This piece was delivered as a reading at our first Herald Night, An Ode to Buenos Aires. Join us for the next one on April 18 at Sheikob’s Bagels, 8 p.m., Uriarte 1386 — this time, it’s a trivia night!

I was secretly a bit worried about preparing an “ode to Buenos Aires,” because I was wondering how I could write over six years of thoughts, reflections and impressions about this city into a ten-minute reading.

But then I realized: I had already written it. Like many writers, I’ve kept a diary on and off for most of my life, and my past self is better at capturing those moments in time than my present self could ever be. The challenge, in the end, was figuring out what to cut. So without further ado, here’s my ode to Buenos Aires.

Well, we’ve made the leap. Packed up our things — they fit into six pieces of luggage — and left Bolivia for the metropolis that is Argentina’s capital.

Now we’re in Argentina, and I don’t know what to do. We need to formally apply for our masters degrees at UBA, find a place to live, get new phone numbers, figure out how to buy beans, and do the plethora of things you need to do when you move country.

It’s a three-way tie as to whether the beans are bainitas, judías or chauchas, and whether bananas are bananas, plátanos or cambures, so I’m open to suggestions.

We’re trying to make headway, but God, it’s so hot here. Sometimes it feels so hot I literally can’t do anything at all. It’s a humid heat that gets into your hair and sticks to your skin.

Wandering around the city center the other day, we reached a huge, grandiose building overlooking a square, the Argentine flag flying proudly in the wind.

“That building is pink!” I said.

“No, it isn’t,” Andy said.

“Yes it is!”

“It’s more of a dusky red,” he said.

It turned out to be the Casa Rosada.

We went to a free electronic music event outside Recoleta cultural center with Astrid and her friends. Andy looked at me full of excitement and said, “people are so cool here!”

Inside, we saw the most incredible art — an exhibition of vivid, cartoonesque images of women and street scenes. One of them mapped the final steps of Santiago Maldonado, the missing man.

I found an English-language Argentine news site. One of the items on its FAQs page was “Why are you criticizing my country in English? Why don’t you go back to where you came from?”

Their response was essentially, “We’ve chosen to live here so it’s our country too.” That response doesn’t entirely satisfy me, but as a journalist, it got me thinking. When does it become appropriate for you to comment on another culture? Does it depend on whether what you have to say is good or bad? What about the privilege dynamics between the countries? There’s a lot to that question.

I got my grades back for the masters coursework I finished in October, and I passed everything. It’s gratifying to know that I’m not failing.

Buenos Aires in good weather is gorgeous. Everyone gets into the summer spirit........

© Buenos Aires Herald