The next morning we rose, still riding the wave of exhilaration at our new world. We had ambitious plans to see much of the City. First we sped by subway (hot and sticky and crowded underground, always) to the Plaza de Mayo and the Avenida de Mayo, the beating heart of the city. There we wandered round the Casa Rosada, the seat of government and famous crooning point of Evita. It stood elegantly over a leafy plaza where protesters camped and picketed, most noticeably the "mothers of the disappeared," a heart-wrenching group of mothers demanding that the government somehow explain the mass disappearance of thousands of argentines in the Dirty War, only a few decades ago. After witness this center, and the avenue, which is clearly the center of commerce and traffic and the crossing paths of various people aimed in various directions, we turned onto Florida, the pedestrianized vein of utter tourism in the city center. Dozens of glittery, undesirable objects glinted up at us, as we pressed through crowds. Now, we as a pair don't look (in my opinion) very touristy or very vulnerable, but here we made again a slip that made us instant targets. We took out the guidebook to glance at a map and get oriented. But two teenaged boys swept in, first begging money then demanding it, then ominously grabbing Casey arm and moving around us. Ultimately we made an excuse and bolted away into the tangle of people and way up the street. This did nothing to abet our growing uneasiness with these big crowded throbbing centers of the city. But on we went, down narrow streets into San Telmo, the exciting, edgy, artsy part of town. It was packed with antique shops of staggering scale selling everything from vast collections of silver and crystal to (gulp) real Nazi peraphanalia, presumably from the swarm of Nazis (including, apparently, Mengele and Bohrmann) that escaped down here after the war under the shelter of the questionable Peron Government. The dark dusty shops and warehouses were fascinating, quite unlike anything we had seen thus far, but there was little that appealed in a practical sense to two budgeting backpackers. We tried to leaf through a vast old record collection, but the vendor refused to let us continue until we told him exactly which record we were looking for. An impossible question, so we moved on. We had a vast lunch at a great little restaurant of Milanesa (breaded steak) with potatoes and Quilmes. Stuffed, we made our way to a cool hill top park where we watched people walking dogs and old men competing fiercely at chess. Then we made our way to Plaza Dorega, the heart of San Telmo. We watched a luscious tango show in the center of the square, marveling at the incredible nature of a dance at once so controlled and so passionate. We went into an incredible cafe off the plaza. Dark and historic, with names and messages carved into the bar and tables, and rows of dusty old glass bottles along the walls, the place was pulsating with Buenos Aires. We ordered submarinos, an Argentine favorite (and now a favorite of ours too!) of boiled milk with a whole chocolate bar dropped wonderfully in. Sitting there, looking out on the plaza, was utterly perfect in every way imaginable. We also made a friend in a street vendor who wanted to chat with us and show us how he crested his wares, beautiful, meticulously created necklaces and earrings of beaten metal, even when he realized we were not very promising potential customers. Finally, we walked back to the center via Puerto Madero, the up and coming fancy new district of the city, with glittering new office buildings and executive-looking restaurants. It was a waterfront (along a series of canals) and a cool breeze slept, thankfully off the water.
The end of the day was a beer on the rooftop of the hostel with some of the other people staying there, and then a deep sleep. It is quite possible that we saw more of Buenos Aires that day than any visitor has ever done in a single day