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Because the traffic quickly piled up behind us, we never thought of looking back towards the port and instead Kabe squeezed the Beetle through the traffic and onto Viamonte. As we headed away from the coast I looked back and saw people get out of their cars and stare out towards what looked like the sea. I lost sight of them as we turned down Rawson and drove the wrong way a short distance down Sarmiento to reach Castelli. Fortunately, a Garbarino delivery van ran cover for us so we just tucked in behind it. The radio interrupted the music to report on El Arcangelo - Los Rusos was repeated as well over and over again. I wasn´t sure what exactly was being said given the rapid fire delivery by some on the spot reporter. Where exactly was she reporting from?

I need coffee,

Kabe announced as we pulled into an empty space on Diagonal Pueyrredon. I sprang out of the car almost planting my forehead against one of the plane trees that line the sidewalk - they´re not quite as grand as the ones on Luro, but they add a nice intimacy. I avoid the tree and making a fool of myself just in time. The radio had been disgorging more information. Apparently El Arcangelo was a cargo ship owned by Zim, an Israeli shipping company. They had been scheduled to dock at Necochea but now were offshore waiting permision to unload in Mar del Plata´s port apparently. But what about Los Rusos? My mind was racing trying to digest the information so I absentmindedly followed Kabede into Dickens without even bothering to consider taking a seat at one of the sidewalk tables under the awning. I might have been able to keep an eye on the tree that way as well. Kabe seems to prefer to sit inside, however, even in warm weather. He looked back at me as I glanced anxiously at the pine tree on the roof rack and laughed easily. He´s right. I´m being paranoid. Besides, what the hell is gong on with that ship and are there russians involved? As there´s no tv in Dickens we gulp down our cortados and move next door where TodoNoticas is on the tube. I text Isadora and tell her where we are - should have done it earlier, damn. Isa replies almost inmediately; she was about to enter Bingo del Sol but has decided to come join us. Work was slow today but at least she had a couple of clients. She´s only a few blocks away up on Independencia so she´ll be here in a sec. I stare at the screen. I´m starting to piece together more of the story. El Arcangelo has somehow been forced into the harbour from it´s route out to sea. And los rusos are in fact ... oh my god. The shot is now just beside the Casino and the camera swings out to sea. Rather than the handful of cargo ships waiting to dock what is out there is a large naval vessel ... is it a cruiser? Not sure. My perception of everything around me shifts and memories of the images of the Malvinas, the Falklands war, come flooding back. I keep staring at the screen, astonished. I feel a hand on my shoulder. Isa slips into the chair next to me and waves the waiter over and orders a Quilmes ... no make that two says Kabe ... all the while keeping her eyes on the screen. She nods at Kabe and glances quickly at me with a look that´s both fierce and worried. All three of us turn back towards the television. Is it a coup d´etat? Impossible, nothing has happened lately to suggest anything of the sort. So who are they. Russians? And why are they here in Mar del Plata? The beers arrive and I hurriedly fill mine and Isa´s glasses and gulp down half my glass right off the top. I feel dizzy so we order a tostado - again Kabe makes it two tostados; damn, should have asked him if he wanted one as well. Never mind. Isa listens carefully to the ongoing reporting. The camera zooms towards the navy vessel and I think a can spot the Russian flag flying above the bridge.