Swift holiday entrance

Post by Grubb.

After flying ten hours nodding off between binging episodes of “Curb Your Enthusiasm” and “The Curse” this Norte Americano zombie was happily surprised at how efficient passport control was at Buenos Aires Ezeiza airport. Busy with Easter Weekend travelers, the terminal had an easy flow that put entrepôts like Heathrow to shame. I had to wonder, given the comparison, why the Brits didn’t get their asses kicked in the Falklands debacle.

We met the driver of our prearranged ride in the flashcard waving throng clustered outside of the airport McDonald’s. (Previous empires have been signposted by cross or crescent moon; now we have the Golden Arches.) Traffic on the highway was light. Not many workers commuting on this Good Friday. So we swept into Buenos Aires and were dropped off at our AirBnB in the Ricoletta neighborhood.

We’re staying in a seventh-floor apartment overlooking a small stretch of park on a street that has the traffic flow of San Pedro in Albuquerque only more closed in with higher buildings. Whenever we go abroad and land in a major city I have to adjust to limited horizons; the streets seem narrower and distant landmarks disappear.

So when we took our first walk around the neighborhood it didn’t feel that much different than we first emerged in Athens, Madrid, or Mexico City where high-rise apartments turn the streets into canyons with wide sidewalks and not bumping into pedestrians is a craft. And of course there are the tiny markets squeezed into photoshop-size spaces, outdoor cafes devoted to pastries, jewelry stores, phone stores, shoe stores, and ice cream nooks. The omnipresence of ice cream is good news. It’s in the 80s and humid; ice cream breaks will help pace the day.