Sunday Mornings in Buenos Aires

Sunday mornings in Buenos Aires are quiet. Nearly everything is closed, except for the corner kioscos selling candy bars, soda, and reheated empanadas. The streets are empty except for dog owners taking their perros out for a walk and elderly couples walking hand in hand. I figured out just how seriously Buenos Aires takes Sunday mornings when I found the first coffee shop I went to closed (against Google Maps’ prediction). Not only was it closed, it was locked behind a metal garage door such that it took me five minutes to realize that I had indeed found the coffee shop and but it was not where I was going to get coffee.

I walked ten more minutes to a tiny bakery with a small espresso machine where I bought two shiny medialunas and a coffee. There was nowhere to sit, so I took my coffee to a little plaza and sat on a bench.

a street in Palermo at sunset

The people of Buenos Aires love their dogs. Pawprints pattern cement, the parks are filled with dogs big and small, dachshunds, Pomeranians, and poodles skittering along the sidewalks off-leash. These dogs all belong to someone, they’re definitely not strays, all friendly, clean, and happy.

I chose to come to South America primarily because it’s winter here. I only had this window in August for traveling, but I knew that everywhere in Europe and Asia would be sweltering and crowded. The air is chilly, but in my opinion not so cold you need a coat and scarf (although Argentines clearly disagree with me). I’m typing a text out to my friend while drinking my coffee, my fingers are moving a little slower because of the cold, and I can’t believe that 24 hours ago I was sweating my way to the metro station in DC.

I took Spanish as a little kid before switching to Latin because 1) it seemed nerdier and 2) my Spanish teacher creeped me out. Since then, I’ve studied French, German, and Persian. So Spanish is the very last language I reach for in my head…and it’s very old, dusty, and dormant. My teacher in elementary school was from Argentina, Señora Gerber, and she cemented my associations between Argentina, gauchos, steak, and uncomfortably sitting there while she kissed you on the cheeks after your classmates sang you happy birthday (seemed unhygienic to ten-year-old me). So far, there is less English in Buenos Aires than I was expecting, but I’m able to get by with the dusty words I do remember. I successfully identified myself as a student at a museum and got a cheaper ticket. I ordered breakfast.

in the National Museum of Decorative Arts in Recoleta

Speaking of money, the Argentine peso is famously unstable and the inflation has been bad for the last several years (the U.S. government effectively bailed Argentina out with a $20 billion dollar loan last year). One U.S. dollar is worth about $1500 pesos (they also use $). You can pay at most places in Buenos Aires with a credit card (Visa or Mastercard), but smaller places only accept cash, either American dollars or pesos. I bought a universal outlet converter (my dumbass assumed that one of the converters I already had would work) with an American $20 and got $22500 pesos in change (about $15 USD). The woman definitely could have scammed me, with my poor Spanish, paltry knowledge of pesos, and the absence of a price sticker, but she didn’t. I like to this it’s because she was my age and she was honoring the sisterhood. And I was so desperate for a converter I would have parted with my entire $20 USD willingly.

Things are a little bit cheaper in Argentina, too. A twenty-minute Uber is about $4 USD. A breakfast of scrambled eggs with toast and a coffee will run you about $9. The bus from the airport to the city center (Tienda Leon) is $12.60. A pint of beer is between $4 and $5 anytime, not just during happy hour. A medialuna, essentially a pillowy croissant brushed in sugar syrup, is between one and two dollars.

the 9 de Julio station on the D line of the Subte

But, back to walking. I spent almost all of Sunday on foot. I didn’t figure out public transit until the next day, when I descended into the Subte (where you can get through the turnstiles with any tap-to-pay card), the oldest subway system in Latin America. People sometimes compare Buenos Aires to Paris, but the subway is the most Parisian thing about Buenos Aires, with grimy tunnels, platforms serving single trains, and rickety cars. A man walked up and down the car I was in asking for money, the calf of one leg appearing so badly infected that the muscle and skin had melted away, leaving only bone. I didn’t know how he was walking on it.

Parts of Buenos Aires are Paris-like, with gated parks and buildings in that kind of old-world, grandiose style. Corner cafés offer coffee, wine, and cake all day. People sell beautiful bouquets of flowers from stands on the street. But Buenos Aires is both less uniform and more uniform than Paris. Its neighborhoods are varied, the streets southwest of Recolata resembling the grittiness of Bucharest or Sofia, Palermo more like the West Village of Manhattan, with colorful murals, smaller buildings and hip bars. The streets are on a grid, not tangled in snarls like Paris.

near Cathédral in El Centro

Anyways, I don’t think it’s fair to describe Buenos Aires only in relation other cities. Buenos Aires feels both young and old. Little colorful stores sell fruits and vegetables or meat. It’s very easy to find very good wine. Lionel Messi’s face appears at least once in every neighborhood. The city smells sometimes sweet, like baking bread, and sometimes smoky. The tap water is safe and drinkable. Palm trees mix with deciduous ones. Large communal garbage cans line the curbs. American country music is quite popular, and there’s a chain of pizza restaurants named “Kentucky.”

The coming days of my trip will bring more chaos, alcohol-soaked nights, walking tours and museums packed with things to learn, days on small buses headed to remote natural beauty, but today is Sunday in Buenos Aires, and it's quite peaceful.