Whew! We made it!
We’re in Buenos Aires. Hard to believe. After all the talk, the procrastination, the second thoughts, we’ve arrived. I’m sitting in a tiny apartment in San Telmo, watching our socks dry in bus fumes on the balcony while Peter and Ila nap off a big morning of wandering about. Neither Peter nor I have been out of the U.S. much in ages and it’s already been an adventure trying to navigate the basic differences – milk in a bag, keys that look as though they might open a treasure chest, no apparent traffic laws, and the tiniest, thinnest, least absorbent paper napkins you’ve ever seen. They’re essentially a square of that eco-toilet paper you can buy at Berkeley Bowl.
Adventures started early when we missed our connection to B.A. in Miami. We had fifteen minutes to traverse the entire airport and gave it our best shot despite signs indicating we had at least a 16-minute walk ahead. Too much carry-on, a three-year old, foot-injuries not withstanding, we made it before the departure time, but found that the LAN flight had left five minutes early. So much for the mañana mentality we keep hearing applies to all things South American. In the end, a little pleading with the airlines and we (and our bags!!) made a later flight. Thanks to our amazing contacts here, we even had a driver waiting when we arrived the next morning.
Our apartment is on the sixth floor of an ugly, corner building on a busy street. Ten stories make it a high-rise in this particular neighborhood. The hallways are dark, it has no character, and it certainly doesn’t appear luxurious by American standards, but there’s a doorman and an elevator and I’m thinking it’s probably on the well-to-do side for the area. We feel very safe, it’s very clean and it was cheap. So it works.
In the nearly 36 hours we’ve been here we’ve mostly kept to the San Telmo neighborhood. It’s an area known for antiques, narrow cobblestone streets and beautiful older buildings. There are loads of cafes, bars and restaurants. We ate a very late dinner in a plaza packed with tables of people of all ages and backgrounds drinking wine and enjoying the warm night. Ila and a little girl name Juana played with Juana’s My Little Pony collection for an hour, laughing and singing together despite the fact that they didn’t share a language. Peter and I drank cold beers and slowly took in the fact that we’re so far from home. This morning we had a late breakfast, bought a stroller and walked until we could walk no more and poor Ila had a meltdown at the supermercado when we couldn’t find peanut butter. Does anyone know how to say peanut butter in Spanish? Do they make peanut butter in Spanish?
And so it begins. We’re tired, overwhelmed, homesick and very happy to be here. So far so good! Adios for now!
Ila's first empanada:
