Yanquis in Latin America: Buenos Aires pt. 1

I am looking back now, at the end of two weeks of travel and recounting the events that transpired...

Day Eleven: It was technically a new day by the time our flight from Salta landed at the Aeroparque in Buenos Aires. There was a light, misty rain falling as we exited the plane out onto the tarmac and then into a bus. The bus took us literally a hundred feet to baggage claim. While there, BT began the sad saga of communiques that would characterize the first part of our Buenos Aires experience. His grandmother was dying, and his family wanted him to come seven thousand miles back home.

We found ourselves a taxi outside of the airport and I directed the driver to our destination of the Old Friends hostel in the Palermo district. The ride, much like every cab ride thus far, was a near death experience that Chris and BT thoroughly enjoyed. We had booked the hostel on the recommendation of another volunteer friend of mine, Sarah, who I hadn't seen since orientation as she was placed in Patagonia. When we arrived, I had to pound on the door to get someone to open it for us, and then deal with the owner's friend who was clearly not expecting us. The owner was not present, and apparently there was no record of our reservation. However, three beds were found for us and sometime around two in the morning the three of us found ourselves passing out with the intention of moving hostels in the morning. Long story sort, we stayed at Old Friends all three nights.

Buenos Aires was a prime destination for many of the volunteers in the South of Chile, and as such I had a few friends to try and see while we were there. In the morning, (well, later in the morning) I got in touch with Vanessa and arranged to try and meet her and her friend Lauren in the Plaza de Mayo. As we were preparing to leave, the owner of the hostel arrived and apologized for forgetting our reservation. He then proceeded to make us breakfast (cornflakes and coffee) and assure us that "this is your home." He was a decent fellow, and although the stay itself was underwhelming, he did do his best to be friendly and accommodating. He was excited to find out that I was a rugby fan at least. After our quick breakfast, on the way out the door, Sarah appeared. We greeted each other accordingly and planned to meet up again later that evening.

As cabs are cheap in Buenos Aires, and it was a cold, rainy day, we decided to catch a ride to the Plaza. Traffic was bad, and this turned out to be a lame decision, as by the time we arrived we were quite late and I couldn't find Vanessa anywhere. Shrugging off the meeting, the three of us walked down to the water front known as Puerto Madero where many of the more impressive cityscapes in BA exist. The abundant European influences, many of which are heavily Italian, are visible everywhere from the architecture to the names of restaurants. BA is called the Paris of South America, and deservedly so, though it more resembles a cross between Gay Paris and the Big Apple. The rain and cold wind kept up, eventually driving us into a most spectacular restaurant on one of the docks. I do not recall the name, but the place was a buffet style parrillada where you could eat fresh grilled meat to your heart's content along with seafood, and all sorts of tradition Argentine comestibles. I had some lamb off the parrilla that was by far the greatest I've ever tasted, but to go into too much further detail on the eating experience would be tortuous. Suffice to say, it was amazing and insanely cheap.

Since the weather was atrocious, we decided to pass some time in a movie theatre, with our only English language, non-dubbed option being the new Tom Cruise film. Quick review: meh. After the film, we returned to Palermo via the super cheap, super speedy, super efficient metro system. I was kicking myself for having us take a cab earlier, because the metro cost only a few cents and was ten times faster. When we arrived back at the hostel, Brandon got the sad news that his grandmother had passed. It was a bitter sweet moment, as death is never easy, but the woman was very ill. The family was convinced that she was with Jesus then, so Brandon wasn't too terribly broken up. There was simply some lingering disappointment that he wouldn't make the funeral. A short time later, Sarah reappeared along with my other volunteers friends Jeff, Marie, and Greg. We joined their party and went to dinner at an Indian restaurant (I know, right?) which, of course, didn't even come close to the meal we had eaten for lunch. However, it was a very interesting experience nevertheless, and it was good for me to catch up with my Southern compatriots (in two senses, as Sarah is from North Carolina and Marie is from Alabama.) We went out after eating, to the area known as Palermo Soho (their is also a Palermo Hollywood, though I have no idea what that entails.) We ended up at a club called "Sugar"where Chris, Jeff, and I got to talking with the owner after noticing that his Spanish lacked an accent. He turned out to be an American from Miami, and was a business student who had come to BA to invest in some restaurants. Apparently things had worked out for him. I made sure to point out how stupid it was to name his place Sugar, and he just shrugged and said any English word would have worked to draw people in. He then indicated our group as his case in point. I tipped my invisible hat to him and offered a humbled "touche".