First of all, don’t use that expression. Ever.
Second of all, if you’re a single female, brush up on your Spanish. You will want to talk to every Argentinean man you see, because they are beautiful. Beautiful. Gareth Leonard documents this phenomena extensively at Tourist2Townie, but I cannot adequately stress the overwhelming abundance of man-candy in Buenos Aires. My head was on a swivel, and my loins were afire. Pretty much the whole time.
Creepy.
Buenos Aires really likes their nightclubs to come with blinding strobe lights. After paying 100 pesos for cover to a club named Asia, I literally had difficulty seeing. Some dude started dancing with me, and I still don’t know what he looked like. I kept screaming, “NO HABLO ESPANOL!” But it didn’t matter. I decided the scene probably wasn’t good for someone who has seizure tendency, so I fled.
There are bookstores EVERYWHERE, like on every corner. What is it up with that? Used books, new books, children’s books…fortunately, since I would have been tempted to stop in EVERY SINGLE ONE, none of those books were written in English. Whew.
La Boca.
It’s really hard to get by with just English. I stumbled through conversation with the occasional “de nada” and “por favour” and “cerveza!” but could not negotiate prices. I didn’t really mind though. In fact, it was delightful.
Argentinean drivers are fucking crazy.
The minimal arts scene I saw was incredible, and I could kick myself for not bringing back a few items from La Boca. I overdosed on colours.
I’m surprisingly good at tango. Okay, so we learned like, three moves in total, but considering I have all the grace and aplomb of a 90-year old woman…I did alright. And I enjoyed it. The tango show we were treated to later was overwhelmingly fast and beautiful, and I’m still shocked that the ladies never once nailed their partner in the nads when kicking between their legs. Can you imagine that sort of precision? I wonder if the men wear cups.
If only we knew what he was saying.
I love steak, but not when it’s leaking blood.
Eat pizza at Guerrin. Your life will never be the same.
I’ve decided that I can’t place one particular “vibe” on Buenos Aires. Two days really isn’t enough time, and the city’s so ridiculously big, I don’t even know where to begin. I’d probably never live there, and I’m sure I’d never fit in. But if I could spend more time wandering the crowded streets accompanied by an Argentinean man and eating heavy croissants for breakfast washed down with perfectly brewed coffee…I’d be okay with that.
Thanks, Contiki, for a little taste of Argentina!
