Argentina – We’re Not Dead Yet

I love Argentina. I love everything about this place. We’re staying in Palermo Chico, which is like Shaugnessy but with high rises and less riff raff. Had the adventure of a lifetime today. My kids should stop reading here. Wandered through Recoletta this morning, the Beverly Hills of South America, then onto the famous Recoletta cemetery where Evita Peron is inured. I didn’t realize that every prestige retailer in the world bases the facade of their store front on Ar gentian burial custom. I fully expected one of the crypts to read Tiffany’s or Birk’s.

After that we found ourselves close to downtown, and being cocksure savvy travellers chose to hop a bus to La Boca rather than a cab. The buses path clearly denoted La Boca as being enroute to it’s final destination, so we figured we were fine. Get on the bus with fellow passengers frankly not as Gucci-ed as we’ve come to expect from locals, but hey, we’re on an adventure. Sit on the bus, it’s taking the route we expect so it appears everything is fine. The stadium of the Boca Juniors Football Clubs comes into view, we discuss getting off, but figure we’ll stay on until we are in “centro” La Boca. Bus verges hard left onto a causeway past the ports and across a river. Oh oh. We emerge to a world far removed from the smart cafes and pocket dogs of Palermo, our current locale far more resembles City of God. And yes I recognize the ignorance of comparing Argentina to Brazil, and how it’s exactly the same as reading about The Bloods and The Crips in south central LA and fearing a stray bullet while in Vancouver; It doesn’t matter, it was what it looked like.

Things were not improving as we wound our way along, finally we screwed up our courage and hit the stop request button. Exited an unpaved street lined with corrugated shanties. Shit. We were in deep trouble. Walk a few blocks to what appears a post apocalyptic Mad Max commercial zone and just like hitting seven on your come out roll, spy a cab idling at the curb. A friendly local tells us the “remise” stand just ahead is far more reliable, a remise being a quasi legal gray market cab, essentially a private car, something the guide books advise to avoid less murder and robbery befall you. I’m not sure why we took the advice, I suspect inside we were both happy to have someone offer assistance, even if the assistance was exactly the wrong type. I was scared, I admit it, I was so far outside my element it was a joke.

Enter the stand, essentially the operators front room, a one eyed lady called the driver on a cell and told me uno momento. We killed time entertained the mangy pack of dogs out front that had a pebble they’d drop at your feet for them to chase as it skittered down the porch. Yes, the dogs were so poverty stricken they played with a stone. The remise came, we negotiated a price, (not especially hard bargained from my side of the negotiation, I’ll admit,) and got in. Wife and I exchanged looks that said it’s been fun, and if anything queer happens jump out. Traditionally the remise should take you to their waiting friends who will rob then murder you, skipping the rape part if you’re lucky.

Every turn we made followed the path I expected, we eventually returned unharmed to La Boca, it was not our turn to become a dumb northern statistic.   I can see a whole lot of junctures where things could have taken a different turn. Honestly, it’s as far out of my element as I’ve been and as  uncomfortable as I’ve been in my privileged life. And truly it was phenomenal, I didn’t know my senses where capable of being so heightened. I was a machine (albeit a machine uncalled upon to act.) A machine of military radar and steel, ready to deal with whatever threat I was given. Plus my wife is awesome swinging the purse.

I promise to talk about food next time.

~KT