I needed to get to Palermo in a bit of a hurry last night, and it was pretty far from my apt, so I decided to cab it. I had heard stories about the taxi drivers in Buenos Aires being very aggressive, but I hadn’t had such an experience until tonight. Of all the taxis I had ever been in (in any city) this ride defined a whole new level in terms of white-knuckleness.
I think any NASCAR team in the US should take a serious look at the driver I had. He’s got talent.
He put us through spaces that simply were entirely too small or altogether nonexistent. He had absolutely no regard for lanes of any sort. He drove us as if he had a pregnant woman in the back seat. I couldn’t decide if I should be impressed beyond measure, or scared half to death. The ride ended with him driving us the opposite way on a one way street - in reverse - to the exact spot I wanted to go, which was…
Ølsen, an upscale Scandanavian restaurant in Palermo Hollywood. Friends who passed through last weekend were back in the city tonight, and I met them out for dinner. The aesthetic of this place was unlike any restaurant I’ve been to in recent memory. It had a ceiling as high as an airplane hangar, and a central fireplace with a long smoke column (I don’t know what it’s called) leading all the way up through the roof. The furniture was very Scandinavian, and they had outdoor seating enhanced with green surroundings and canopies overhead (I’m guessing to help keep the heat from escaping in the winter, and spare the patrons from what I would assume is oppressive sun in the summer).
Buck and I bussed down to San Telmo for the evening. We started out having Sushi and then walked over to the Gibraltar for a few pints and some pool. Buck and I won the first match, but were then unseated after the second match.
Next we headed for La Puerta Roja - the Red Door. I think we left around 6am. It was light out, I know that. Before bussing it back to El Centro, we enjoyed some early morning burgers at a place that serves your food through metal bars.
13 million people call Buenos Aires home, and I have been told there are exactly two bowling alleys. My friend Buck arrived early Wednesday morning, and by Wednesday night, we were meeting up with some friends of his in Belgrano for a night of bowling.
We took the Subte (subway) line D to get out there. The subway in BA is incredibly busy with commuters. The Subte de Buenos Aires is more dense with porteños than NY’s trains are with New Yorkers - or so that is my current evaluation.
By now I can order a litre of Quilmes (which apparently in BA is akin to something like Budweiser or Coors in the US) with no problem at all. My first game I bowled something like a 160, but I fell apart and barely achieved 3 digits the following game. We left the bowling alley and walked back to Buck’s friend’s apartment where we had drinks and engaged in conversation about things like Sarah Palin and what it’s like to be an American female in BA. Around 3 AM we took a taxi back to El Centro for about 10 pesos.
I wandered up about 10 blocks to the north of here to check out the neighborhood I’ll be relocating to. Walking along Rodríguez Peña on my way back I spotted a pub called the Shamrock. Sounded englishy and thought I might run into some Irish, English or American patrons.
I asked for a beer in Spanish. I didn’t fool the bartender into thinking I was a porteño, and she replied in English that they were out of that particular beer. Fine, then. I’ll have a Stella instead… Their happy hour runs until midnight. Two for one (12 pesos, or about $4 USD for two pints). Try finding a place like that in the US!
She asked where I was from. Part of my explanation was that I had lived in Boulder, CO for a few years. Turns out she had lived there as well, for school. Wow, isn’t that a coincidence?
I further explained that I’m not really from Colorado, originally I grew up in Wisconsin.
“Wow, me too!” she replied. That’s more coincidental.
“No way, where about?”
“Appleton,” she says. My eyebrows lifted in astonishment, because that’s where I’m from.
I almost never run into Wisconsinites in my current residence of Connecticut. If I met someone from Appleton in Connecticut, that would be quite notable. But in a random pub in Buenos Aires?? Wow. Turns out she moved to BA two months ago, not knowing much Spanish. And now she’s serving porteños beer. She proves that it’s possible to learn functional Spanish in a short period of time.
On Saturday some friends were passing through Buenos Aires on their way to Bariloche for a snowboarding trip. We decided to catch dinner together that evening at El Mirasol (I think it’s just a name that doesn’t translate to anything). We taxi’d ourselves from the Congreso area to the swankiest part of Recoleta.
El Mirasol turned out to be an upscale restaurant filled with older, wealthy patrons. We were dressed a full notch below what would have been more appropriate, but we were treated very well and seated immediately. I somehow, as poor as my Spanish is, became the point person for the moso (server). This was a very challenging role, as I could only parse bits of what he was saying. But we communicated well enough. I ordered tenderloin tip, which was spectacular. The five of us shared a bottle of Familia Gascon wine, each had steaks and shared a few sides. The bill came to $430 pesos, which figures to about $28 USD for each person. Expensive for BA, but cheap in terms of dollars for a place as nice as this.
Unlike the US, you don’t tip on the bill itself. You have to leave cash. That little bit of info took us 20 minutes to figure out (I was texting my Argentine roommate Emilio for some help). In general, 10% is appropriate at this type of place.
My first attempt to get cash was at a Banco Francés on the corner of Corrientes and Avenida 9 de Julio. I stood in a short line and was able to navigate the promps in Spanish, but the machine rejected my card. Shit, I thought. What if I can’t get cash? That would be a major drag.
I noticed a huge Banco Ciudad across the street. “Street” isn’t a good descriptor, though. What I really mean is a massive avenue running north-south through the heart of Buenos Aires and it’s as wide as the city blocks themselves. My card worked here, but I’m still only allowed to withdraw 300 pesos (~ $100 USD) per day via ATMs. Considering my bank slaps me with a 1.5% + $5.00 USD fee every time I do this, it kinda sucks. Had I been more diligent in my pre-trip planning, I would have made arrangements with another bank (like Schwab) that doesn’t charge these fees in Argentina. Next time.
I have a picky diet in terms of what I eat, and when. Usually I stick to eating 5 smaller meals per day as opposed to two or three large ones. I also eat pretty healthy (brown rice, wheat pasta, egg whites, low sodium, water, etc). That has been completely tossed out the window upon arriving in Buenos Aires.
Food here is plentiful and relatively cheap, but incredibly unhealthy by my standards. There’s a ton of places to eat stuff like pizzas, red meat, and… empanadas!
My Spanish food vocab is pretty minimal right now, and by minimal I mean I know how to say “empanadas with meat” and “empanadas with chicken” and that’s about it. My pronunciation is pretty good (locals tell me) so I can order empanadas con carne and be perfectly understood. So I have been going to the same place a few times consecutively and getting those. I think they recognize me now as the tall gringo with the grey beanie.
The first time I tried to order water, I was given a bottle of Pepsi. Those of you that know me well know I don’t touch soda unless there’s Jack Daniels in it (and even then, rarely). I’m not sure how “agua” got confused with “soda” but whatever. I drank it and didn’t complain. Not that I would have been able to correct the misintepretation anyway.
Here’s how the water works: if you order it, it seems to be carbonated by default - unless you ask for “agua sin gas” meaning water without gas/carbonation.
My friend Buck doesn’t arrive for another few days, so I’ve been more or less on my own. He did however put me in contact with a friend of his. So today I took a walk down to San Telmo.
San Telmo has a lot of character, of a somewhat grittier variety. I like it. Buck’s friend Paige lives on Cuchabamba street. I’m glad she lives on that street, because it’s just so fun to say… cuchabamba! The streets some neighborhoods aren’t really labeled at all, so I had to feel my way there. We headed for Plaza Dorrego in the heart of San Telmo for lunch. The tango dancers were a pleasant surprise! Check out a short video I shot of the dancers.
The weather was perfecto and lunch was terrific. People drink wine with everything here, and I’m digging that.
