The Jetpacker

Jackie and I were just talking about the oft argued topic of being a tourist versus being a traveler.  A tourist travels with a set of expectations — an idealized, romanticized view of a foreign land.  A traveler, on the other hand, has no expectations — they enter a foreign land with a blank slate and the element of surprise fueling their journey.

The only things we knew about Buenos Aires before coming here was steaks and tango.  In that regard, we felt like we were travelers, eager to discover a new land and a new culture.  But after today, we realized how touristy we really are.

This trip hasn’t been a vacation.  It hasn’t been laid back.  It hasn’t been relaxing.  It’s been stressful and confusing and, to be honest, it’s felt like hard work.

And I’m gonna put some of the blame on the guide book for this one.  When you buy a guide book, you expect accuracy.  You trust that all the bases have been covered.  You hope that your trip will flow easily and smoothly thanks to the hard work and dedication of the writer.

But our guide book has been wrong more often than it has been right.  I double- and triple-checked as much information as I could when I was planning the itineraries and I already noticed discrepancies in addresses and hours of operation and prices long before coming here.  But there are little details you can’t just research; you just hope the first hand account of the writer is accurate.

The book said there is a monument in front of Congreso that you can climb.  Reality: there’s a giant fence around it.  The book said you could go up to the viewing deck of the National Library.  Reality: you can’t go into the library without I.D. and a purpose.  The book said the average price for a meal in Buenos Aires is $3-$7 per person per plate.  Reality: it’s like $10-20 a plate.

That kind of inaccurate information is really problematic and frustrating, especially when you spend time planning your trips around certain sights that you can’t get into.  What a waste of time.  Not to mention we would have taken out more money had we known it would cost as much as a normal tourist destination.  I feel like we’re going through money much quicker than we expected, which means we’ll have to withdraw more — and that means fees.  Another annoying thing: the guidebook makes it sound like you can pay with credit card just about anywhere.  We’ve seen only a couple of places where you can use card, even in big stores.

By far the most stressful thing so far has been the language barrier.  Before I continue, I must preface this by saying that Jackie and I make every attempt possible to communicate in Spanish first.  If the converstation is going nowhere, we’ll try to revert to English.  Buenos Aires is not an English-friendly city at all.  It was an issue yesterday, but it was a problem today.

We’ve encountered a few people in shops and restaurants who speak a little English.  And we make it very clear up front that we speak English and almost no Spanish.  Yet even though they CAN speak English, it’s like they choose to speak Spanish even faster.  After getting that deer-in-headlights look, we’ll try to communicate with them in English since we know they know what we’re saying.  But then they seem frustrated and short with us.

It’s like they expect us to know every word in the Spanish language.  They don’t slow down or try to work with us.  They don’t show any compassion or understanding.  It’s like it annoys them.  And when we try to speak a little Spanish, obviously choppy, obviously inexperienced, they respond by speaking Spanish at their regular speed, which is so fast it sounds like all the words are blending together.

I just wish they would slow it up and try to find a common ground, use some basic words we might understand, pause between words, gesture — do something helpful.  It’s obvious we’re struggling to form a sentence or remember Spanish words, but at least we’re trying.  And it’s like they don’t appreciate it.

I remember working retail back in college and occasionally I’d have to converse with a foreigner who clearly struggled to piece together words in broken English.  But I was excited that they even tried.  So I responded slowly in broken sentences so they could try to piece together what I was saying.  And we always came to an understanding.  Both parties were anxious, but we got the job done successfully.  Not the case here.

And the worst example was the cab ride we took back to the hotel after dinner.  We knew it was going to be a problem from the get go.  We said, “Moreno tres siete seis” (Moreno 376).  He responded, “Borena quinciente-seis?” (or something like that).  We had to repeat it three or four times until he finally got it.  Our enunciation probably sucks, so it wasn’t a big deal.

A few minutes later we arrive in this dark, desolate area.  There’s like nobody walking around and it doesn’t look safe.  So we tell him the address again.  He gets frustrated, speeds up, screeches around a corner and parks in front of a new building.  He points at a sign and insists that we’re at the right spot… it was an empty garage.  Clearly we’re not in the right spot.

I whip out my map and point to where we need to go.  He starts talking really fast, pointing at the map, pointing at the building with the garage, like this is the place.  So we finally tell him to take us to Plaza de Mayo, which is two blocks from our hotel.  The whole time, he’s talking loudly, saying things in Spanish we obviously don’t understand.  He was getting pissy and Jackie was getting really nervous that the area was so empty.  So she repeats: “Plaza de Mayo!  Just go to Plaza de Mayo!”

Then he pulls over the cab.  I’m thinking he’s gonna kick us out right into this death trap.  Clearly he and Jackie are frustrated, I’m getting nervous but I’m just trying to work with the guy.  So he turns on the light and looks at me and says, “Moreno, quin-something-seis? Si!?”  No.  So I show him with my fingers — 3… 7… 6.  Then he shows me with his fingers 7-6-7.  Ugh.  No, no, no.  Again I signal 3-7-6.  FINALLY, he gets it.  He peels out, plows through a red light (thank goodness it was an empty intersection) and takes us down the correct street.

Not a good omen going forward considering we haven’t been in a cab where the driver has spoken a word of English.

Now that I’ve vented, I’ll give you a quick recap of the day…

We had to stand in line for about 20 minutes at a bank down the street to exchange money.  This time we brought the passports.

Once we stepped outside, we saw a squadron of riot cops and barricades in Plaza de Mayo.  There wasn’t a protest taking place.  In fact, the plaza was relatively quiet.  But they must have been preparing for more demonstrations like yesterday.  We saw on the news last night that some protests had gotten violent in other parts of the city.  Luckily, it seems like the riot police were only a precaution in this area; we haven’t seen or heard anything out of the ordinary.

We were in the mood for pizza for lunch so we went to a place called El Cuartito.  When I was researching best pizza in Buenos Aires, El Cuartito and Guerrin (the place we went to yesterday) were the top picks.  Again, the pizza was cheap and delicious.  If you prefer tons of cheese but not a lot of sauce, you’ll love the pizza here.

Today was all about the district of Recoleta.  First stop: the famous Recoleta Cemetery, home to Evita’s grave.  This isn’t like your normal cemetery.  You won’t find headstones here.  You’ll only find mausoleums.  They look like marble or stone houses — that’s how big they are.  Each one houses numerous coffins.  Some were even multi-level, with the top floor being a room for prayer, and the lower level where the coffins were kept.

Yesterday was all about stray dogs — and we saw a few more of them roaming the city today — but today was all about stray cats.  Recoleta Cemetery is filled with friendly cats that lie in the middle of the thin walkways.  You could walk right over ‘em and they wouldn’t even flinch.  But call for their attention and they come right over searching for affection.

After that we stopped into the Recoleta Cultural Center.  We checked out the free exhibits but passed on the Star Wars exhibition you had to pay for; after episodes 1-3, George Lucas owes ME money.  I was hoping to find this art and culture bookstore that the guidebook talked about.  But guess what?  That’s right, it wasn’t in the lobby as described.  I asked a couple of security guards and I even pointed to the name of the store in the book, and they just shook their heads.

Next was the Museum of Fine Arts.  I’m not an art expert, but I’m an art lover, so I enjoyed wandering around, looking at the works of Picasso and Manet and Renoir.

Just across the street was the Floralis Generica, a giant metal flower that opens at dawn and closes at dusk.  The grass was covered with hundreds of identical cardboard cut-outs of dancers.  What should have been sexy was actually kinda freaky.

Not far from that was Patio Bullrich, considered the most exclusive shopping mall in Buenos Aires.  The title fits.  Every level was packed with designer stores at prices that were expensive even by American standards.  One of the things we could afford was a snack — chocolate ice cream.

After that we walked Avenida Alvear, which is basically a city street that’s like Patio Bullrich stretched over five blocks.  The street is lined with opulent hotels and pricey designer shops, but it’s oddly enjoyable to walk by and see the elite of Argentina splurging.

We ended the night with a great dinner at DaDa Bistro.  The vibrant restaurant only has about 10 tables, and fortunately we got there just before the dinner rush.  We both had filet mignon with a cheesy potato dish that looked like potato lasagna, and we finished it off with an apple cobber a la mode for dessert.  You can’t get a meal like this (large pumpkin soup appetizer, two filet dinners, dessert, two bottled waters and wine) for a grand total of $45 back in the states, but it was still considered expensive by Argentine standards (though, at this point, we can’t be sure since the guidebook really exaggerated how cheap everything would be).

Tomorrow we’ll be hitting the trendy neighborhood of Palermo and at night we’re gonna try to hit the popular Buenos Aires pub crawl.  So if you don’t get a recap until very late or possibly the next morning, you can blame it on the martinis.