Beattys Overseas

We flew from Chile to Argentina on Valentine's Day.  The day wasn't especially romantic until much later in the evening, and I'll tell you why.  When we checked into the Santiago airport, we went to the fancy VIP lounge for passengers with Business or First Class tickets. 
Reception desk at the VIP loungeJohn loves these lounges, as anyone would, with free food, soft drinks & spirits, occasionally free WiFi, big comfy leather couches and lots of space between people.  When a passenger checks into the lounge, they give their ticket to the receptionist, who notes which flight you're on, so that later, when your flight is boarding, she'll make an announcement within the lounge that you should go to your gate.  It's supposed to make for an extremely easy airport experience.  But the LAN lounge at Santiago seemed a little disorganized.... The receptionist dropped the ball, and seemingly forgot to announce our flight.  When it was 12 minutes until we were supposed to go wheels-up, I went to the desk to inquire (assuming that it must be delayed, since she hadn't announced anything).  She looked panic-stricken and made a hasty announcement [only in Spanish] about our flight.  I took that as a cue to run.

We breathily arrived to the gate where the jetway doors were closed and the ticket agent had to make 2 phone calls before letting us board.  When we got into the cabin, we saw that the whole plane was settled and ready for takeoff, even a woman sitting in John's seat, thinking that the seats were empty.  I sat next to her and kicked her out with a snotty stare, even though I was mortified that I was the late person who held everyone up.  Still fuming, I ranted to John about how you can never depend on anyone to take care of you, and we should no longer trust those bubblehead VIP receptionists to keep our track of our travels.  So, imaginably, the day was not very romantic with this drama...

Upon arriving at the Buenos Aires airport, we had a few more ridiculous obstacles to face.  First, we had to access an ATM to get US Dollar cash to present upon checking into our apartment rental.  We found a great little studio apartment to rent for the our 19-day stay, but as the company operates in US Dollars, we had to present US cash at check in.  We were told that ATMs dispense both US and Argentine money.  Not true, but we had to find that out after 4 attempts by each our bank cards at four cash machines in the airport.  Finally, I decided to withdrawl Argentine Pesos, and the bills practically were spat out of the machine.  Then, we waited in line at the Currency Exchange booth to transfer these pesos into US dollars. 

Catching one of BA's signature Black & yellow taxis at the airportBy the time we got to the taxi line, we were equally agitated with the system and each other.  In typical fashion, we were bombarded by young men at the taxi line (who I still can't figure out whether they're airport employees or unofficial swindlers) offering to help us obtain a cab.  The first guy already threw my suitcase into the trunk of a taxi when the cabbie told us hat a ride to the Recoleta neighborhood would cost 950 pesos.  He did this in Spanish, so I had to do the quick mental translation before practically screaming, "Nine Hundred and Fifty pesos???  That's like Three Hundred Dollars!!!!!"  Furious, yet relieved that we were denying that crook any more attention, we grabbed my case and followed a 15-year old boy in a soccer jersey to another cab with the promise of a 70 peso ride.  Seventy pesos is about 22 dollars.  That's more like it, although it actually felt too little, once we were in the car and realized the driving distance was similar to that of JFK to the Upper West Side. 

Anyway, when we were finally at our Buenos Aires destination, a lovely and modest apartment building with the apartment's owner, Augusto, standing there with a smile, we started to relax.  Augusto (who recently moved back to Argentina after living in Northern California!!!) brought us into the welcome sight of a pristine little studio apartment in Buenos Aires' version of NYC's Upper East Side neighborhood.  Recoleta is actually more beautiful than any neighborhood in New York, I think, but with a population of similar wealthy old folks, rich yuppy couples and hot young debutante-types. 

John had visited the "Paris of the Southern Hemisphere" two years ago, but I've never been.  So I read of few things in my Lonely Planet book about Buenos Aires before arriving; things that were quite obvious upon walking around later that night:

1. Buenos Aires is a late-night city.  Most people go out for dinner instead of eating at home, and the average sit-down time in 11pm.  This includes weekdays.

2. Buenos Aires inhabitants (especially those in Recoleta, it seems) are obsessed with image. They are very conscious about their appearance, dressing up everyday [no shorts, few T-shirts and never without a perfectly coiffed hairdo]. This obsession with looks has given Argentina one of the highest rates of plastic surgery in the world.

3. The city's architecture is practically a narrated timeline for the country's growth from late-14th when Portuguese explorers arrived to mid-19th centuries, when a flood of European immigrants settled in this city.  The buildings - especially in the ritzy area where we're staying - resemble those of Paris.  Hence, the nickname (stated above).

Valentine's dinner in a surprisingly deserted jointOur Valentine's Day night picked up when we went out for dinner at 11:45pm, and were recommended by a waiter to a dancing club in another neighborhood called Puerto Madero.  The club, Asia d Cuba, was a little 'techno' and (dare I say it?) too young for me, but John enjoyed getting his dance on.  We hopped in another cab and went to Palermo, perhaps B.A.'s most of-the-moment hip barrio, looking for another place to dance with better music.  Instead, we found a corner cantina with a couple from Santiago to chat with.  It was a late night, about 4am, and went to sleep until well into the next day.  So far, we're still having trouble adjusting to the time here.  It's both a left-over jetlag that we can't shake from the New Zealand-to-Chile change, but also this town's late night hours are trying.  I don't know how these folks do it; the city seems abuzz the next morning at 8am, just like any American metropolitan city. They must all be very tired.  Perhaps this explains the abundance of coffee houses. 

- Whitney