Buenos Aires

As I wander the streets aplenty

I stare in awe at the city's bounty.

Overhead the buildings towering

Shine gloriously with their gold trimming.

The angels singing from their perches

Beckoning, they seek your patronage.

Carved perfection in marble and stone

Their essence captured yet somehow unknown.



And down another street I turn

New wonders abound for which to yearn.

Though here the shops don't stand so tall,

Yet their colours are cause of enthrall.

The bright structures do inspire-

Cause gaiety, forgetting mire.



And as I round another corner

Majestic music drifts on over;

Mirthful melodies to please the ear

As people gather, drawn in near

To hear the flutes and guitars and drums

Allowing the beats to overcome

Invokes within us peaceful musings

Of loves and losses and summer flings.



But even as the crowds do flock-

Still many others take no stock.

For though their pace be leisurely,

They have else they needs or rather be:

To San Telmo, at the street fairs;

Perhaps on Subte, to sell their wares.



Down to the tunnel did I descend,

To take the Subte to its farthest end.

Bust'ling and loud, peace there is never;

Sounds echo through the tunnels forever.

The squeaks and creaks and cracks of the tracks

Mimic the murmurs of folks at my back.

Whipping and spinning around corners-

Doors ajar grant I witness the wonder.



Envel'ped I paid no attention-

Abruptly I reach'd my destination.

Out from the darkness I did climb

Onto the calle, where church bells chime.

Immediately I'm accosted

Beggars and pedd'lers not abated!



Beyond, I continue on my way

To Recoleta, I shall spend my day

Among the tombs and mausoleums,

Serving History as its Lyceum;

Speaking for Argentina's belov'd

Evita's dreams forever confronted.

Eternally Heroes remembered-

Lama's legacy always admired.



Alas it's time, I must depart-

This place bestowed all it can impart.

By a new route I shall return

To behold new sights, from which to learn.

Through the park I start to wander-

Am overcome by its grand splendour!



As I pause to reap in the beauty

Earth's bounty I find has achieved full glory-

The trunks of the tress grow meters wide;

The boughs- an umbrella, doth shade provide.

Colors possessing such vibrancy

Like Alice wander I into fantasy.

My mind racing, infused by passion-

Nothing to stop my reckless abandon!



As I spin from reality

A tango dancer I'd rather be!

Passions ablaze, hearts of fire

Consume each other, ne'er to tire.

Faces so close, two become one-

The tease of the dance never outdone!



Eventu'lly I am distracted

From my dreams, no longer enacted

In my mind, by a scent so divine

As to tear me from a tango so fine.

As the smells come wafting o'er I find

That I cannot be appeas'd in my mind

Lest I head o'er to the parilla

Whence I discover meats fit for Hestia.



Their meats renown throughout the world

They were not lies- all you have been told!

Served juicy and rare, perfectly

Cut, flavours that cannot be equally

Match'd, only masked by seasoning

And marinades cause ruining!



To it's guests this city keeps giving-

It's chest full of treasures is unending.

Tango dancers, meats for royalty,

It's architecture and diversity

Of people and places, exuding

Beauty, music nothing less than pleasing.

History and culture emanates

Whence leave have I no desire to take.

Americans Don't Know the Right way to Eat Meat- Or Do They?

    It was once pointed out to me that one can always discern an American while dining by how they eat their meat.  Apparently, Americans are the only utensil-using culture on the planet that hold their knife while cutting meat in the same hand with which they subsequently eat their meat with a fork.  That is, we cut the meat, lay down the knife, switch the fork from one hand to the other, and then enjoy our hard cut, if not hard earned, meat.

    Now, I had never really thought about it before- and it didn't really seem like that weird of a thing, until I began watching how people eat their meat, and indeed, it does seem somewhat awkward.  So this afternoon I find myself in this quaint mountain village, La Cumbacita, eating a milanese (the worst I've ever had- by the way), and after I had cut my first slice of meat and laid down the knife, and switched my fork from my left hand to my right, I think, this is silly.  I should cut the meat with my left hand, and not move the fork.*  

    This was much easier said than done- and in my defence, I was provided with a butter knife.    I suppose that I could have tried eating with my left hand, rather than cutting with my left hand, but either way I foresaw near equal difficulty.  As I'm sitting there, struggling to cut my meat, I think to myself, 'damn, I guess I'm just not that dexterous with my left hand.'  Then I think, wait, dexter- as in dexterus-a-um, which is Latin for right.  As in correct, favourable, right, right-handed.  And ambidextrous (I wont bore you with the etymology) literally means both right hands. 

    So I wonder, what the fuck is wrong with both cutting, and eating, with the right hand?  Maybe for once the Americans have something right...

*Now, you may have realised that I'm right-handed, given the description of how I held my utensils, and the following revolves around that fact, so if you are left-handed and easily offended, you may want to go ahead and stop reading now.

Pocitos

When you go to Montevideo

I know where you can find,

A welcome home where you can come

And everyone is kind!

At Pocitos they know how to treat vos-

Always an asado too,

Where you can party and eat some carni

-That's what Martin and Nacho do

But when you want quiet, you can find it;

Peace and tranquillity...

You can unwind with peace of mind

In their garden of serenity.

When I'm around you know I can be found

At my home away from home,

Where friendly faces turn up in all places

The best!  --Uruguay's own!