It’s Sunday morning in Buenos Aires, the downtown streets are mostly empty and the newspaper stands are just opening their doors. I head to the port for a long run along the boardwalks and through the ecological reserve; however, upon arrival, I am no longer alone. In front of me is a middle-aged man on a bike, whizzing past me is a girl on rollerblades, down to my right a woman and man row a boat along the river, coming toward me is a fellow runner. I pass a friendly patrol officer who is enjoying his Sunday post by eyeing all the women who walk, run, skate past him. There is something very pleasing about being surrounded by other athletically inclined people as you run along a gorgeous background. There is always a tacit camaraderie exchanged when two runners pass each other and I can’t help but smile every time it happens to me this morning. So many sidewalks, stairs, boardwalks and little plazas to welcome my running shoes, I end up running for over an hour.
As I jog back into the city toward the subway station that will take me to my apartment, I stop and buy a Sunday paper and a spinach and cheese empanada for the ride home, not forgetting to drop a little piece for the pigeons that swarm the main plaza. It’s an early spring Sunday in Buenos Aires. Open air markets are popping up all over the city and I need art for the tall white walls in my room. First, though, coffee.