This is going to be the post pair in an ongoing series where I will post my impressions of a city when I first get to it, what it’s like touching down/arriving in, getting into the city, and wandering about/going out for the first time in the city.
In Buenos Aires’ case, be forewarned that there may be a tinge of “Holy shit, I’m in Argentina!” sprinkled throughout, as this is the first leg of my traveling.
When I first decided to visit Argentina, my plan was to move to Buenos Aires for at least three months, show up, get an apartment pre-arranged via Craigslist, learn Spanish, and try living here.
Cue flight to BsAs, quickly aborted attempts to sleep, and the remembrance of a certain movie I’d long past ripped to my MacBook.
That movie was A Map for Saturday, a movie about a TV Producer’s journey from ‘Hey, I should travel around the world’ to ‘I’m traveling around the world!” and then the adventures and people he encountered along the way of his year-long sojourn. I’d received the movie for my birthday after reading about it on Tim Ferriss’ The Four Hour Work Week Blog, and had decided not to watch it until I had quit my job and was on a flight to a foreign country.
Cue having quit the week prior and being on a flight to a foreign country.
Quick sync to my iPhone, voila, it’s showtime.
A Map For Saturday turned out to be, simply enough, one of the most beautiful and inspirational movies I have ever seen in my life- the experiences documented weren’t all positive, not by a long stretch, but the entire film was so well-done, and such an excellent chronicle of such an ‘out there’ experience, such a momentous and yet easily accomplished journey, that my mouth was agape half the time.
And then I watched it again.
Just like that, living in Buenos Aires lost much of its appeal, and I began to fear I’d made a bad decision by lining up an apartment ahead of time- I spent the rest of the flight writing in my journal and trying to sleep, all the while trying to puzzle out exactly what the hell I wanted to do, having created for myself a job that I could work from anywhere on (web development) and (hopefully) make (hopefully) enough money that I could (hopefully) live anywhere in the world. And, based on that, quit.
So, I continued to think it through as we touched touched down at Ezeiza International Airport- the entire area was surprisingly barren, almost deserted. The airport was small, almost dinky- all in all, an exciting first impression of total unfamiliarity. Always a good thing when starting to travel.
Getting off, the air was nice and warm (scorching), and, walking into the terminal, I was immediately faced with Customs/Immigration- which turned out to be, fortunately enough, a joke- since I’m almost positive I filled out the entry form wrong. The guy manning the desk motioned for my passport, I put it through, he just glanced at the front, opened it, punched it with a stamp, and waved me through- Argentina ahoy.
After that, there was a second X-ray cehck, though no one was watching the monitor. Security seemed to be non-existent, a definite plus for staying in the country long-term. As suggested on numerous Argentinian expatriate sites, overstaying a three month tourist visa would appear to be simple exercise.
Though, of course, that would be wrong- stay in school, just say no, and don’t overstay your visa in foreign countries, mmkay?
Walking into the main entryway, suitcase in hand and messenger bag across shoulder, I walked to the taxi stand and arranged for a taxi to the hostel- in English, thankfully. Surprisingly, people in Argentina, a Spanish-speaking country, seem to speak Spanish a lot. Reminds me of the quote about how Americans travelling abroad are always surprised to discover that, despite all the progress made in the last thirty years, foreign people in foreign countries still speak foreign languages.
Funny how that works.
The taxi ride was an exercise in insanity, after hopping in the driver immediately took off, and I realized there was no seatbelt- though, there were open windows, a nice breeze, and a new country to look about at. Which, at first, wasn’t much to look at- since Ezeiza is within the sprawl of Buenos Aires the first places you see are the slummy areas to the sides of the highway- shantytowns, rundown areas, and generally poor and overcrowded living conditions. I’d booked a hostel in the heart of the upper-class Buenos Aires bubble, Soho Palermo, so I had an image of what it would be like.
As we veered (rocketed) off the highway, we were on a long road which was simultaneously beautiful and dirty- elegant decay, I’ve heard it referred to. The architecture was a mix of old European style manors, larger Roman style buildings, smaller Spanish style establishments, the pseudo-modern, and the quasi-poor. All a bit rundown- not necessarily in a bad way, but, rather, in a slightly dirty and gritty way. At first things tended more to the dirty and gritty side and less to the elegant- there were a bit of trees on either side of the road, providing shade, but there was just something missing- it wasn’t how I’d picture things to be.
But, as we drove, things got progressively nicer and more green, more trees, nicer buildings, happier and better dressed people. And, eventually, we’d arrived in the bubble!
I stayed at Hostel Suites - Palermo, which is an old mansion converted into a hostel. Odd to think that some old baron held fine dinner parties in the same place that people from all over the world now hold drinking games to the tune of Obama’s primary returns.
Checking in, I’d been expecting to drop my stuff off, lock it, head off for the Craigslist meeting to get the apartment, and then go back, get the money, pay, and move in. But, already being late for the meeting, I found that my laptop was powerless, my iPhone wasn’t able to access the Argentinean networks, constantly getting a vague error, and I had no power converter.
Oops.
Oh, and I’d forgotten to bring a lock also- this is the time that I started to question my falling face first forward approach to traveling.
But, before I could feel too overwhelmed, another person staying in the hostel came in and introduced himself… in Spanish. At this point, I didn’t know enough to even say that I don’t speak Spanish, so I fired off a stilted hola, gave a deer in the headlights look when he said something else, and he then said that one beautiful word: English?
Switching gears to a language I can usually comprehend, we started talking- [Daniel] was from [Toronto] by way of Switzerland, working a web development job, and had just taken off for six months of South American wanderlust before starting a new job- as he’d been all over South America, and Argentina, at this point, with his trip ending the next day, I pumped him for his travel stories, his story on how he’d wound up in [Toronto], and random other things until I realized how late I now was for an appointment I still intended to keep. Before I headed out, Daniel explained about locotoriums, the ubiquitous phone/internet cafes, and what kind of taxis to take to prevent being kidnapped and taken to banks to withdraw all your money for ransom.
Good to know.
From there, the day was a whirlwind of trying to get cash, as I had spent all the money I’d converted to Argentinian Pesos on cab fare ($80ARS/$25), and deposit for the hostel (I forget). Bad move, so I went to the ATM to get cash out, only to discover that the ATM wasn’t taking my card. Nor was the next ATM, or the next one, or the next one- or any one, for that matter. At this point I spent a good three hours frantically trying various ATMs in a panic that I was in a foreign country, without money, no way of paying for a hostel bed, and unable to speak the language.
Fortunately, though, remembering the locotorium suggestion, I found one, went in, fumblingly asked for a $5 peso card (leaving a single $2ARS note), called the bank, couldn’t get it to go through (the recording was in Spanish for some bizarre reason, imagine that!), and had the good fortune of the locotorium staff switching shifts, bringing in a girl who spoke great English- she walked me through it, put in the numbers for me, and, soon enough, I was connected to Washington Mutual, my bank.
As I tried to explain the situation, the woman quickly cut in that I’d been blocked for possibly fraudulent charges- I’d taken dollars out in San Francisco, then Washington Dulles, then tried to in Buenos Aires (seventeen times). I agreed that that might be a wee bit sketchy, but that I’m currently in Buenos Aires, she transferred me to the Fraud Department, they unblocked me, and, gloriously, the next time I tried the ATM, $290 beautiful, beautiful pesos came out.
Wiped by the long flight and ATM troubles, I headed back to the hostel, where it was by now dark, went to the patio area and talked with all the people hanging out there- until about three in the morning. And, the next day, the whole solo traveling thing was gone- after a single day, I’d met enough people that it was no longer traveling alone, but going out to dinner and drinks with groups from the hostel, from countries all over the world. Good times indeed- but this is where the post leaves off, with the conclusion of my first day in Buenos Aires.
A post to come will be a Post-Game of my trip to BsAs, places to stay, places to go to dinner, places to go to hang out and drink, and the place to go for the most mindblowingly amazing weekly drum concert on the face of the planet. Basically, my travel guide to BsAs based on my time there. From now on, whenever I go to a city I’ll write at least two posts- the first impressions/first day, and the post-game/travel guide. I figure that within about three months there should be enough content here for the site to be a legitimate travel resource, and hopefully a boon to anyone looking to visit South America, or wherever I happen to be in three months.
Good times ahead.
