Saturday, July 9, 2011

Los Cafés de Buenos Aires

Bar Seddon.  San Telmo

It is cold and dark outside.  I reach into my pocket and realize I don’t have much money.  My brother looks tired, his eyes red from lack of sleep and a full day of work.  Then, we see one of those traditional cafes that abound in this city, and decide to enter.  We order coffee and orange juice.  A beautiful, melancholic tango floats on the air.  I looked around.  Fancy tables covered with white and maroon tablecloths.  An ample space behind the bar shows waiters cleaning cups and wine glasses.  Some people talking on other tables.   I imagined being alone, in that table, in front of that cup of coffee.  I felt the sadness of the music, I thought about the beauty and coldness of the buildings outside. I imagined the place being filled by words weaved together by its visitors. I sensed the smell of the coffee…  Then, it clicked.  For an instant, I knew what so many poems and tangos are coming from. Friends, good music, coffee -or wine- combined with a love for words; this mixture has to result on a poem, a song, or at least a deep conversation.  I understand why the cafés were favorite places for composers, writers, politicians, and intellectuals....  I get it!


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