GEOGRAPHIC CONFUSION AND CRUELTY

URUGUAY: WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 17
The ferry is comfortable. I sit beside a splendid lady in her eighties. She is visiting a friend in Montevideo. The friend is frail and in her early nineties. My companion celebrated a replacement hip last year by touring much of Europe. She was four years old when her father and mother emigrated to Argentina. In her father's youth the family village was part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. It became Italian after World War 1, Yugoslav after World War 2. Now it is Slovenia and she travels abroad on an EU passport.
The daughter of her eldest son had an emergency operation last week.
My companion telephoned her granddaughter this morning.
Her son answered the telephone.
Her granddaughter was resting.
"I'll wait," she said.
Her son put down the telephone.
He hasn't spoken to his mother in nine years.
She doesn't know why.
There was no fight, no argument. He simply ceased talking to her.
Why are we so cruel?

WEEP FOR ME, ARGENTINA

TO URUGUAY: WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 17

The ferry company, Buquebus, runs fast boats and slow boats across the River Plate to Uruguay. I choose the slow boat to Colonia. The fare for myself and the Baby Honda is US$48. The passage takes three hours. The fast boat crosses in an hour and costs twice as much. New and gleaming apartment buildings dominate the Buenos Aires water front. Most developers and apartment owners are foreign. Few Argentines can afford the prices. Of those that can, few would risk their savings within Argentina. Mortgages? In Pesos? Don't be silly. The President has announced a ceiling on bank rates. The ceiling is 10% below the true rate of inflation. Banks aren't lending. Argentines hold their breath and close their ears and close their eyes and wait for the next crash.

Weep for me, Argentina.

I prefer to weep for Argentines.