A nice travel narrative set in Buenos Aires
When I stepped off that plane in Buenos Aires I was greeted by a taxi driver named Juan. His English wasn’t the greatest and his taxi was a run down tiny bomb. The center console’s radio had struck eight a.m. as Juan’s mobile office blared tunes I’d call Argentinean rap. Although, Juan called them, ‘Reggae-tone.’
I indicated to Juan I’d like to go to ‘El Centro,’ clearly marked on my paper map. ‘Si, Señor,’ said Juan.
During the journey we passed a diverse range of buildings, from gray paint-deprived concrete boxes, to elegant historical buildings with a European flavor. Juan had a crucifix hanging from the rear-view mirror, which made me feel I was in good hands. On the car’s dashboard was a photo of Juan with two curly-haired children in football outfits. Juan was around 29 years old, a similar age…
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