I’m in Paraty…a little Colonial city in the Rio de Janerio province…all bobbled...

I’m in Paraty…a little Colonial city in the Rio de Janerio province…all bobbled streets, white washed buildings, lush tropical forest and a gorgeous sleepy coastline. Today I hired a bicyle and cycled the coast, over little bridges, up steep hills…when I got too hot I stopped and got someone to hack a hole into a big green coconut for me or left my bike on the beach and ran into the sea (though it was as warm as bath water…). Tomorrow two lovely London friends will arrive - my first familiar faces in months - andwe’ll soend the day on a schooner (is that not an amazing word?) and then I’ll be off home…a night in Rio, an overnight flight to Madrid where my ex-wife will meet me for a few days holiday (women break up wit each other excellently, fact) and then back to London where, pretty much as soon as I hit the runway, I have tons of stuff going on…lots of teaching, festivals, workshops…basically all the stuff I’ve been missing out on in the last twelve months. 

I left Buenos Aires about a week ago. It was hard leaving - I find it harder and harder to leave places - I was just starting to feel at home, me and the city were just beginning to come to an understanding. Buenos Aires is a city of huge contradictions…wealth and poverty on the same stretch of street, age and youth, beauty and ruin…my time was a full of stark contrast. For most of my time I closeted myself away, worked as hard as I was capable of - I ran evening  circles , wrote my book, worked on all my other projects, cooked and ate at home…probably allowed myself to become a little too solitary, And yet, my time was also punctuated by sudden lovely friendships, nights drinking Fernet and dancing until dawn leaving nightclubs while the air was pale and still cool with my ears ringing, midnight visits to the ice-cream shop and chats about queer politics with my flatmates, amazing meals and long walks full of stories…Buenos Aires is a place of many things and I think maybe my experience reflected many of those faces. There are some cities, when I’m at the bus station or airport reflecting, that I know I won’t see again…but Buenos Aires isn’t one of them…

And then? Then on to a 22 hour bus to Paraguay.