The New Office
The first thing I did when I arrived in Buenos Aires was to look for a café.
Actually, the first thing I did was join a gym. The national food here is pizza. And meat. And pasta. And bread. So unless I wanted to gain twenty pounds, it seemed prudent to find a gym pronto. I may still need a triple bypass from all the steak and cheese, but at least I'll look good under the knife.
The next thing I did was look for a new café (or two) to write at. I decided I wanted one close to home and one further away, because sometimes a girl feels adventurous.
I found the close-to-home one on my way to the Microcentro (the downtown area). It looked perfect: light and appropriately studious with a few women and half a dozen men in suits working on laptops inside. I thought I'd try it to see if it had bueno ondo (good vibes, as they say here). I walked up to the door and pulled on it.
It wouldn't open.
Figuring it opened inward, I pushed on it. Nothing still. I stood back and stared at it. Then I looked at the store hours, wondering if they closed for siesta (though cafés don't typically). Nope—they were open till 8pm.
I did what any normal person would do: I shoved on it, and then yanked back for good measure. Accomplishing nothing except attracting the attention of every patron inside.
I have, of course, not been back since. When I do go back, I will be appropriately disguised.
But I did find another café—one that has an open entry so I didn't have to mess with the door. The waiters are forgiving of my awful French-accented Argentinian Spanish, and it's a lot of kitschy fun inside.
So you can picture me spending the late morning/early afternoon at one of the little tables in front, drinking a café con leche, eating medialunas (the Argentine answer to a croissant), and hacking away at my laptop. Note: I reserve the right to order a Coca Light every now and then. Gotta follow your whims, you know.