We stood at the port in Buenos Aires for over an hour, making phone calls and consulting maps to secure a place for ourselves for the night. The sun had already begun to set. A crumbly old man, who actually turned out to be part of the mafia, tried to lure us into his vehicle. (The cultivated New Yorker in me adroitly shunned his advances.) Fortunately, a private driver whose client had unexpectedly canceled came to our rescue. He whisked us all around the city, halting the car at various curbs so we could inquire about hotel rooms for the evening. Finally, we came upon a slim, white building – La Residencia de Leonardo Da Vinci – which had an available room.
We hauled our bags up more stairs, gobbled down a late dinner and fell to sleep in our comfortable new lodgings. One wall by our beds is entirely composed of mirrors. As a result, I see myself as I open my eyes in the morning. It may seem minor. But it’s an odd sight, a vulnerable moment, where I almost believe a stranger is in the room.
It sets the tone for each day, as we venture into new neighborhoods to explore the multifaceted communities that make up Buenos Aires.
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