After living in Buenos Aires for two weeks, I have decided to give you my take on a city that I have grown to love. One of the first things I noticed about Buenos Aires were the "Open 25" hour signs dawning the many markets that dot the city streets. At first I laughed when I saw the signs, knowing full well that days only contain 24 hours. However after living there I have come to understand that behind those neon signs, breathes the life of the city.
If New York is the city that never sleeps, then Buneos Aires is the city that never quiets. In my time there, I grew to love the sound of the city; as taxis and buses whizzed by, motorbikes backfired, people laughed, parades raged and clubs bumped their Raggaeton into the silence of the night, there truly seemed to be more hours in the day as a resident of BsAs.
Waking up for breakfast at 10am, I rush to the breakfast table to add some sustenance to my weary body and regain my energy. Taking care of my errands and tours for the day, I return at two or three to practice my spanish and chat with the many friends that I've made living in this amazing city. Getting lost once once or twice throughout the day, the people are among the friendliest, and the most beautiful that I've ever met. With patience and a smile they help a lost foreigner, and go out of their way to show you the spirit of beautiful city. Taxi drivers come back to return dropped cellphones of drunken Aussies, 10 minutes after they leave to find another faire; people return wallets of said Aussies as they leave them at the bar; people smile, and they allow you into their lives as they show you sides of the city that most tourists never care to see, and should eminently regret.
Going to a futbol game, fans erupt in adolation and shower players in thick clouds of confetti that rains on the field giving color to the heart racing and boisterous scene. They stand for hours, jumping and chanting, bringing their team to victory in the most exciting sporting event that I have ever witnessed. Banners wave, flares are lit and never-ending is the shouting and singing that fills the air with a reverence not seen since Roman times.
Exhausted we return home and take our siesta. Waking up to a second day at 10pm we take the subte, which wisks us to a another part of the city in minutes, to devour bloody steaks and drink perfected wines. Bellies full we return in high spirits ready for our 25th hour.
Learning some tango, and dancing with the beautiful women of the city, we hit the bar at midnight mingling and swapping stories and dancing. As the worn-out retire, and the hour approaches two, the night begins. Heading to the boliches (dance clubs) at two or three, raggaeton explodes from the unmarked steel doorways that hide the many clubs on every corner of the lit city. The boliches undistinguishable just hours ago, fill with youthful exuberance, and as people dance and couples kiss, the night turns into day. Unknown to the lively part goers emerging from the club, the sunrise has passed. Blinded by daylight, we check our watches to see the little hand resting on seven or eight. As the crowd thins, taxi cabs arrive to carry the people to after-parties, home, or to the beds of lovers. Crashing into bed one must lay awake for awhile, listening to the sounds of the city that lives longer and fuller than anywhere I have before witnessed. As I lay my head on my pillow, I listen to the sounds and wonder what tomorrow will bring: another exhilerating sports game; another 12 hour parade alive with the colors of indigenous culture; or simply a new friend that will alter my life in ways I have yet to explore. Closing my eyes, I smile. and think... Only in Buenos Aires.
If New York is the city that never sleeps, then Buneos Aires is the city that never quiets. In my time there, I grew to love the sound of the city; as taxis and buses whizzed by, motorbikes backfired, people laughed, parades raged and clubs bumped their Raggaeton into the silence of the night, there truly seemed to be more hours in the day as a resident of BsAs.
Waking up for breakfast at 10am, I rush to the breakfast table to add some sustenance to my weary body and regain my energy. Taking care of my errands and tours for the day, I return at two or three to practice my spanish and chat with the many friends that I've made living in this amazing city. Getting lost once once or twice throughout the day, the people are among the friendliest, and the most beautiful that I've ever met. With patience and a smile they help a lost foreigner, and go out of their way to show you the spirit of beautiful city. Taxi drivers come back to return dropped cellphones of drunken Aussies, 10 minutes after they leave to find another faire; people return wallets of said Aussies as they leave them at the bar; people smile, and they allow you into their lives as they show you sides of the city that most tourists never care to see, and should eminently regret.
Going to a futbol game, fans erupt in adolation and shower players in thick clouds of confetti that rains on the field giving color to the heart racing and boisterous scene. They stand for hours, jumping and chanting, bringing their team to victory in the most exciting sporting event that I have ever witnessed. Banners wave, flares are lit and never-ending is the shouting and singing that fills the air with a reverence not seen since Roman times.
Exhausted we return home and take our siesta. Waking up to a second day at 10pm we take the subte, which wisks us to a another part of the city in minutes, to devour bloody steaks and drink perfected wines. Bellies full we return in high spirits ready for our 25th hour.
Learning some tango, and dancing with the beautiful women of the city, we hit the bar at midnight mingling and swapping stories and dancing. As the worn-out retire, and the hour approaches two, the night begins. Heading to the boliches (dance clubs) at two or three, raggaeton explodes from the unmarked steel doorways that hide the many clubs on every corner of the lit city. The boliches undistinguishable just hours ago, fill with youthful exuberance, and as people dance and couples kiss, the night turns into day. Unknown to the lively part goers emerging from the club, the sunrise has passed. Blinded by daylight, we check our watches to see the little hand resting on seven or eight. As the crowd thins, taxi cabs arrive to carry the people to after-parties, home, or to the beds of lovers. Crashing into bed one must lay awake for awhile, listening to the sounds of the city that lives longer and fuller than anywhere I have before witnessed. As I lay my head on my pillow, I listen to the sounds and wonder what tomorrow will bring: another exhilerating sports game; another 12 hour parade alive with the colors of indigenous culture; or simply a new friend that will alter my life in ways I have yet to explore. Closing my eyes, I smile. and think... Only in Buenos Aires.
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