João Pessoa, Paraíba, Brasil

Come with me, back to Buenos Aires, where I spent about five days in January:

I saw a young, American woman in the cemetery in Buenos Aires and she had that look on her face that said she was searching for something. We bumped into each other five or so minutes later and the look had not left her face. Instinctively, I knew she had failed to find the mausoleum of Eva Peron.

I have had a fascination with Eva Duarte Peron, born 1919 and died, age 33, in 1952. I had read a biography of hers, about 35 years ago, written by a guy named Brooks, if I recall correctly. Eva was a very controversial figure in Argentine history, as anybody close to poor people would be in any country. (For a current example, see President Chávez of Venezuela). The generals saw to it that she didn't run for the vice-presidency along with her husband the hands-down favorite to return to the presidency.

Eva had cancer and so hated was she by segments of the populace that scrawled large on a wall, or maybe walls, were the ominous words: LONG LIVE CANCER!

To the contrary, when she died the radio said: "Our spiritual leader has died!"

Well, back to the young American from Indiapolis, if I recall. She offered my assistance in showing her where Eva Peron rested.

We chatted afterwards, and having time to spare, went to have lunch at a world-famous chain. You would probably guess, but I simply cannot remember now. Maybe before I finish. I wasn't really hungry but it is always nice to get back to talking English now and then.

The Hard Rock Café. Told you the brain cells might kick in pronto!

We had a good conversation and I took photos and gave her a Hard Rock Café tee-shirt, seeing that it was on her birthday! We parted with my offer to send her photos which I had taken.

By sheer luck, we bumped into each other about 45 minutes later at the subway (called Subte, short for subterranean) and went our separate ways.

We exchanged a couple emails and all was pleasant. Then it happened. I spoke the truth. I shared my thoughts that America was a sick country. That if US forces had killed one million Iraqis the only observation would be "Could you pass the ketchup, please?" But America was up in arms because one of Janet Jackson's breasts was revealed on TV.

That was the last time I heard from her.

But that was nothing compared to a Jamaican woman with whom I had been very close from 1959 to about 1993. We were speaking on the phone. She had managed to make it to Miami, after all those years of trying. During the conversation she found out that I was an atheist.

That was the last time I heard from her.

Até logo.

PBB