've got football? (hope my Dad isn't reading this ...)