Sunday in San Telmo . . .

It's Sunday afternoon and all of Buenos Aires can be found in these few blocks, strolling down cobblestoned streets, past street performers and musicians, open plazas crowded now with tents making a grand flea market with antique laces, clocks, china-head dolls, silverware with crests, porcelain Blue Willow plates, embroidered napkins, weather-worn license plates proclaim Argentina!

We stepped around hawkers crowding the sidewalk with bird whistles and finger puppets. One threw fake tomatoes on the ground which magically resumed their shapes. Clowns danced; one sat by a building, long legs stretched out one story high. Fantastic drawings decorate store fronts; above, iron grillwork festoons the fronts of Baroque buildings.

We saw classical guitarists, orchestra tango, funky street tango, mime tango (they dance when you put pesos in the traditional black hat), and three little kids on accordian. People gather and drift along, appreciating the slow pace of the day. San Telmo. San Telmo. Everyone is smiling.