My sister peppered me with nicknames throughout our childhood, and I concede that “Wrong Way Ingber” could still be accurate. I am not particularly savvy with streets or maps of streets (and I actually believe that GPS’s should be covered in healthcare plans). But perhaps as a result of this, I also feel that desultory walks are an underestimated pastime in life. Whether you are a tourist or a local, what you discover shall be bathed in a serendipitous light.
Just a few days ago, I happened upon a little nook in Palermo Viejo called The Crack Up (http://www.crackup.com.ar/). It may sound uninviting, but this place is my incarnation of Heaven. If you’re weary, order some caffeinated concoction. If you’re bored or hot, make it a beer or wine. Run your fingers over the spines of countless classic books, pulling out any brilliant sliver to read or purchase, or bring your laptop and use their free wifi. So many choices under one roof. Except you might opt to sit on the patio and let the trees keep you in shade.
Even the name of this place, The Crack Up, is inspired by one of my favorite authors, Francis Scott Fitzgerald. (I guess since I’m citing my girlhood days, I can admit that while most girls were obsessing over the Backstreet Boys, I was lamenting the all-too premature deaths of “Scott” and Henry David Thoreau.)
It’s from Fitzgerald’s The Crack Up that you can read, “Of course all life is a process of breaking down…The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function. One should, for example, be able to see that things are hopeless and yet be determined to make them otherwise.”
Just like in my New York Days, I foresee many hours at coffee joints. I have to go where there is hope. And feel free to join me at a table.
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