Todays a little more on the meditations and less on the drunken escapades, but don't worry, the next entry will more than make up for it.
I came home with the intense urge to leave. Nothing against my host mom, but I was feeling particularly restless for numerous reasons which can go unexplained for now.
Luckily, I came back to get a message from another trip member inviting me to La Bomba, an already famous drum show someone across town.
Do I hear adventure calling?
I was running late and set off on a sprint to the girl’s apartment. For some reason, I find myself a faster urban or trail runner than on a track. I bounded down the streets, flew over the sidewalk, barely breaking a sweat or losing my breath in the biting cold. I dodged families, circled already familiar streets and finally stopped when I realized I had ran in the direction of the show, not her apartment
I made a less than glorious walk back.
I reretraced my path and we found ourselves in what was by far the shaddiest district of the city that I had seen yet. Catcalls in unknown slangs were thrown at my female friends. I puffed out my chest and laughed again at the image of me as “protector”.
We went to a corner store near the show, bought bottles of Quilmes, and drank them in brown paper bags outside of the show. So far, definitely fitting into the neighborhood.
I made it to the front door of the show, at the edge of what was apparently a vacant lot and abandoned warehouse and was surprised to see it run by Ticketmaster’s Argentine cousin. Security was posted all around the entrance.
We got in and found ourselves at a Yuppified rave.
I ran into a familiar face, one of the guys from the bar crawl the week before. He offered for me to ride along with him to the bar crawl after. I agreed, against any sense of better judgment or time of course.
We made our way to the open warehouse and were greeted by one of the most exuberant, upbeat concerts that I have ever seen. The percussionists were spontaneously jamming on the stage as an accordionist wove around them. The whole crowd swayed to the rhythm, pulsating from the drums of a hundred countries. The show was so “safe” that the set ended at 10. Pub crawl guy had already left. Whatever.
The next night was an old fashioned spend the whole night at one bar; it happened to have an Irish theme that was far from authentic. Having Guinness Draft and Celtic symbols with one jig played all night counts as Irish down here. So does a Philly Cheese Chicken at a food court restaurant described as an American grill. It makes you wonder if General Tsao/Gao really was known for spicy chicken.
Perhaps it’s because the specter of Borges seems to haunt every street corner, the fact that I visited an exhibition on his life earlier today, or I’m attempting the task of reading the entirety of his work in Spanish, but this city has proven really conductive to introspective thought.
Everyone owes it to themselves to become familiar with Jorge Luis Borges. So far I have only pieced together loose snippets of his biography so far and treaded loosely in his shadow through the spots of the city of his life. However, slowly his thoughts have been reaching me.
His belief in the power of words is something I identify with incredibly.
His beliefs on death provide me incredible comfort.
His belief in the influence of genealogy aligns with one of my aims down here.
His self-awareness of his reputation mixed with humility and a touch of self-deprecation provide a model for me.
His beliefs on fate and love, while I don’t know them yet, I am sure will prove equally insightful.
I don’t plan on reading a biography on him; rather I plan on experiencing his life through these five months through random chance encounters. By learning his story through learning Buenos Aires, hopefully I will reach even a miniscule portion of his insight.
We go through our lives, assuming that we have all the answers. We know how our lives should be lived and exactly how to reach it, but in reality, we are all flying through it blind. To assume we know what lies over the next horizon is incredibly ignorant. The past is subject to after-thought, the future subject to chance, but the present is completely determined by us.
People are unpredictable and the actions of one I have never met can cause rippling shockwaves that effect me in ways little and big that I might never realize. All one can do is be completely open to these merry coincidences of life and be ready for them by knowing oneself. Too often, I have seen things and people as patterns, things to be manipulated and understood. Only by instinct and action can one find a path.
I saw college as a happy, almost pre-set path. Down here, any street corner can lead to a new road. I plan on going down these streets, seeing the city, always waking up and assaulting the day head on just to see what it brings.
Borges was blind, but he saw more than any of us. The only shadows and doubt are the ones that we refuse to see through.
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