It was raining this morning and we wandered under the roof of the Mercado to see the working of The San Telmo Market.  The meat and fish and vegetables all sizzling on coal fires creating a wafting atmosphere of too many home barbecues actually hot enough to cook food.  There was coffee everywhere.  There were places set at tables at each vendor.  Order to taste!  From fresh sausages to grilled chicken to prime beef the Mercado offered a place to sit, eat and savour.  Miniature plates of wood, bronze, and porcelain were lined along stretched family tables.  Everyone was welcome.  This was 11:00 am and the wine flowed in unsanctified quantities.  This was one more stop in a city of riches.

In the civic museum there was a collection of European and American art focusing on how it influenced Argentinian at.  The Van Gogh windmill caught my eye. That makes for two turns of neck toward my Dutch roots in one trip.  The pastel colouring of the Van Gogh was a gentle version of what so often was an edged scene.

The Carlos Gorriarena cake painting was a bold coloured contrast to the Van Gogh.  The roots for me were equally embedded in childhood memories.  Cakes, windmills, colours and the hats of distinction compiled to augment memory.  The stories of immigrant history were chiseled into memory and the civic gallery with free admission brought them all to mind.

The launched Augustine Rodin sculpture feasts the eye with intention and completion.  It’s like a rainy day created the diversion to the gallery, to the market and toward spiritual nurture.  On the street Margaret launches her career as rock star with a slightly oversized guitar.  Playing in markets, galleries and puddles resurrected for eternity memories of the past in the present.  Living forever begins now.