132. 48 hours in Buenos Aires.


Peace Love Music!

I love this place. Am I becoming relentless?

I especially love the freedom here; I am out of the Jill fucking Brinsdon box people like to keep me in – of a certain age, of a certain profession, of a certain expectation.

I am nobody here, and everybody.   My hair and eyes seem to give me a celebrity status for doing nothing at all. I am starring in my own reality tv show; all I need to do is giggle and sing a little. I am gifted a large discount on my years, without any cut price South American surgery.

The men I have met are hot.

The women I have met want to be my friend. Apparently, I have unique and contagious energy. This makes me happy.

No one seems to want to get smashed all the time. I went for a drink with a friend at 11pm the night I arrived and we had water and that was perfectly fine.

I met a talented creative woman called Laura who took me walking round the streets to look at big beautiful art, then took me to the Centro Cultural Recoleta where we saw more art and listened to a young band I loved called Ibiza Pareo, then took me to an underground club called Vuela Elpez where we drank Malbec and ate empanadas.

We laughed.

I met a handsome Argentinean man for coffee the next day.  He kissed me. It was the best first kiss ever. Perhaps because it was also the last.

I took a cab to San Telmo; Laura said I should go for a look so I walked and I looked. I ate ice-cream in the sun because I read it was famous. While this was happening there was a tango performance in the square. I gave them pesos I still don’t understand.

Now I am packing for home, a little reluctantly.

Buenos Aires has left a sweet sweet taste in my mouth.

I love you Laura. I love you handsome man who kissed me so perfectly.

I’m coming back.

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