My daily commute.

Every day, on my way to work, I cross though Plaza de Mayo. It’s the center of the city: and home to some spectacular architecture. The Casa Rosada, Argentina's equivalent to the White House, sits in the center of the plaza, surrounded by gardens and picketers.

Daily commutes are pretty routine, and the grand majority of mornings I walk bleary-eyed to work without noticing anything extraordinary about my surroundings. However, on occasion I look up and am stunned by the splendor of the skyline: towering skyscrapers and adorned palaces.

Sometimes, I’m also accosted by demonstrations: one day people were wearing posters showing a photo of Obama with a drawn-on Hitler mustache, decorated with acid raindrops. I took one of their flyers in an attempt to understand the movement against “financial fascism” but I couldn’t figure out exactly why they had chosen that particular image. I’m thinking mostly shock value.

A couple weeks ago a beautiful commemorative piece of art appeared: a big metal frame with dangling white crosses covered in flowers. It was a tribute to the lives lost in the Guerra de las Islas Malvinas. An absolutely moving piece.



There are days I miss commuting to work in my car. Yet other days I definitely appreciate the reality of walking to work: feeling, seeing, smelling and experiencing my routine in a way I just never did as a comfy cozy American.