Back in BsAs and going

March 23, 2011

My last days were a lot of running around and a lot of doing nothing
And it was Morcheeba in concert from a very nice position
Wonderful live show

Lighted. Morcheeba in concert. Lunapark, Buenos Aires.


Posh hotel rooms
Rooftop pool
With a view over the city
Then some more good food
A jazz night
When I wake up in the morning, it rains
I leave, Argentina cries
The way to the airport is: grey
The wait is: filled with a few doubts
Hasta la proxima. I will be back cause when you’re in love you return. And I did fall in love. With the South. The North. La Capital. The other North. The Northwest. The centre. What’s South of BsAs.
Oh, and I ate those Patagonianberries. So it’s decided.

Flying. Home.

Driving from BsAs to Pinamar is 4hrs of flatness

No dramatic glaciers
No millioncolourscanyons
Nothing but flat flats
Dotted with cows, Schilf, a few trees
Framed impressions of nothingness
A few clouds

As exciting as it gets. On the way to Pinamar.

Pinamar is: wind and sun and emptiness in yet another season gone by
There are people fishing, in Pinamar, late at night
Police men patrolling on squads
But no fish
There are hundreds of beautiful houses, half of them empty, the other half for sale
And just every now and then a sign of life, als hätten sie sich verlaufen
No fences
No obvious indication of where you garden ends and your neighbour’s begins. But there is no you and you also don’t have neighbours. So – no fences needed
We look into people’s kitchens


****Let’s pretend JB sent me his pictures so at this point you’d see a picture of me on the beach****

Pine trees
The sandy streets paved with pine cones and spikes
There is ice cream and the full moon
And tiny little fried squids that make you want to become a vegetarian again bur also not cause they’re really yummy. With lemon.
There are neverstoppingwaves


Cree-PI-namar at night. When fishers don't fish you don't ask questions.

There’s a weekend away and there’s a bus ride back ‘home’ to BsAs and there are many thoughts with a jazzy background
I move my comfy semi-cama chair back and look outside
I close my eyes and open them again
The landscape hasn’t changed, but the light and the colours have
I do the same thing a few more time until it’s dark
We’re slowly rolling towards the city
It’s Sunday night
Tomorrow: Morcheeba concert in the Lunapark
Tuesday: the day before Wednesday
Wednesday: departure

Walking through deserted Pinamar, looking at retirement options.

The plaza in Las Heras where it’s always 9.30hrs
Passing the guy in Palermo (on the 39, my ‘school’ bus) who sits next to a row of old water canisters
Passing the shop that sells 1kg de pollo por 9.50 pesos

I love taking the bus from the centre home. Especially from Alem, after my UBA classes. It takes some turns before it ends up on Santa Fé. At one stop, everybody but a few people leaves the bus and goes to the subte.
The time: usually when it starts getting dark
I love the city’s lights, in that time-space when you’re not quite sure if they’re already necessary or not.
Even better when it rains
My stop: just before Plaza Italia
Green on the right
Six blocks to walk on the left
Anonymes Großstadtfeeling with me feeling a bit lost, with only vague ideas in my head
I have no idea how often I will still take those buses. But I went to Standard Bank and changed 50 pesos, so that’s enough for many more rides.



Breakfast on the plaza
Old gentlemen reading the newspaper
A very friendly waiter
Heavy clouds in the distance
Horses passing the plaza, the gauchos dressed up, the Getrampel nicely coordinatedly uncoordinated
People watching, with a huge freshly squeezed orange juice, good (!) coffee and the best medialunas I’ve had in Argentina in front of me
Life’s good
It’s Saturday


Another two first times: flight cancelled.
And a night in a 5***** hotel for free.
Not bad. Not bad.
And I was thinking, it couldn’t have happened in a less convenient moment – it’s Saturday, I was travelling in the North, with no plans for Sunday other than to be back in BsAs to dance tango in the evening. Which I did. Cause we had to get up at 3.45am to catch our flight back. Oh well. Short, but nice, nice.
It feels strange to know that this was my last trip in Argentina. For now. For this time.
I fell in love with the North just the way I fell in love with the South.



I love the painted words on Latin American walls. Instead of signs.
I love capturing normal people doing normal things
Driving past
Normal NeverComeAgain/AMillionTimesToBeRepeated-scenes


Salta-ndo. Gente de salta.

Salinas grandes. South of the border.

No words can describe the happy feeling you get by looking at all these colours
Shades of red and orange
Green and grey
Beige and yellow
Pink and purple
Mixed with clouds
High up
Down low
Bright white and rainy grey
And then the sun comes out and everything changes again

Our earth in the making
Nature’s wonders, concentrated
And me in the middle of all of this, in awe

Cactus. An ocean of.


Passing over 4000m; through the rain and dropping temperatures
Down again, as curvy as up, and there they lay in front of us: las Salinas Grandes
The Salar de Uyuni in the winter of 2002 were dry
This time, I walk in the salty water of the flats, further South, across the border. It’s summer.
It’s 2011, my Spanish includes verbs now, my hair is shorter, my thoughts different, everything nothing is the same.
It’s the usual. And still amazing.
However you look at it.


This time, though, I taste the salt waster which is unsurprisingly surprisingly salty
Funny pictures and white feet, white legs, white socks, white shoes
When it dries, your skin reflects the sun in a million tiny little crystals
On the way back: a truck loaded with a lot of nitroglycerine, driving at 3km/h, people waiting, people watching
I ran out of words for Northern Argentina two days ago, so I just look out of the window, while Mercedes and Esteban talk about Uruguayan politics and the 1980s

A scenic drive through everchanging colours
Another day in the North
Short encounters with people from here and there, BsAs, Bariloche, Denkmark. Switzerland. Uruguay. Humahuaca, Jujuy.

Back in Purmamarca: a short hike around the mountains, more colours, more ohs and ahs, completely unnecessary, but oh well, you know.

Töpferware. Enriched my cup collection. Yeah.

The North: shaded. A thousand colours. And more.
Breathtaking rock formations. Millions of years.
Valles Calchaquíes
La Quebrada de Escoipe
A private tour, me loves
Sun, but not too much
Clouds, many
In the morning, they hang so low that they touch the foot of the mountains
To the right
To the left
Every direction offers amazing views
It’s hard to decide where to turn my head

La garganta del diablo

Once again I am reminded of my geomorphology classes at university
I love nature
I love those geological eras that make our lives but a blink in time
Interesting how we can talk about anything like a status quo when if comes to our planet – as if things were ‘done’ by now. As if mountains weren’t still oroding and valleys still filling up with sediments.
No visible changes in our life time and we’ll all long be gone by the time anything will have moved by a few centimeters.
No hike no rock climbing zone
Erosion underway in what seems stable
It’s all about wind and water



eroding. still.

“Siempre es mejor ser socio” (‘downtown’ Cafayate)

Eleventh – sixteenth

February 16, 2011


Listening to jazzy notes, in a room that’s not green nor grey, lights dimmed, candles on, the pianist hammering his notes, my thoughts drift away

It’s been a while since I last went to a jazz bar. Every time I go I wonder why I always let so much time pass between the last time and this time. This time and the next time.
I think about my life, about the plans I once had and now don’t have anymore, about the half-plans and no plan I have at the moment, which is quite a strange moment in my life.
My days are filled with Spanish lessons, tango, walking around, trying not to over-analyse my life, the future. Trying to live my life day by day, which is easier said than done and easier done than many other things I’ve done in my life.
My waking up in the morning varies between ‘It’s all good’ and ‘what on earth am I doing here’s, but I am not sure this would be any different if I was somewhere else, plus I have to be SOMEWHERE, in the end, so I might as well be here, I guess.
A bundle of light bulbs are hanging from the ceiling.
There are two trumpets on stage.
It’s one of those ‘It’s all good’ moments.


I love the city at night
Empty streets, lights changed, shadows
And a different rhythm of yet another day gone by
The temperature: inexistent
The exact amount of degrees that make you feel nothing
Neither warm, nor cold
23:29hrs – it’s Wednesday

Nicaragua y Uriarte


So I tangoed. I liked.
Met three American girls. A bit OMG, but very sweet.

I went to the Centro Cultural de la Recoleta
I love exhibitions
They always inspire me
Pequeño Editor
I love looking at drawings. Because I can’t create anything similarly beautiful. That’s why I take pictures.
None and lots of imagination needed
An eye
An instinct for capturing moments
What I love most about photography is that by pressing that button, you capture a moment that will never come back.
Not by putting on the same music
Not by wearing those same clothes and standing over there
Compositions of a moment
Protagonists: unknown
Smiles: unfaked
Hair moved by the wind: unforeseen
That’s why, unlike ideas you can note down in bullet points on a random piece of paper while riding the bus, if you miss that moment to take that picture, you instantly know that you lost it forever.

Waiting for the rain, Ray Charles singing in the background
New green shoes
Clouds loading on the horizon, beyond the airport
Homework undone
Reading Marcovaldo in Spanish. Weirdest.
Surprised how people get out of their way to help me find my bus stops
Friendly crowd
The burning sun
The noisy wind
Wonderful microclimate

I am standing at the balconylessbalcony
Halflights in the apartment
It’s a warm summer night in the Southern hemisphere
The city to my feet
Lights close, in the distance
Everydaylife, ten floors down
A lonely taxi passes on that street
Ever there
It’s Friday night
People are out, I am at home
What makes out my own little universe, I wonder
Again no tango lessons tonight
I should

It's BsAs. It's night.

How can you possibly choose between standing on the top of a mountain, overlooking a million peaks, or driving through absolute nothingness – and the buzzing life in a big city, full of art, ideas, buses cruising the streets, bars, restaurants, parks, books, passing faces, existences barely touching each other.


I love looking out of the window, while on the bus, watching other buses pas, each one its own little universe.

And I eat, standing in the kitchen, wearing my black dress, and I think about life. My life. Life in general and life specifically. And I can’t stop wondering.
I try to think about what brought me here. I try to imagine what else life has to offer me. What will come next. And when. But it’s useless. I will be surprised in any case.

And I think about those tango lessons and I ask myself whose voices I am hearing through the open windows, down on the street, on this hot Thursday night, from the 10th floor.

Overlooking. From a safe distance. The city.

I wonder what stories the other girls would have to tell, those who stayed in this room before, slept in the notsocomfortable bed, took the same bus, or another, or none, loved it, hated it, moved on, stayed.

I wonder why the traffic never stops. What are people doing at this time of the day? Its night already.

I wonder where Nora’s cat was while it wasn’t at home.

I wonder who will find me and I wonder when I will have memorised all those irregular and not so irregular verbs.

I wonder who chose the tiles in this apartment.