I need to take a moment to describe Jesus. Jesus has long flowing black hair and a 3 day stubble that appears to have stopped growing at the most aesthetic length possible. The night I met Jesus he was clad in a loose flowing white shirt which resembled what I imagine a robe would be if redesigned for modern life. He is a man of average stature, yet moves with confidence and power. In conversation he is calm and amiable, yet in anger or frustration, somehow the same. I should also mention that His actual name is Jose, and his last name, when translated from Basque, means 'from God'.
We were spending a night on the rooftop terrace at Ostinatto, tomando, charlando and having a chilltastic time (sin Jesus at this point), when the subject turned to lack of beer. None of us wanted to make the journey to the bottom floor bar, but we had hit the limits of supply. I will never forget the vision of Jesus as he rotated on the spot, arms open as if to embrace us, saying:
"I have beer"
We sat there motionless as the lamp above him emulated the holy light of the heavens, cascading down over his chiseled features.
"Holy shit it's Jesus" Said someone from the pews, and thusly we accepted Jesus into our minds and souls and were once again reunited with beer. By luck he had an untapped liter bottle. Excelente.
Also of note is my friend Franco, who was from everywhere. Fucking. Everywhere. He spoke English, Spanish, Portugese and French fluently and knew a bit of German. He had as complex a background as I could figure. I think he was originally from Brazil, but grew up mostly in the States, with stints here and there around Europe. I assume his Dad was Jason Bourne. Franco was a man with a two things on his mind. Women and how to get them. Ok that's putting it a bit short. He was an incredibly intelligent dude. He could recount the political and social history of anything I asked about South America and seemed to consume history and guide books through rapid osmosis. I think he has a degree in Politics or History or Economics, maybe all. This made for impressive conversation, as education generally does. But above all of the topics of conversation which we held, one we kept returning to was women.
Franco had an insatiable desire to meet women. Not solely for sex (although that was clearly a positive outcome) but he was adamant that women were the spice of life. He was passionate about discovering their opinions and giving them food for thought. And although he had healthy reasons for holding this passion, I could tell that in the wide expanses of his intellect he held a certain loneliness, a desire for the next level of human contact. He wanted not only to love, but to be loved. In the time we hung out together, I know he certainly got that opportunity. WINK WINK.
There was also Anna, who wasn't an entirely negative experience for me. I think Anna is a girl thoroughly sick of being harassed by horny men. So needless to say she and Franco weren't the best mix. Anna seemed like the kind of woman who has it all sorted out privately. She knows where she stands and the experience she wants to attract. Unfortunately this meant she had quite a closed attitude and was hard to relate to at first, but after a while she warmed up and we got along.
It was with Anna and Jesus that I decided to go Kayaking in the Delta in Tigre. Tigre is a town to the North of Buenos Aires, although is still connected by city. Tigre sits in the delta of the Rio de La Plata, and the part to which we would go was populated by people living on their own personal Islands that had been formed from silt drifting down the river and lodging in its shallow mouth.
As usual, we had spent the night before drinking and had stayed up too late and so the early start required of us was only just successfully met. We caught a subte to the train station at Retiro and took Linea Mitre out to Tigre, the last stop. We met Juan (a different one) at the train station, under a big map of the delta. Since we were a bit late, he whisked us away fairly quickly to the port, where we were taken by boat to his very own island.
The island was my idea of hippie paradise. Surrounded by, and relying on, the waters of the river, they had a burgeoning orchard of fruit and berry trees, a well irrigated vegetable patch as well as bungalows for visitors. As it turned out, the business was less of a business and more of a dude who owned kayaks, lived on an island, and saw potential. I love how that freedom exists here.
Kayaking through the delta was thoroughly wonderful. It reminded me of the Mulgrave but at the same time was on a completely different continent. The bank was dotted with houses and jetties and willow trees drooped over the soft clay to dip their leaves in the silty water - which was fucking COLD. It looked like something out of a Van Gogh. Ridiculously idyllic. Although the water is silty, it is fresh and you can swim in it. Juan recommended against drinking as it contained a lot of heavy metal elements washed out of bedrock upstream, but there were methods of purification available.
A snack on the island before we got in the kayaks
We stopped for lunch at a restaurant on one of the islands which, just as Juan had done, was someone's house with an alternative purpose. It was about this moment, sitting on the jetty with beer in hand, feet swaying in the water, that I really felt at ease. I was thousands of kilometers away from everything I had ever known, on an island in the middle of an area I had never been to before but I was with good people and good beer and doing what I loved to do when at home.
On the way back to town in the boat, Jesus pulled out a term I didn't realize had been coined. We all lay on the front deck, entangled so our heads rested on the most comfortable parts, half awake, half asleep. The end of day Cuddle Puddle. I like that.
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