in the pension, buenos aires

It's early evening. The pension, in Boedo, consists of a series of rooms which open out onto a first floor patio. There's a parillada and a settee and pot plants. It's pleasant and all the Gatos hang out there. In the middle of our three rooms is another. A couple have moved in. The man is Spanish. I speak to him for a bit. I tell him I'm English. He calls out to the woman who's inside the room. She comes out. She's wearing a sarong. She's middle aged. She comes from New Zealand. We start speaking. In English. I haven't spoken to anyone in English for weeks. She tells me that she just arrived in Buenos Aires that morning. From New Zealand. She's spent a long time travelling. A very long time. She's on her way to Brazil. Tomorrow she goes to Florianopolis. She's going to hang out on the beach for six weeks. Get drunk and hang out on the beach. She has friends there. I ask if she's been there before. She hasn't. I haven't been there either. She says the friend she's going to see is her ex. He's moved back there. From New Zealand. Moved back to his family. I haven't quite got round to thinking that it's unusual to go and spend six weeks with your ex, but I'm getting there. She tells me she hasn't seen him for over a year. Then she says she's going for their child's birthday. Their child who died. He would have been two. She's brought the ashes. She's going to scatter them in Florianopolis. She's going to stay with her ex and his family for six weeks and hang out on the beach and not do anything.

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