Museum Night

On two separate occasions, I pass people laid out on the pavement, within blocks of each other, being tended to, one an elderly Portena and mention of corazon, the other, a man on the ground next to his bicycle, lying still on his back but no blood. Tren Alegre passes, a two car wheeled train for the kids. Winnie the Pooh looks down from the train mournfully or gleefully, who’s to say? I pass the glowing embers of am outdoor parilla and hear the flesh sear.

I search for a Correo, but don’t have a chance in hell on Sabado. I sit down at a café in San Telmo and settle in with a large basket of crusty homemade bread, an agua sin gas, a cylinder shaped scoop of mashed potatoes topped with poppy seeds, some lamb and a stewed tomato and I’m good to go.

I start late on my quest to find Boca and fall way short. I pass some prostitutes. As I cut through San Telmo, antique markets abound. Markets and native dances occur in seemingly every square this weekend.

As I approach Centro that evening, a museum spews steam from its veranda. Techno music and red and blue fluorescent lights spur portenos to point their digicams and camera phones towards the spectacle and I do the same. I fade back from the crowd to the soundboard underpinning it all and decipher the signs posted there. Its museum night and this is one of many museos putting on a show and opening its doors for free tonight.