It feels normal – no, wonderful to be back in BA, which is as beautiful as ever.
The skies are cloudless, the markets are opening and washed cobblestones glisten. I have such rich, complicated memories of our last South American visit. Passing Puerto Madero at first light they flooded back. Most of them joyous, many disturbing, some painful. I can´t wait to see my lovely boat again. Until then it is forestay rebuilding, luggage retrieval, tango and dawdling. I am in the right place.
It took 3 train trips to San Fernando to buy the new forestay wire and to locate a 10mm Norseman fitting for it. Torkel at North sails deserves plaudits for his help. But the search was not unpleasant – the suburban train trips give intriguing glimpses of shanty slums, Wahroonga-like mansions and ugly high rises. I love the graffiti along the railway line – endless fuck-you murals bursting with life, colour, anger and disrespect for authority.