Mari Mahr



		It so happened, that for the first time in more than forty years, I had the chance to go back to South America. On my flight to Argentina I had a dream. I dreamt of our slow descent into Buenos Aires. My dream was in black and white. The streets hadn't changed since my mother took all those tiny photographs in the 1940s.
The cars were old-fashioned and people were rushing by in the narrow windy street where we landed. Everything was calm and I felt totally at home. Our real descent was just as amazing. The aircraft came in from the sea and we made our arrival in a spectacular modern city. Again I felt at home —I was looking at faces I felt I knew. Time and again I was served oddly familiar dishes and the language I had long forgotten now sounded very comforting to me.