Of Change and Discovery.

It has been too long since I left the United States. It was a sign when I put my passport through the wash recently, like when a cat pisses in your shoes because it needs attention.

I have been in Buenos Aires a week now, and I am without a doubt living here. The proof: 1) today I gave a man impeccable directions and 2) took two forms of public transportation and 3) last Sunday I randomly ran into people I had met here (a cadre of Danish dames and a British bloke, at a wine-soaked international fiesta where I was astounded to see that Scandinavia knows all the words to Gin and Juice - even more than the laid back-endo part). I stumbled across them at La Bombonera, Boca Juniors' soccer stadium, full of 50,000 rowdies, no less. 4) I've also developed the necessary keen awareness and agility required to navigate amongst the piles of dog shit that pepper the pavement. Change my accent and sabotage my haircut, and I'm 90% porteño already (porteños are folks from Buenos Aires). I'm also shades away from swearing to you that wherever you live is not as cool as here, a tell-tale porteño characteristic.

Today, I made the best purchase of my still new stint in the country: 100 meters of dental floss for 6.35 pesos (about $2.12). This was not only necessary (given the steak remnants surely swashbuckling through my ivories) and cheap, but when I paid with a 10-peso note, I received change including coins worth 1.65!

Why would I be so excited about this change, you ask? Clearly, you have never lived in Buenos Aires. (scoff. I have. for, like, seven days or so. back off!!!). But seriously, this is an issue. I'll call it "La Mierda de La Moneda." One MUST pay for busses in this city with coins, and coins are very hard to come by. There is no bus pass you can buy, as the myriad of bus fleets are operated by different companies. And there are no change machines, anywhere. Busses generally costs 90 centavos or 1 peso. This means that for a round trip, one must always have at least 1.80 in coins.

Everybody in this god-forsaken town needs change. Its a commodity one must keep hidden away. The first (and best) advice I have received since arriving is to never, ever, admit to a cashier that you have any coins (for instance if you are paying with a $10 note for something that is $8.25, and they want to give you a $2 note instead of 1.75 in change). And be sure to keep the jingle from giving you away. Each day, I am forced to scheme through a schedule of paltry purchases (a mandarin here, an eraser there, the occasional artisanal sconce), hoping to develop a pile of coins large enough to get me home, lest I resort to begging. BA Beggars must make a killing, since people would rather give up a $2 note than 35 cents. At least you can DO something with 35 cents.

Meantime, I am apartment searching, attending classes (truly), and more-than-subsisting on a diet of mostly steak and ice cream. The forearm-sized flank steak I had for dinner last night (and the best steak sandwich ever for lunch today) bled me about six bucks. That's worth your flight down here. Come visit, and I'll have a pile of change ready for you.