Lying on the Grass Outside the Buenos Aires Airport

buenos aires

It’s an opportunity. You must think of it as an opportunity. If you think of it as anything else you’ll get frustrated. Go ahead, get it all out. The girl in Bogota told you you’d have access to the VIP lounge. You might be way more comfortable there right now. And then the other girl told you you could recheck your bag at 330am, and then you were promptly told it would be 600 or 630am by someone else. Go ahead, complain. Go ahead, cry. But look on the bright side. It’s 351am. You’re lying on the grass outside the Buenos Aires international airport listening to the crickets. You’re in Argentina. You’re in South America. And not only are you in South America, but you’re in the Southern Hemisphere. And you’re going to the southernmost city in the world, a place most could only dream of going. And you’ll be there in just a few hours. You just have to wait a couple more hours and then check your bag. There isn’t even dew on this grass. It’s four in the morning and there’s no dew. How is that possible. Bless this country.

This experience is way cooler than any VIP lounge. You just got hit in the face with a leaf. In the VIP lounge you’d be stuffing your face with shitty food and checking Facebook 400 times. But instead you’re already out in it. You’re in nature. You hear crickets. You smell what smells like a fire. Or fall. It’s fall here. If you were inside the airport you wouldn’t even realize that. You’re in Argentina. You’re in Buenos Aires. The last time you were here was 2008. And you were only here for one night. You got drunk with your friend Andrea and her friend. You dine and dashed on some beers at a club. The next morning, at breakfast, Andrea fell asleep with her head on the table. You caught the metro home. South America. South America.

It’s all mental. You could rage over this situation right now. Or you could realize that each moment in life is precious. You could get a coffee. Maybe even talk to some Argentinian people. The breeze is hitting my face. It still smells like smoke. It feels like a summer night. You’re lying on the grass outside the Buenos Aires international airport listening to the crickets.

 

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