Day Three-The Same Old Street Fair From Everywhere

As I write this, I am sitting in the Posada de Luna breakfast room with the evening sun streaming through the French doors. The owners have left a decanter of tequila and shot glasses for guests’ use, and the houseboy watches several “Walker, Texas Ranger” reruns in Spanish.

But that’s enough bad Hemingway for now. Today has mostly been about the San Telmo Dorrego Plaza street fair. I woke up at the unreasonably early (for vacation) hour of 8, and ate an appalling but apparently typical Argentine breakfast of wheat toast, an orange, and tea. Protein? Apparently that's not what’s for breakfast round these parts. After checking on Hurricane Gustav, and getting word that my brother and his “wife” (the quotes aren’t to belittle Becky; we can’t seem to figure out whether they’re legally married, which is I guess is par for the course when a Richard Nixon ventriloquist performs your wedding, and your maid of honor is a guy in a gorilla suit), I head out, goofed up on carbs, to another picture perfect day to explore the Monserrat area where I’m staying, and San Telmo.

Monserrat was on the outskirts of the original Buenos Aires colony, and was the scene of intense fighting during the British Invasion of 1806 [two quips (1) I guess they were practicing for when they invaded the fledgling USA in 1811; and (2) Argentina got soldiers, we got John, Paul, George and Ringo]. Its mainly a residential area now, with some offices, hotels and restaurants. The Santo Domingo church is located nearby, featuring the mausoleum of Maunel Belgrano, who designed the Argentine flag. On Defensa street, running past the Santo Domingo church, was a day-long flea/antique market. Vendors in the Monserrat area either sat on the street or put up tables on side streets. It was the usual bric-a-brac, but probably with more craft/jewelry than its counterpart in Texas. One thing present here though were numerous street food vendors. These people looked like they had just made their various empanandas or sandwiches that morning, and were walking around carrying trays with food through the fair. I heard more people speaking English today, indicating that I am surely participating in a tourist activity.

As I walk through Defensa street, it finally becomes clear what the city odor smells like—burnt perfume mixed with rotting socialism. One of the street vendors just off Defensa street was someone hawking t-shirts for the Socialist Brotherhood, or some other nonsense group. I imagine guys who got beat up a lot in school deciding to grow gangly beards and spewing crap like “capitalist pigs in Washington are exploiting Argentine workers and making profits off their backs” hoping it’ll get them laid, just like Che Guevara. I know he got a movie, but guys, ask Che how that all wound up for him. Oh yeah, you can’t because Fidel had him whacked in Peru.

From Defensa Street I crossed Independencia into San Telmo. This was historically a smallish town outside Buenos Aires where the rich folks lived, at least until yellow fever and cholera plagues forced them to move further north. The area contains Plaza Dorrego, center of the Sunday market. There was quite a variety of merchandise, ranging from borderline “antiques” (think old phones and signs), to handmade jewelry, shirts, and other street fair type purchasables. It was just like the Notting Hill Sunday market I visited in London a few years ago, only Annoying Street Performer was out in full force. You name it, they were there-Fake Statue Guy, Mime Guy, Clown Guy, Fake Exotic/John Tesh Music Guy, Cool Guitar Guy, and Brass Band Guys. You just can’t shake these people. In addition, several tango dancer couples performed along the way for donations. One of the women tried to drag me onto their dance “floor” when they broke, which as you can imagine, I very politely declined. Along the way I ran into Mario again, and we chatted briefly. He now intends to quit Buenos Aires and move on to Mendoza, a couple of days earlier than planned. In An American in Paris, Oscar Levant has one of the greatest lines ever: “I like Paris. It's a place where you don't run into old friends.” Apparently that’s not true of Buenos Aires. Down one side street was the San Pedro Telmo church, built in 1734. I did not enter, but it has an amazing façade and dual spires which I photographed. Across the street, a tango group was playing as a young woman dancer performed solo.

At the end of the street fair was Lezama Park, which coincidentally is the highest natural point in the otherwise fairly flat Buenos Aires. Its sidewalks are lined with more street vendors, but families fill in the grassy areas, with kids playing ball and parents having picnics. The Park is relatively small, for a central city park, but bigger than some of the more modest plazas I’ve seen so far. Across one street to the east is the Russian Orthodox Church, founded in 1904; to the north is the Museum of History. To the south of San Telmo and down the road from Lezama Park is the 1930s military architecture style College of Engineering, which at one time was the Eva Peron Foundation. At the front prospect is the sculpture El Canto al Trabajo, or Song for Labor, made by Yrurtia, one of Rodin’s disciples.

I notice also a great many people, and by that I mean like 10-15, with facial defects that you probably would not see in the United States. By facial defects I don’t mean that they look like Insert Name Here of your least favorite politician. They weren’t gruesome or anything like that, but its another reminder that, say what you want, we have the leading health care system in the world.

Tonight I’ll probably eat my 25th salad, and hope to see a movie. Maybe Batman 2.