Buenos Aires Recap

Buenos Aires has a vocal population of cabbies. Unlike New York, where the cabbies are vocal mostly in their hatred of pedestrians and Mike Wallace—I had a cab driver last week who mocked the 60 minutes correspondent for being “120 years old”—in BA, my drivers all wanted to chat with me, at length, in Spanish.

A word about my Spanish: Koko the Gorilla knew more words than I do. She probably knew more words in Spanish, actually. I can count, I can order steak medium rare, and I knew how to say my hotel’s cross streets. Everything else ventures into hand gestures and nodding territory.

Still, cabs were the best way of getting around BA. As a New Yorker, there’s something about taking a cab that feels spendy, or dare I say, amateur. I was repeatedly warned off the Subte in BA, so I hopped cabs to a nabe and spent the rest of the day wandering there. It’s too bad, since unraveling the mystery of a new subway system is one of travel’s great pleasures. When I was in Tokyo for 24 hours, I even mastered one line, but then again, it ran in a circle.

In my cab from the airport, we had a long discussion about the air conditioning and when exactly it was going to kick in. I said “Frio!”, or possibly “Fritos” and nodded, smiling like a moron. En route to the hotel I also received a brief tour of the historical buildings of note in San Telmo, complete with rolling stops near the most important ones. Not that I realized that until after we passed them; I was trying to figure out if there was something wrong with the gearbox.

As my driver weaved through side streets in Palermo after dinner at Standard a few days later, I was quizzed on what I had to eat, which then morphed into a discussion of Obama and George W. Bush’s relative merits. The driver used both hands to gesture about the two presidents, steering with his knees. When I grabbed the seat belt, the entire strap came off and fell limp in my hands like a dead snake.

Winding through San Telmo near the Moreno after dinner at Cluny the next night, we passed some kids on the street. “Los niños,” muttered my cabbie with a shiny pate and a whiskey-soaked voice. “Bestia!” Those boys didn’t scare me as much as when I came to the railroad tracks separating parts of Palermo earlier in the trip. At night with no one else around, I got an antsy feeling. Then the train whooshed by and I nearly peed my pants. The blood on the ground didn’t add to my sense of safety, so I doubled bar towards a bar. I mentioned it to my contact the next night. “Oh yeah,” she said, “my friend got mugged and stabbed there the other month. He only needed one stitch, though he keeps making a big deal about it. What a baby.”

The next afternoon en route to Recoleta, we drove into demonstrations and throngs of people marching on the Plaza de Mayo. The marchers left a trail of graffiti, like slime behind a slug. Every few blocks we would try, unsuccessfully, to get around them. Later I asked at the front desk what, exactly, the holiday was. “It’s hard to explain,” the concierge told me. “It is a day for remembering. I don’t remember what. I do not think there is a word for it in English.” He sighed. Maybe all the graffiti was to make sure no one forgot exactly why they were marching?

Packed and ready for the security and immigration lines at Ezezia, the last cab of the trip was stopped in traffic waiting to merge onto the highway. That would be a three-lane artery that functions as a five-laner, thanks to judicious use of the "in-between lanes". Very improvisational. A vendor selling ice cream sandwiches out of a cooler strolled past and a wave of pleasure washed over me. Window-to-window ice cream didn't seem weird but wholly natural instead. Wouldn't you want that option?

I didn’t mind seeing Buenos Aires from the window of a cab at all. It gave me a window into the city just the same.

Comments

[Zora]

Interesting. No one who sings the praises of BA ever seems to mention the crime. Is that why you were warned off the subway? How bad could it be?

It's a shame now to realize that living in NYC no longer adequately prepares you for the seedier corners of the world.

And btw, EZE? Best airport abbreviation in the world.

[alexanderbasek]

I did not see any crime, and other than my one experience, feel spooked. Yet my contact stressed time and again how dangerous it was, and she had alread lived there for a year (and is a transplanted New Yorker). She seemed to think that the Subte was just pickpocket central. I've spent a lot of time in Prague which has picketpocketing problems of its own, but I guess it's all relative. New Yorkers tend to think that no where can phase them once they employ their NYC sense, but that's not really the case as much anymore. Even the TONY guide casually mentions that BA has "a gun problem". Yikes!

EZE is in my top five. Hard to top YYZ or, of course, the famous FUK.

[jen laceda]

Speaking of Prague, we got robbed on the Czech train to Amsterdam during our honeymoon--thankfully, it was only our camera. Now, my question is...do you think it is safe for a solo woman to travel to BA? I mean, I'm would not hesitate to venture to Prague on my own despite the bad experience...but what about BA? I mean, if I didn't have a child, I won't hesitate to travel there on my own. But now that I'm a parent, I feel that I have some kind of responsibility when I travel, so as not to appear like a 'reckless' parent. :)

[jen laceda]

Love that photo, by the way

[Alexander Basek]

It's safe, if you're careful. I didn't get the feeling that it was a gender thing. They'll take anyone's wallet if you happen to wander into the wrong nabe. If you're a good traveler, and it sounds like you are, why not? You can wander into a bad place in Miami or Detroit just as easily.