I wake at 8:00. This Monday morning it is an absolutely beautiful day here in BsAs. Cool, clear, low humidity, windy. Had a nice buffet breakfast at the Castelar, free to guests till 10:30 am. Shave, shower, etc. Dress in nice casual clothes. I tell the clerk that my room has no airconditioning, but find out that the control is at the front desk and you phone to get it turned on. I do not know if it works, or how good, or how long. But I did not miss it last night. With the window open on the 11th floor and the comfortingly noisy fan on I slept like a baby. I go out to explore the busy streets.

I walk East on Avenida de Mayo toward the Casa Rosada, the Argentine White House, about 10 blocks away. Along the way I get money from a Banelco ATM; very efficient and safer than in Los Angeles. To get in to the ATM, surrounded by bullet-proof glass and with interior TV cameras, you have to swipe an ATM card in the electronic lock. Since the bank in the next room is open now, I am also able to change the single 100-peso note I got from the ATM to smaller bills, very quickly. Next time I punch in a request for $80 so I will have $20-peso notes!

I go into a farmácia to buy some hair-oil, one of the things I did not bring with me. It takes some peering at the shelves and consulting my dictionary before I figure out what I want; there is no entry in my hand dictionary for "hair oil" so I have to look up "oil" and "care" and such-like. Buying and making change in Spanish is incredibly exhilarating. I am all alone with no Spanish-speaking friend to help me and it is scary, but relief from these simple victories produces strong emotional rebounds.

A sub-post office is just a block or two further. I spy one and turn back a half-block to get some postcards at one of the many tiny shops, some about 10 feet wide and 20 deep. This one about 6 wide and 10 deep. I select five beautiful ones, planning to send one every two days to my lady friend at home. I also get some chewing gum to substitute for a toothbrush after I have lunch. I pay for them and get a quick practical lesson in linguistics.

Argentine Spanish pronunciation has subtle differences to the Spanish I am used to. There are several dialects here, based on things like economic class, neighborhood, and what country your ancestors immigrated from. Also, some Spanish speakers are from different parts of Argentina, including some fairly secluded rural areas. And there are immigrants from nearby countries, especially Peru and Chile and Uruguay. This is disconcerting at first since my Spanish is still limited but I quickly adapt - I was a Chinese linguist in the Air Force and languages come easy for me. The first time I hear "pee-so" instead of "pay-so" it is confusing, but not the second. Or dos being pronounced "doe" (like a female deer) or ocho as "oach." In a day or two I subconsciously come to expect the last syllable to be dropped from a lot of words.

I go in the sub-post office and am impressed at the efficiency there, get stamps on each postcard that will get them home. Scrawl endearments on one and mail it right there. Outside again in the bright sunshine I see an entrance to the subte, the subway. I go down into the not-too-brightly lit underground and find another world there, of more shops and a ticket window for the 60 centavo tokens. I buy two, the maximum the lady will let me buy at a time. In moments a few-car train arrives and I get on the one going East. I know it can not go far. Beyond the Casa Rosada is the River Plate, so I can not get lost. Though I have my trusty Lonely Planet guide and the cross-referenced city map, so I am not afraid of that.

Public transportation is a marvel here, because so few people can afford private transportaton. The orange-over-black taxis are everywhere, 24-hours a day, and very cheap. At most milongas a taxi will be passing by at any time day or night. Getting to distant milongas can often be done via the subte (as long as you go before 10 pm when it closes). The underground is old, the car I am on now appears just as old, mostly wood with ornate lamps, lovingly kept up. Some of the other train-cars are obviously new. The cars travel often. Every few stops there is a cluster of businesses underground. Coming from Los Angeles where we think we are so modern, it is a surprise to find a second-world country beating us at our own game. I have heard that the bus system is also great but I will try that tomorrow.

After a few blocks at the end of the line near the Casa Rosada I go back above ground. I immediately notice some examples of another architectural wonder: a larger portion of women with the generous bottoms and discreet bosoms that became my ideal architecture for women when I fell in lust with a cheerleader when very young! And Argentine women seem to wear pants more than in the US!

I look at the Casa Rosada, the Pink House, a little more red than pink, actually. I look for the balcony where Eva Peron sang "Don't Cry for me Argentina" in the movie and find it. La Casa is quite pretty, with small trees and green grass in a plaza in front of it, everything brilliant in the sun. I rest a while and watch the people and the ever-flooding traffic in the streets in front of the Casa. Ready to see more, I walk Northwest on the street Diagonal Norte which ends at the Obelisco. I am now hungry and stop at an Italian restaurant. I enjoy a pizza while watching the last of the lunch crowd finish up and dive back out into the street. Except for a few Argentines who seem to be on holiday and in no hurry whatsoever.

After lunch I walk further along the Diagonal. On the way I go into various shops. Argentines, or least porteños, seem to be very literate. Every street has a news-stand, sometimes two. There are numerous bookstores, many used. I go into one, enjoy the feel and smell of books. I also go into a store selling only new books. It is beautifully done. There are lots of technical magazines and books also, in newstands and bookstores. The Linux operating system is well represented, a technological revolution in the making, especially for second- and third-world countries without the burden of conventional technic. Not that Microsoft is out in the cold. Its software is the choice of the many locutorios and internet cafes. They give anyone who walks in with a few pesos access to the internet and email - an area where Argentina surpasses the US: computer access to everyone.

I come to the Obelisk, the center of the downtown area. The intersection on this busy brilliant Spring Monday looks very different than it did on the lazy overcast Sunday. There is a plaza around el Obelisco, a traffic circle around it. There are lots of what I take for students lounging there. The plaza trees and those that line canyonesque 9 de Julio sway gracefully in the cool breeze sweeping down that street.

I go one block East on Corrientes, the major East-West street, turn right (South) at Suipacha street, and there at 384 is Confiteria Ideal, where I first danced the tango in Argentina, yesterday. There is an matinee milonga that started at 3:00 and there are plenty of people, though fewer than last night. I just peek in, watch a few minutes, and leave after I rest, have a fruit juice, and consult my map. Any tango place is home to me, and it feels comforting to have been here for this half-hour or so.

I retrace my path and follow Corrientes West for several blocks past the Obelisk. I pass the theatre where Miguel Zotto's famous tango show, "Tango x 2," is playing. I have seen it several times in the States, but write down the performance times so that I can see it again before I leave.

The entire day I walk, getting familiar with the city I have read so much about since taking up tango 12 years ago. I stop at a very nice French restaurant, have a leisurely fish dinner. On the way back to my hotel the slightly warm evening merges into a night with air cool and somehow velevety, caressing my skin. A block South of the Obelisk I visit a couple of hotels on 9 de Julio. I especially like the Hotel Bristol, ask if I can move in tomorrow at their corporate rate. The English-speaking manager says yes.

At midnight, all spiffed up, I tie my shoes - and instead go to the Italian eatery next door - any place in the downtown area you can eat 24-hours a day. I have canneloni and garlic bread. They are playing Madonna's latest CD - it has a country-and-western sound that carries me back to my country upbringing in Texas. What a strange thing to experience in Buenos Aires!

Back in room I crash-dive into sleep. Next time I return I will get a bulkhead seat so I can stretch my legs out and sleep on the over-night leg of the trip.

Home page Day 3