Once, on a Tuesday, she was walking by the musicians right after they had finished performing “Carmen”, by Bizet. She heard the round of enthusiastic, warm applause again and could notice the look of complicity between the cute pianist and the funny violinist; a look of triumph. The look in their eyes was that of “what a glorious moment”. The kind of applause and cheers they received was probably better than the one they did when performing at Teatro Colón, the most recognized, renowned Opera House in the country. At that precise instant, she thought “art is right here, happening before my eyes, carving itself in the walls of my brain and theirs”, during those brief seconds that would probably last an eternity.

Moments like thesdownload-65e, she thought, were what captured the essence of Buenos Aires. Some passengers would leave coins in the violin case. “What would grandma, a concertist that had perfo
rmed for members of the royalty at the Vienna State Opera make of live musicians playing in the subway?” Probably, by many opera musicians’ standards, this trio was failing miserably. But she would retain the look in their eyes for years to come; the look of triumph and elation.

On she tramped down Cabildo Avenue, on her way home, thinking that, in a way, she knew those guys in the trio. She knew a lot of people in that country who, like the musicians in the subway hall, did not wish anything bad upon this world; they thrived with a bit of magic and mystery and they were content with doing what they loved, be it at the Teatro Colón or at a subway station. A feeling of mysticism and happiness filled her soul and she would love to have been able to save a bit of that feeling in a jar, which would forever remind her why she desperately loved Buenos Aires.