Dear Argentina,
From the moment I arrived at your airport you gave me a little treat to remember; the Hasidic man with his big black hat and curly sideburns that they call payot, who borrowed my pen. He spotted it in my shirt pocket. His way of asking was made in such a way, as to make me feel....well, ‘it was his pen and not mine.' Of course it was my pen it was in my pocket but I lent it to him despite my going to clear customs long before he would have filled out the forms that he should have done on the plane. Poor man he was obviously in a panic. It is only a pen I think but that the only one I had. I got into a taxi penless - lucky I have my computer to write to you Argentina.
The driver had hair much greyer than mine. Also, his lenses, in his glasses I mean, surely came from the bottom of a milk bottle. The auto-pista must be his personal F1 track and he slowed to 135 km/h once or maybe twice, to rush up behind some unfortunate in the fast lane, with his headlights flashing. Was he remembering, do you think, modestly in his geriatric way, Fangio, Reutemann and Gonzalez, those racing heroes of your yesteryear?
The hostel suggested I avoid Mexico street but that Chile and Peru were quite safe. Is that something to do with the proximity of your geography with those closer two? But didn’t you fight a war with Chile not so long ago? You have a main street named after your enemy. How odd is that Argentina? In Canada we did away with Berlin and called it Kitchener instead, after that mustachioed general. We also plunked Waterloo next door. You know the big battle, the one that saw the end of the little Frenchman. Canada is such a nice country but we must not like our enemies.
I tell you, Argentina that you will be very pleased. One of your generous and kind citizens, he is a young man who runs the evening desk in the hostel by the name of Martin - solved with me that silly, ‘who owns the Malvinas’ dispute. You know the islands those Ingles, call the Falklands. Martin, sincerely worships his ‘Puma’s’ - his godfather played for them. They of course are your beloved national rugger team. Martin and I decided that we should get the ‘Lions’ - that Inglese national team - to play the ‘Pumas’ in the Rugby World Cup final. What a bueno match that would be Argentina, a sell-out for sure and it would be played in Stanley, capital of the Falklands with only 3000 sheep herders as Lion supporters and of course thousands of Argentinians who would love to visit that cold, windswept island for a day out. It would be a winner take all - the islands that is. An honourable ‘trial by combat‘ you might say. Only Martin pointed out, that it would be no prize for you Argentina because who wants cold windswept islands full of sheep and Inglese. He also said you would lose the best foil for distraction from your interesting internal politics. That is if you won of course! Ah, he is obviously of a different mind than your foreign minister. That fellow has just rallied the support of 32 Latin American countries to have those Inglese negotiate at the UN to settle the dispute once and for all. Tricky business diplomacy, better play that game with rugby players - much more fun and good drinking afterwards.
Manana I may write to celebrate your wonderful Vino, which is at this very moment making me sleepy. I may be falling in-love already Argentina, and I have only just set eyes on you after so many years.
From your friend,
El Canadiense Ingles.
No comments:
Post a Comment