The summer pomperos illuminate the city that prefers to say goodnight to the rising sun.
A peaceful place with tree lined blocks, always singing with the inhabitants of the branches.
Each pass from routine walks will have new establishments found.
The work schedules are set by the owners, not the customers.
It is never known what will be open or closed and what is hidden in plain sight.
The amount of museums and bookstores creates belief the world is silently relying on Buenos Aires to preserve history.
Feather dusters replace brooms.
There is no balance required for the subway.
A mercado asks you to move slow, as to not miss the smallest gem possible of finding.
Adjust your emotions to the metronome of Buenos Aires and move with ease.
There is no place to be and no place to miss.
A cafe, to sit, drink, and relax without pressure of leaving.
Solitude among a table, coffee, wrapped pastry, the hypnosis found in the reflection of a ceiling fan from a spoon, and the view of the slow moving pavement.
People's time is genuine and shared with generosity for conversation through speech or gestures.
A thank you is always followed by a “No, please, thank you”
Construction workers smile as lottery winners when they carry their trays of meat through the streets from their job site to sit down on the sidewalk and share a meal.
Carne is soul, the accordion is the spirit, and azucar will find the table before water.
A city for the active rest.
Not the Paris of the continent it is on.
One of the suns of South America.
Its own identity among the world.