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.