Saint Anthony is my homeboy

I had another blog post planned for today but that's gonna have to wait because the story of what happened to me last night is simply astounding.

I was on my way to my 4 hour lecture at UBA. It takes me about a hour to get there on the #67 bus and then on the subway. I ran out of my house a little later than normal and the bus was there as if it was waiting for me! I waved to the driver to open the door and he did. I graciously said thank you and was glad that this man let me on so that there still was a chance I would get to class on time.

The 67 went a different route than normal, because the center of the city is getting ready for the big celebrations for the Bicentenario, or the 200th anniversary of Argentina's independance next week. I had to get off the bus a good 6 blocks early than normal and walk to the subte stop. I had my little pouch/wallet type thing with my monedero (metro card) ready to use on the subte. I hopped out of the bus and frantically starting power walking to the subte stop.

After walking 5 out of the 6 blocks, I realized that I didn't have my pouch in my hand anymore and it wasn't in my purse. Great. Its getting dark, I have 15 minutes until class starts, I have no money, no monedero. I can't go to class without money, I can't go home unless I walk around 25 blocks home. The only thing I thought to do was immediately retrace my steps and send a message up to St. Anthony (Nana has luck with him, and named my dad after him, who named my brother after him--so he really is a family friend). Then I called my friend Sylvie who is so rational and calm in situations like this--she really helped a lot.

I walked back the path I had walked, then when I was about to give up and just walk home, I decided just so I could sleep that night, to walk the whole path once more. While I was searching for about 45 minutes, I saw many 67's pass. I thought that maybe if I told someone I lost my wallet they'd lend me some monedas to get home. Maybe I should give up and just walk home. I frantically stopped at a corner and checked through my purse one last time. Then I got up with dignity and started my walk home.

I passed by another #67 bus--why is it that when I'm waiting for them they take forever to come and now there are a million all around me? I noticed that the arrangement of the seats in the bus was the same as the one I had rode earlier that day, and the seat fabric looked familiar. The bus was at a red light so I motioned to the driver to let me on, and he graciously did. He looked oddly familiar. I had a feeling. I asked him if he remembered me riding this bus earlier and he said, "puede ser", which just means like "ya it could be", but obviously he didn't. Then I was like "porque perdí una cosa, mi billetera" (I lost something, my wallet) and he was like "is it this little square one?" and I was like "OMG THAT'S IT I CAN'T BELIEVE IT, ITS A MIRACLE". Literally I told him it was a milagro in spanish!

I'm thinking about writing one of my final papers about the theatricality of Buenos Aires as a whole. I am convinced that would be a perfect idea. This episode was like a very well practiced dance or scene where I planned the amount of time I retraced my steps, looked in my purse again, talked to Sylvie and I ignored all the #67's until the one I knew was the right one came. And then I took my cue and got the goods. It was timed to the second because right as he gave it back to me, the lights changed, I got off and he went on his way.

I then went to class with 3 hours to spare and the night went back to normal. People must of thought I was crazy in the subte because I couldn't stop laughing.