Each time I move to a new place, I worry that there won’t be special things that I identify with the location. In Argentina, I loved watching my balcony neighbors mill about, hanging up underwear and talking on their cells, and I loved hearing the beagle barking in the courtyard. I always wonder: will the next place contain its own sweet attributes?
Outside of our apartment in Chile, buskers sing opera and pop. An accordionist plays the Godfather theme and my favorite songs from Amelie. Once in a while, a grungy blues band hooks up an electric guitar and a band member wails on his harmonica. Two cats–Martín and Dali–sulk around our courtyard. The only noise they make is when they get into wicked cat fights at one in the morning.
It’s been more than a month since I wrote. I didn’t have time to tell you that I was visiting family in Illinois and Arizona. I loved the familiarity of being with family; they know those thoughtful facts like I prefer one and a half spoonfuls of sugar in my coffee. My parents live between woods and a cornfield. A pair of geese hangs out across the street some evenings. The sunsets are streaky blue and orange across the horizon–perfect for sitting on the front porch “of an evening” as my grandmother says. My parents’ mini schnauzer lets me think she’s my dog while I stay there.
Arizona was beautiful too–it was my first visit. The large cactus and adobe colors were beautiful. I missed the geckos, though. Must be too cool.
Now I’m back in Chile. Which reminds me–I need to talk about Santiago. I have plenty to tell you about.