Sketchy at any time of day

Yenny and I are stubborn.  Ever since we got scammed BIG TIME taking a taxi from the Buenos Aires airport to our hostel, we have been very anti-taxi.  The buses are far too confusing for us, and the subway generally doesn’t reach the areas we want to go.  So we walk.  And walk and walk and walk and walk.  [Note: when I say we got scammed BIG TIME, it went down like this:  guidebook says you should be able to get a taxi from the airport for 90 pesos, realistic average is 130 pesos, Yenny and I spent 320 pesos ($80)]

On Monday, we threw caution to the wind and took the subway about four stops so we could see La Puente da la Mujer, a famous bridge designed by Valencian architect, Santiago Calatrava.  And we rode in a WOODEN subway car.  It blew my mind.  I was expecting announcements and electronic signs declaring the next stop (“Proxima Parada: Benimaclet”). But no, this bad boy was just rollin through, windows down, non automatic doors, and I was fascinated by it.

Santiago Calatrava = my homeboy

Hey Yen

Flashback: January 2008.  Ciudad de las Artes y de las Ciencias, Valencia, Spain.

What a hilariously awkward picture.

We saw the Puente de la Mujer and decided we wanted to see La Boca (the area where tango was supposedly born and where all of those brightly colored houses are in postcards) next, as that is the only district was haven’t visited yet.  Well, it wasn’t tooooo far on the map.   We bought a couple of big ass waters and decided to go for it.  My feet are so tired from all of the walking we’ve been doing the past few days, so I keep tripping on everything.  Literally, about once a block, I make this big production of stumbling over my own feet, but without actually falling down.

I always exclaim to Yenny about how much I love Buenos Aires because it’s so European and beautiful.  However, what we were walking through was not the Buenos Aires I had previously known.  It looked more like Lima than Paris.  Instead of tree lined streets bordered on either side by ornate balconies, we were looking at dilapidated houses, mangy dogs, whistling men, and graffitied walls.  I wasn’t ever scared, per se, because at the same time there were children running around, a family taking a walk, a few old men sitting at a restaurant, normal day to day stuff.  It wasn’t like shootings and drug cartels and such.  Anyways, we FINALLY make it to Calle Caminito and it’s wasn’t as cool as we thought.  It was extremely touristy. 

[Note: it makes me a little mad when people complain about things about being “touristy.”  What are you expecting??  I don’t mind touristy things at all, because I am a… tourist.]

We did happen upon a lovely little park that we explored along the way

And we unexpectedly saw the Boca Juniors Futbol Stadium

The graffiti wasn't scary; it was sometimes quite beautiful.

And other times, ominous.

Caminito

 so. many. people.

But Caminito was outrageous.  It looked like a theme park or something.  Waiters would accost you to sit at their café, there are life size cut outs that you can pose behind so that you look like a tango couple, our photos weren’t even that great because there were a ton of people: we weren’t diggin it.  Despite our empanadas earlier (delicious), we were still a little hungry.  We decided to go eat at a restaurant featured in the book.  Fodor’s describes El Obrero like this, “When the rock band U2 played Buenos Aires and asked to be taken to a tradition Argentine restaurant, they were brought to this legendary hole-in-the-wall.  For 50 years, El Obrero has served juicy grilled steaks, sweetbreads, sausages, and chicken.  The extensive blackboard menu includes rabas (fried calamari) and puchero.  Try the budín de pan (Argentine version of bread pudding).  This spot is popular with tourist and workmen alike, so expect a short wait.”

This sounded great!  It’s basically on the other side of La Boca, so in typical Yenny and Lorita fashion, we got to walkin.  Our plan was to walk along the port the entire way.  We were executing our plan until a police officer stopped us and told us to cross the street.  I’m not exactly sure why, but something about peligro (danger). So we did as instructed and took a different route.  And walked and walked and walked.  Yenny thinks she broke her foot or something so she was just hobbling along and we’re both sweating under the intense sun until we finally made it. Oh dear, we were so tired.  And then we ordered GOBS of food.  It was sick.  For some reason, I thought after all that walking and because it was our last full day in Argentina, we should splurge.  We ordered a ridiculous amount of food.  We couldn’t even eat half of it, and even so, we still felt super sick after.  We had to go back to the hostel and sleep.

The calamari was delicious.

I can't even look at this without feeling sick.  Carb. Overload.

Before we left, we had to decide on how to get back to the hostel.  I consulted the book once more and read the last line of the restaurant description that I had previously overlooked, “This area of La Boca can be sketchy at any time of day, so be sure to take a taxi there and call for another to take you back.”

HOOPSIES.

So it was decided:  we’re definitely taking a taxi.  We walked out of the restaurant and turned right (the general direction of our hostel) but some man started yelling at us.  Whenever men whistle or yell at us, it makes us really uncomfortable.  So we were just like “great, another one of those.”  But he was persistent, so we finally turned around to see what’s up.  Turns out he was advising us to go the other way, because the direction we were headed was really dangerous.  Ohhhkkkaay, great.  So we make a mad dash out of there to find a taxi, Yenny with her broken foot and me stumbling across crumbling sidewalks.  We find a taxi and even after giving him the wrong address, our cab fare ended up only being 20 pesos (= only $5).  Mistakes were made. Lolz.