Mi Barrio de Buenos Aires

“Recoleta is the Rolls Royce of Buenos Aires. It’s where the rich live in luxury apartments and mansions while spending their free time shopping in expensive boutiques such as Cartier and Armani. It’s where the privileged proudly walk their pampered poodles and have their hair dyed an even richer hue. It’s where the elite sip at elegant cafés in their best Sunday threads – even on Thursdays. And it’s also where they’re all finally put to rest, in their famous cemetery.”
– Buenos Aires City Guide; Lonely Planet

I do live in Recoleta, but to say I’m living in a luxury apartment and sipping elegant cafés in my best Sunday threads is a far stretch from the truth. I share my quaint one-bedroom apartment with my friend Kelly from college and a collection of small insects. The rent is cheap, the neighborhood is nice, the elevators work (most of the time) and the doorknobs only fall off when I’m in a hurry. But this is not about my shabby building in a chic neighborhood… it’s about the city; Buenos Aires.

I arrived in Buenos Aires nearly two weeks ago and realized instantly how little Spanish I know when my customs attendant couldn’t understand me and the airport ATM didn’t have an English option. The cab ride from the airport to my apartment was filled with awkward silence sporadically interrupted by futile attempts at small talk. “Where you from?” he asked me. “Florida, y tu? Usted de Buenos Aires?” Why I even attempted to ask is beyond me. I knew he’d answer in Spanish and that would be the end of the conversation. After rambling for a minute, he glanced in the rear-view mirror at my blank expression and said “Chile now here.” Ah. I turned back to the window and pretended to read the street signs. He’d occasionally point something out, in Spanish, and I’d smile and nod as if it meant something to me.

Kelly met us on the sidewalk in front of our building, and I felt like a child who had just flown alone for the first time. They engaged in Spanish conversation as the cabbie unloaded my two heavy suitcases and passed me off to Kelly – possibly warning her that I was going to be swallowed alive by this city. I don’t know; I couldn’t understand them. And then I heard the English language for the first time in two hours: “You made it! Welcome to Buenos Aires! Watch out for the dog shit.”

One might think “watch out for the dog shit” is an odd greeting, but in Buenos Aires it’s imperative. It seems more dogs wander the cobblestone streets than humans, and they shit everywhere. It pains me to think of the beautiful architecture I must miss by keeping my eyes down to navigate the dog-shit landmine that is Buenos Aires. But my first week was filled with more than just Spanish lessons and dog shit.

During my first seven days in Buenos Aires, I tasted empanadas, milanesa and alfajores. I danced at a Brazilian drum show, Erick Morillo’s house show and various nightclubs. I visited Palermo, El Alamo and the famous Cementerio de la Recoleta. I said hello to new American friends, exchanged besos with new Argentine friends and even had to say goodbye to fellow expats returning home.

I had an epic entrance into Argentina, and I’m looking forward to everything this adventure has to offer. I’ll try to document my findings here as I live in Buenos Aires, travel South America and (attempt to) learn Spanish.