Invitation to the Voyage
Over the past two weeks, I have fallen down the Porteno rabbit hole. On the other side I found a bitter sweet melancholia, and a seductive pride paired with a passion for an antiquated romantic ideal.
Sleepless nights of bottomless bottles of Malbec. Early mornings cradled in the back of a taxi blasting songs by Gardel, the night ended without further notice and the day began with coffees and cigarettes.
There is constant noise in my head, a sort of rumbling of Castellano and foreign rhythms that fail to put me to sleep. Loud laughters, rrr and jotas and italian accents and new sounds that I had never heard before. If New York if the city that never sleeps, Buenos Aires is the city that keeps me awake.
Cansada pero aun despierta.
I have not found better words than those of Charles Baudelaire to explain what is going through my head.
My child, my sister,
Think of the rapture
Of living together there!
Of loving at will,
Of loving till death,
In the land that is like you!
The misty sunlight
Of those cloudy skies
Has for my spirit the charms,
So mysterious,
Of your treacherous eyes,
Shining brightly through their tears.
There all is disorder and beauty,
Luxury, peace, and pleasure.
Excerpt from Invitation to the Voyage by Charles Baudelaire, The Flowers of Evil. Translation by William Aggeler, (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
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