Buenos Aires is a very pleasant place and the folks there certainly know what to do with the wee hours of the night but I have very few pictures that capture the place’s particular flavor. My album is reduced to rare snippets of rich materiality; the little pockets where rot presses its earthy sincerity into the venture. This city could be New York were it not for a nagging suggestion of Paris....except I’ve been hard pressed to find pastries with chocolate in them, even in the diminutive croissants (media lunas) the bakeries pump out in scores. The mind amasses too many picturesque lanes and corniced crumbling halls without alighting on that special je ne sais quoi palpable in so many other cities I have seen this year. Buenos Aires elicits little more than a nostalgic “oh, that’s nice” from such an astute and noble critic such as myself.
