Facts & Circumstances
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Saturday, September 28, 2013 – San Jerónimo
Buenos Aires, Federal Capital
Guest Blog - Felipe Occhiuzzi
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| Felipe Occhiuzzi, Estación Retiro, Ferrocarril General Belgrano |
Facts and
Circumstances
The meeting was
programmed for noon, impeccable punctuality (seven years had transpired, since
we had last met) we were able to achieve it fifteen minutes before schedule in
the central hall of Retiro Station of the General Belgrano Rail Line;
recognition was instantaneous, considering our first seven decades of
existence, without any appearances of visible ailments of note (or at least that
we think so), effusive greeting and the sharing of our mutually known ironies,
we walk to the entrance of the Subte, C Line, our destination Pueyrredón, D
Line, our objective a programmed meeting up at the home of Alex’s cousin
Wenceslao whom I will meet, whose apartment is located in a central artery of
the city named Larrea and numbered 1234, as we descend the stairs of the
station I make a commentary to Alex that the stairs are almost a century old
and that they are of the same width and that since the first throngs of people then did not
amount to five percent of the present, imagine how dysfunctional for so many
users who must suffer their narrowness now.
Once in the innards we face the
turnstiles but our tickets do not register in their scanners, the turnstiles
read “out of order”(thank God that it is not a weekday as they are spared the
fury of busy-going to-work passengers), a pleasant employee indicates us to pass by
and we finally board the train (Alex stops by a an advertising billboard and
snaps a picture) and we sit down on seats of an acceptable blue material, we
initiate a cataract of dialogues, as the train starts on its journey, engrossed
in a commentary about a brochure on Jorge Luís Borges that Alex shows me,
obtained from the very innards of the National Library, while we both analyze if
it had been legitimately obtained, we did not notice Diagonal Norte Station and
did not get off where we should have, in order to make our connection to
Pueyrredón Station. So we got off at Avenida de Mayo, and from this station
that links to other lines, we started on a long pilgrimage to amend our error,
the result of our distracting enthusiasm; our immediate objective, Avenida de
Mayo Station (SAME Name, BUT!!!!!NOW LÍNEA A) to board a train to Plaza Once
(Plaza Miserere Station), and from there to combine with the new H Line,
towards Corrientes Station (the final end point towards that blessed LARREA
1234). Following a long line of signs and arrows, going down and up stairs, we
embarked on a journey in search of A Line, through a very long, about 100 metres,
well lit passageway, we laugh and discuss, gesticulating with pleasure about
our confusing situation, when suddenly we perceive the sounds of a guitar and
someone not quite identifiable because of the distance who seems to be singing
a song. As we approach we notice it is a woman, perhaps around 50, but immersed
in our conversation we pass the busker by, immediately we receive a volley of
very loud, sublime and portentous epithets (evidently paying us back for our
tribute of rudely ignoring the “artist”) !Shitty foreigners of a whorish mother go back
to your own country, shit yourselves in hunger as in Spain, miserable
exploiters, sons of bitches! all without any solution in continuity, rumbling
on with the voice of the consummate soprano of varieté, her voice gradually
faded as we traversed the tunnel our “saddlebags” overburdened with shit and
insults. Finally, metaphorically shitting ourselves with laughter, we reached the
platform to the line that would take us towards Plaza Miserere; once there we
were to board Line H, this is a hallucinating combination as we have to pass
through a variety of tunnels and passageways, always with insufficient and
deficient signage, but asking strangers that passed us by for instructions, and
especially a young lady who indicates that at the end we would find ourselves
with a y bifurcation, one would be called Hospitales and the other Corrientes,
we took the “Towards Corrientes” to arrive at the correct platform. As we
waited, two stangers attempted to convince us to exit to the street and take the
Line 64 colectivo (bus) that would leave us close to our destination,
considering that the train that we would board would take us only four blocks
and leave us a good a good distance away: Abusing our stubbornness we refused
all counsel, and we took the train for only four blocks and we emerged to the
surface, onto Pueyrredón, after an almost hour of twist and turn adventures,
there we prepared ourselves to hop on the famous and recommended 64 bus but,
just in case we asked….and yes we were about to take the bus going in the
opposite direction, so we crossed the street to wait for our bus there, but we
could not find the stop for bus 64, we asked (WE NOTICE THAT PEOPLE HAVE MORE
DOUBTS THAN CERTAINTIES), intelligently Alex stops a taxi, cheerfully we are
convinced that in combining our mutually diminishing neurons, we are not in the
least shittingly aware of our bearings in Buenos Aires, especially me Felipe
Occhiuzzi, a conspicuous porteño inhabitant!! having been born in the most porteñísimo
and tango-famous corner of San Juan
and Boedo. Once installed most comfortably in the taxi, our conductor,
Peruvian, he, takes us to our destination, I asked if he knew Buenos Aires
well, he answers that he is trying since his arrival four years before, in our
short trip I get his answer, yes, on who is more renowned, Cesar Vallejo over
Mario Vargas Llosa, which pleases me fully. And with a few more details we
arrive at Larrea 1234 and Alex presses timidly, most unsure, on the button
indicating 3 “B” (he doubted between “A” or “B”) and ……….we hear voice of
Wenceslao whom I will soon meet with pleasure.
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| Jorge Wenceslao de Irureta Goyena & Felipe Occhiuzzi |
Finally inside
Wence’s apartment we exchange all the expected courtesies and we settle into a
comforting situation, We go through a rapid account of our past lives and early
youth (the beginning of the 60s decade). Since the three of us lived the same
seven decades we were witness to places and occurrences all shared. Both
cousins compare notes on ancestors, they exchange anecdotes, situations of disagreement,
distorted memories and events that are best understood from the perspective of
a remote passing of time with so many absences and oversights to add to the
confusion.
In a most pleasant
chat, the instances add up (while Alex prosaically insists on fulfilling his
gastronomic rituals), Wence and I enthralled in our exchange of information
avoid his insistence (although I believe we had the same need for sustenance),
finally it is almost 14:30, not a bad idea to descend the three floors and to
rapidly go in search of a good place for lunch, which is something we achieve
without too much ceremony on the first restaurant we find on Avenida Santa Fé.
Comfortably seated,
the cousins decide on the self-service barbecue, while I opt for a plate of
pasta (I have few options in the menu nor do I desire them), while we have a variety of
salads and stuff (which at least look good), and we proceed to pick and
choose. Alex orders a white wine?? Wence and I reluctantly accept the choice,
(it may not be red but it is wine).
Diverting here to
opine on my views on the proper cooking of pasta (I am Italian), of its
quality, sauces and dressing (this could perhaps be a further chapter to this
that I have written) Alex taught us of the origin of the hot chillies, he told
us that they were first grown in Bolivia, to be discovered by Europeans in the
time of the Conquest, he told us that the name of the hot chillie was piri-piri
as it rounded the Cape of Good Hope, and that henceforth the world delighted in
a plethora of dishes in which those hot peppers were consumed, contributing to
mankind (through sinful consumption) that malady of the “irritated colon”.
Obviously throughout
the process of lunch, more and more anecdotes added up, some of which
introduced themselves through unforeseen crannies, Alex and Wency cover in depth
family situations of a long past, all of which taste to me most wonderfully but
seem, I don’t know why, to be remote; meanwhile Alex criticizes the quality of
the meat, he refuses to finish it and opts for a plate of “salsa” which he
accompanies with bread, his lunch coming to a satisfying end. We converse at
the table and time passes nicely especially for me. I am fascinated. But….the
restaurant has to close, after the desserts; we pay and we walk onto Santa Fé en
route to the Ateneo bookstore. Once there Alex takes a few photographs, buys
some books of which he is unable to pay for. He has a credit card but no
required photo ID. The books are returned!!
Unfortunately our
day comes to an end, we must return, we say goodbye to Wenceslao, and we take
the 106 bus to Retiro Train Station, there our destinations bifurcate since
both of us must board different trains.
Felipe Occhiuzzi
dixit
