The frantic chase to reach new destinations leads us wearily to the foot of the Great City. The smell of asado on the parrilla accompanies us as the straight road is swallowed up by the last destination for Patagonian travellers. Or the former, depending on the origin of the journey.
Buenos Aires, immense, makes us greet the infinity of the sky. And with trees and buildings, it draws an imperfect horizon.
Here memory fades and the measure of time gives way to new stories. We walk on asphalt that melts and loosens our feet. An inquisitive cat watches us from above the red-brick houses, flanked by overbearing skyscrapers, and whitewashed buildings. In the centre, the rumours of people exchanging euros for pesos are grotesque. The Norte station and its stalls with food of uncertain origin. Villa 31, a barrio with narrow streets – but you must keep your distance, it is a privilege to enter. In San Telmo, Sebastian’s empanadas and the tango square but no dancer touches it. Little music, maybe hidden. The giant tree with multiple trunks embraced its cool shade in the memory of Martin. La Recoleta and its decadent tranquillity.
Then in the evening, different actors, the scenario remains. Boys play through the sweaty walls of a roadside garage. The lights illuminate the fatigue of the cartoneros. A star brings a breeze and again one breathes. We hear the Road calling, it is already waiting. Dawn drags us out of the labyrinth of faces and colours. The Rio Parana keeps us poised on three borders. We keep him company for a few kilometres; when the ground changes and becomes red and hot like fire, it is time for a new border.
With beauty in our eyes and melancholy in our hearts, we turn our backs on Argentina. Let’s enter Paraguay.
Here, again, a new page begins.
