The Jetpacker

We got a late start today.  And it wasn’t because we were partying the night away… no, we were just tired.  I mean, we got the recommended 7 – 8 hours of sleep.  But that was over a span of more than two combined days and included no more than 1 hour of sleep at a time.

Once we finally slugged our way out of the hotel, we tried to flag a taxi.  For a few minutes we were sufficiently ignored.  Then a kind man who spoke a little English told us why: we were on the wrong side of the street.  The second we stepped foot on the right side of the street we found a cab.

We hadn’t even begun our first day and we only had 14 pesos at our disposal.  I had only exchanged $40 American at the airport because the exchange rate was bad — 3.2 to 1 when it’s officially 3.9 to 1 – and most of that went to the cab ride into the city.  In every other city we’ve been, it seemed like 1 out of every 3 shops was an exchange center, so we weren’t worried.  We should have been (more on this debacle later).  (Peso count:  $14)

The guidebooks say 14 pesos is enough for a standard ride in the city.  Apparently “standard ride” means “when the streets are empty.”  We were only going half a mile, but traffic was thick during the lunch rush.  I was sweating it when the meter rolled over 10 pesos and we were still stuck on Avenida Julio de 9 — the largest avenue in the world.  Luckily, our driver got us to our destination before we ran out of dough.  (Peso count: $0)

Not ironically, it was dough that we were searching for.  Warm, cheese-covered dough.  Argentineans love their pizza.  We passed at least 4 different pizza places on our way to Guerrin Pizzeria, one of the most popular joints in the city.  The smell was intoxicating but torturous — we didn’t have cash and they didn’t take credit cards.

So we went looking for an exchange center.  Each block that took us further away from the artery-clogging aroma of Guerrin was frustrating.  It was lunch break, so the thin sidewalks were packed with businesspeople who would give Olympic speed-walkers a run for the gold.  Everyone knew where they were going.  Except us.  We felt like an inconvenience, a roadblock to the portenos on their way to a lunch.  And there wasn’t an exchange center to be found.

But there was hope — a bank.  Despite 8 cumulative years of formal Spanish classes between us, we could barely form a sentence.

We didn’t even know how to ask someone if they spoke English (but to be fair, Argentinean Spanish is slightly different than Spain’s Spanish).  We walked into the bank and asked, “Hablo Anglais?”  That basically translates to “I speak English?”  Like we were asking someone if we spoke English… in Spanish.  Like we were questioning our own language skills.

Fortunately, the lady in the bank knew what we were trying to convey.  We were only able to decipher a few Spanish words, which led us to a bank across the street.  They DID exchange money… but only with a passport.  Which we didn’t bring.  Because every single travel expert always recommends that you never take your passport anywhere.  In fact, they specifically recommend leaving your passport in the safe at your hotel.

But our guidebooks neglected to mention that you need your passport to exchange money anywhere in Buenos Aires.  So we had no Argentine currency.  We had no way to get Argentine currency.  We didn’t have money for a ride back to the hotel.  And the thing that sucked the most — we had no pizza.  We had to take a break to think…

We remembered seeing a 4-star hotel a few blocks down Avenida Corrientes, one of the most popular shopping streets in Buenos Aires.  High-class hotels almost always offer money exchange.  So it was a huge relief to see the “3.6 peso : 1 USD” sign.  But just as Jackie was about to hand the concierge her money, he asked, “Are you guests of the hotel?”  “No.”  “Sorry, exchange is only available to hotel guests.  There’s an exchange center 5 blocks away.”

5 blocks!?  We had already walked five blocks.  And when you’re hungry, five blocks feels like five-hundred.

Jackie turned on her charm and begged the guy to just exchange a little bit of money.  Thankfully, he agreed.  (Peso count: $72)

Armed with fresh pesos, we walked back to Guerrin Pizzeria.  The menu was all in Spanish and our waiter didn’t speak any English.  So again we had to call upon our insufficient Spanish language skills.  We were able to understand enough words on the menu to get exactly what we wanted.  Not only was the pizza delicious, it was ridiculously cheap — 17 pesos, including tip, for 4 slices and 2 waters (that’s less than $5 for lunch for 2 people).  (Peso count:  $55)

After lunch we walked down to Congreso, the building that houses the legislative branch of Argentina’s government.  It looked a lot like America’s Congress building, but we didn’t want to go in for a further look.  Why?

An angry mob was protesting outside.  The riot police blocked the entrance of Congreso and news vans lined the street.  I’m not sure what was going on, but there were military veterans asking for signatures and holding signs.  Needless to say, we immediately went the other direction.

We walked through Plaza de Congreso, aka Pigeon Sanctuary.  Yeah, they’re the rats of the sky.  But you can’t deny their cuteness.  For a peso, we bought three bags of corn and fed the pigeons.  At one point my field of vision was darkened by the swarm of pigeons clinging to my body.  But once our supply of corn vanished, so did the pigeons.  Hit it and quit it.  I feel so used.  (Peso count: $54)

Walking down Avenida de Mayo felt like walking through an alternate version of Paris – a Paris where everyone speaks Spanish, where the croissants are replaced with empanadas, and where drivers are just as inconsiderate and crazy.  But the tall, elaborate buildings, most designed in the Art Nouveau style, were a real treat to behold.

A mile and some hardcore foot pain later, we were in Plaza de Mayo, the most important square in the city (which means the most trafficked by tourists like us).  The plaza is surrounded by a plethora of historically important buildings, including the Casa Rosada — the Argentina version of the White House… except it’s pink.  We arrived just in time for the march of the Madres de Plaza de Mayo.

Every Thursday at 3:30 p.m., the mothers of the children who vanished during Argentina’s “Dirty War” circle the May Pyramid, drawing attention to the atrocities of the military dictatorship between 1976 and 1983.  It was depressing and uplifting at the same time.  Not only is their march a symbol of their unwavering love and devotion, it’s also a fight for the truth, to raise awareness of the past and confront issues of social injustice and oppression.

After the march we grabbed a snack at Cafe Victoria, walked through the Cabildo — the only building from the colonial era still in existence.  (Peso count:  $30, or about $10USD)

By now it was dinner time, so we headed to El General, a highly-rated restaurant near our hotel. 

The place was empty when we were got there and the staff looked surprised that anyone even came in.  (Dinner time in Argentina is way different than the states: they start eating around 9 p.m., even on weekdays).  But they were very welcoming.

The guidebook said the restaurant accepted credit cards but we asked just to make sure.  Good thing we did.  It was cash only.  We had gotten all comfy, made friends with the restaurant owner, the napkin was on our laps, we felt right at home… and we had to leave.  The squeak of the chairs against the hardwood floor echoed through the silent restaurant as we got up.  The crack of each footstep across the old planks mocked us in embarrassing fashion as we aimed for the exit.  Thanks for nothing guidebook.

Again, we were faced with this exchange issue.  But this time, it was worse… banks close at 3.  And it was 6 p.m.  We had pretty much given up and accepted the idea of eating the box of Ritz crackers stowed in our luggage for dinner.  That is, until we got to our hotel and the concierge told us we could still use our ATM card to withdraw pesos at the banks.

Thank goodness.  We walked a few blocks to an ATM machine, took out some cash and went back to El General.  (Peso count:  more than enough)

Half an hour had passed and we were STILL the only ones.  As we were finishing our meal, more people started rolling into the restaurant — right at 9 p.m., just like we had read.

When we get back home, we’ll do a full review of El General as well as Guerrin Pizzeria and even go into more detail about Avenida de Mayo and all the sights to see.  But before we hit the sack and catch up on sleep for tomorrow, we’ll leave you with a few impressions and observations:

–Outside of the concierge in our hotel and the nice man who explained to us how to get a taxi, we haven’t met anyone else who speaks English.  Not even a word.  We enjoy the challenge of trying to put all those years of Spanish classes to work – it’s their country and we should try to communicate in their language.  But it’s still surprising considering places like Budapest and Prague were so English-friendly.

–When I was taking pictures of Congreso, a guy tried to sell something to Jackie.  She politely turned him down in English.  He must have assumed she didn’t know a word of Spanish because he called her a “puta” and walked away.  We may not know 99% of the Spanish lexicon, but we DO know “puta” means “bitch.” 

–Hiking boots should be a requirement in Buenos Aires.  The streets are old and crumbling.  There are random stairs, sharp dips and more holes than a Dan Brown novel.  With so many unexpected changes in terrain, there should be warning signs similar to the ones you see on roller coasters.  It’s a thrilling adventure not for the weak of heart.

–Argentina is yet another country that isn’t afraid of nudity like we are in America.  There are at least two magazine stands on every city block in downtown and each stand blatantly displays the cover of a magazine featuring bare bodies.  Back in the states, Maxim magazine shows off scantly clad women… in Argentina, it shows off fully naked women.  Here’s a word I was disturbed to see on the cover of a gentleman’s magazine — “floppy.”  Not a sexy word when talking about nude chicks.

–I hate to sound so sheltered, but I’ve never seen so many stray dogs.  We saw a few emaciated canines searching for food in the Plaza de Mayo, fearlessly approaching workers on their lunch break.  One poor dog was taking a nap on a cold marble slab at the base of a monument.

–There are protests everywhere.  On the main avenue in Buenos Aires.  In Plaza de Mayo.  And remember that one we told you about in front of Congreso?  It must have turned more violent after we left.  We later saw news footage of pushing and shoving, punctuated by frantic camera movement that made it seem even more frantic.  But it didn’t look as violent as the suburbs where Molotov cocktails were being thrown at riot police.