Yo soy aqui en sur de Americana.

Yo soy aqui en sur de Americana.

It is 3AM and I am rudely awakened by a brilliant flash of light illuminating my room with an eerie white hue. I count the seconds between each crack of thunder. One thousand, two thous... CRACK! Now I am really awake. Jerked from my slumber as a booming thunderstorm rips viciously at the sky. The sound of thunder resonates round my room and makes my bedside table shake.

I arrived safely in Buenos Aires today after a long 16 hour, sleep deprivated flight. I´m sure I was not a pretty sight as I trudged bleary eyed through the departures teminal to await my transfer to my hostel.

In the taxi with my small backpack wedged between my legs and all the windows locked I hungrily take in the sights and sounds of this magical city. I roll down my window just a fraction and inhale. I smell food! The air is not thick with pollution or smog but instead of the aromas of late afternoon meals being prepared for lunch by local families. The air is clean and fresh here. As indicative of the cities´ name.

After settling in at the Hostel I hear something calling me. It is my bed. With my eyes like slits and my head feeling like a lead weight I succumb to the calls of my bed and immediately fall into a deep slumber. Jetlag 1, Louisa 0.

I awake 3 hours later, shower and freshen up before heading out for a stroll around the city centre. I am in the suburb of San Telmo. The main street is lined with shops and banks and I find it easy to negotiate my way around. The people seem lovely. I feel compelled to give everyone a smile, greeting shop owners with a pleasant "Buenos Dias!" as i buy bottles of water and a hearty lunch at Subway. I figure I will try the local cuisine later this evening.

I take my time wandering around this friendly city. As darkness becomes imminent I decide to head back to my hostel. On the other side of the road is a cafe called El Cafe Continente. The shop front describes it as "The Musical Cafe". I am intrigued. I stroll in to find a welcoming atmosphere. The staff greet me warmly as I take a seat and study the menu. I am excited to test out my Spanish on the waittress who serves me. I find myself holding a conversation with her and placing my order without a glitch.

At the front of the room there are musical instruments set up ready for the nights entertainment. I notice on my table a schedule for the upcoming performances. Tonight the Carla Fernanda Trio are playing. A woman steps up with her arms full of accordion. A man with an electric acoustic guitar twangs at a few strings, checking it is in tune. A second man steps up to the mic and warbles out a scale, warming up his vocal chords. Then the music begins. I am transfixed. I sit with my coffee and empanadas and enjoy the sounds of the typically South AMerican music. I look on with interest during the on-stage banter, pretending I know what they are talking about.

Their set finishes 45 minutes later. I pay my bill and stroll across to my hostel. It has been a long day and I look forward to relaxing with my book in bed.

So there it is. My first day in Buenos Aires is over. The storm has subsided now. I am listening to the sound of raindrops pattering lightly down on the footpth outside, the only sound coming from my room is the scratching of pen on paper.

Buenos Noches and I will write again soon.