I’ve been wandering around central Córdoba during the day while Lore works. Córdoba is lovely and lively. There are always people walking around. It’s a big city of about a million people, but also a university town, so lots of college students live in Lore’s neighborhood. Each night is progressively noisier as the weekend approaches. It’s spring and the weather is warm.
Argentina is sort of a Second World country, if there ever was such a thing. Think of a beautiful, solid old house with peeling paint and an overgrown lawn: it needs a little cash and a lot of work to get fixed up, but it’s otherwise fine. That’s Argentina. The high-rise apartments buildings keep going up in central Cordoba, but the tile sidewalks are crumbling. Garbage collection was interrupted yesterday after the city ran out of money to pay the contractor. Today the teachers went on strike. We heard the demonstration pass down the boulevard a block over.
The Cabildo, the old colonial government house that is the central civic building of the city, is a nice tourist attraction but the former police state used it for imprisoning, torturing, and executing people. An exhibit now memorializes the victims, known as “the disappeared”. This is when speaking Spanish like a two-year old gets very frustrating. Lore says everybody here has an opinion about it, but I can’t understand them. To my eyes and ears much about this city is indecipherably quotidian. I’d like to find out more.
Last night I met Lore’s Italian grandmother. Italians are everywhere in Argentina. Except for that she speaks Spanish she could be one of my own relatives.