By Ralph
Tuesday – Recoleta, Buenos Aires
She sauntered into the Debra Café & Bistro as if expected. Her almost bare chest announced her arrival— bold, unapologetic, and demanding attention like a silenced Walther PPK. (gun)
Her black knitted top—scarcely larger than a handkerchief, folded with origami precision—clung to her breasts with the insolent elegance of a high-stakes operative.
One golden belly-button ring caught the light—precise, unapologetic—driving a tiny lance of brilliance across my glasses.
I barely registered the man escorting her.
He moved with the quiet economy of a professional, guiding her toward a window seat where sunlight continued to slice across the room. I remained anchored at my little quiet corner table beside the gleaming Faema espresso bar, nursing my morning café con leche served scalding — extra hot, extra dry, the way only a few connoisseurs still dare. Shaken, but never stirred with sugar.
Her voice and laughter was now a distraction as I penned this daily blog.
The actress Vesper Lynd had been instructed in Casino Royale — that cool, calculated asset who turned every head with lethal poise while her partner operated in the shadows.
Every sway of her hips, every calculated flash of skin, every open expression of beauty was a perfectly timed feint: loud enough to pull every eye in the café. The ultimate asset. A woman weaponized with allure, drawing fire while her escort melted into the background.
And the café, oblivious, played right into it. A classic case of misdirection.
Just the way Bond would have appreciated it — shaken, but never stirred.
I keep this journal because travel keeps offering me tiny, uncanny moments that perhaps only an over-imaginative mind like mine can notice.
Nothing dramatic, just the kind of ordinary wonders that continue to pile up when you’re somewhere new.
One thing I’ll carry back with me is a bit more Spanish than I arrived with. I’ve had plenty of chances to practice, and more than once a waiter or taxi driver has offered a genuine compliment on how well I speak.
Buenos Aires felt good and the bit of volunteering that I did was a good fit.
I still read Spanish poorly, and I catch maybe 60 percent of what people say. The rest drifts past me like pleasant background music. Still, progress is progress.
Argentina has treated me well, though it’s never been cheap. Indulge in the food and you can easily hit a hundred dollars a day. Eat simply and forgo the local specialties, and you’ll manage on far less. Since this is my first trip to South America—and at my age—I figured a little splurge was allowed. So that’s precisely what I’ve done.
This morning I came back to the hotel after some reading, feeling drowsy, and tried for a proper nap. It didn’t take.
Upon waking, it struck me that I had yet to visit El Ateneo Grand Splendid, the celebrated bookstore housed in a former theater. The place is astonishing — velvet seats replaced by books, the grand stage now a café. Crowds gather simply to photograph themselves against its opulent backdrop. I took no selfies and felt every inch the tourist.
From there I wandered over to Recoleta Cemetery. Outside the gates there’s a big weekend market with stalls selling paintings, silver, jewelry, all sorts of handmade things.
Hunger caught up with me, so I stepped into La Biela, the big, bustling café right by the entrance.
I ordered sparkling water and a salad, along with a few empanadas. The empanadas were excellent — they use fresh-cut steak instead of ground meat, and you can taste the difference. The water was fine. The salad, though… sliced celery, pineapple, walnuts, and a little chopped lettuce. It sounded interesting on the menu. On the plate, the flavors never quite made peace with one another. My palate voted no.
That pretty much finished my final day — two solid walks in one day. Recoleta is wonderfully walkable. There’s art and sculpture around every corner, little surprises that make you slow down. I’m grateful for days like this.
Ralph
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