The chilly breeze in this autumn morning in BA reminds me of my childhood and adolescent years here. They seem so distant now. This is a different city. The black pavement looks the same, and so do the regular porteños rushing around. But the way I experienced BA in the 70s and early 80s and what I see before my eyes now has changed dramatically.
Last night I walked around Congreso, along Belgrano Ave, passed by my high school - or what's left of it, now turned into a church and an elementary school. It was in the wee hours of the morning that I found that the gallego bar at the corner is now a parking building with echoes of plates, silverware and cheap pasta for a ten-minute lunch before running back to school to get the ping-pong paddles first. Only the Central Police Station across the school has not changed. I walked the block from the San José 102 bus stop that I trod on for five years every day - I could almost smell the penetrating scent of latte of some nearby café. I can faintly remember the several layers of clothing to prevent the cold wind from piercing through the skin, bones and marrow.
I spent twelve years of my life here, twelve winters going out with my buddies, from playing hide-and-seek with Sergio and Laurita inside and around Recoleta and Plaza Francia - and only a few years later as a highschooler exploring for the first time the file cards by author or titles in the Library of Caja de Ahorro a few blocks away from school. I witnessed the transformation of Lavalle street for pedestrians only where I enjoyed the very first few of Rocky and Rambo movies and Pink Floyd's The Wall, and The Last Snow of Spring, and veteran tough guy Charles Bronson's sagas. Life revolved around Carlos, Jorge, Omar, Héctor, Orlando and the rest of the first Class of Edmund Rice School.
As I adjust my scarf closer to my chin, I could almost see the bunch of them turning round the corner with their carefree loud laughs and wornout school uniforms. I passed by a pharmacy window and in the reflection saw a forty-something year-old man with dreamy eyes. I smiled, took a deep breath and rushed back to the hotel. The local version of The Phantom of the Opera was starting soon that evening.
2 comments:
Qué lindo volver a esos lugares y traer de nuevo tantos recuerdos. Qué lindo, pero qué triste ver cómo transformaron lo que era nuestro en algún momento. Lo transformaron ahí, en la calle, pero quedó intacto en nuestras mentes. Y eso es lo más lindo. Poder volver a las cosas exactas como eran antes, y sólo hace falta mirar un poquito hacia atrás, y ni girar la cabeza hace falta.
Hola de nuevo, blogger.
Qtal Vale!! Tantísimo tiempo :) Welcome back! Sí, fue muy especial volver a recorrer esos mismos lugares entre 2 y 3 décadas más tarde. Sabés que retomé contacto con un grupo de ex-cumpas de la secundaria a través de Facebook? Hasta me enteré que hay (y me uní a) un grupo de ex-alumnos! Como viste lo tengo medio abandonado al blog. Pero confío en que cualquier momento en el verano vuelvo. Vos lo retomaste? Te visito prontito... Y espero verte antes de las fiestas para ponernos al día. Beso grande!
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