Don't Cry for Us Buenos Aires!

Our flight for Buenos Aires was set to leave Puerto Iguazú and all the usual airline procedures were followed. But because the flight was domestic, the safety demonstration was completely in Spanish. Did they say the seat doubled as a flotation device? And how many emergency exits are there? The hostesses just seemed to throw their hands into the air, pointing at random parts of the plane. With no dramatic landings this time, the challenge was to find a way out of the airport.

Über is illegal in Argentina, due to the lobbying of the taxi drivers, so this meant catching a taxi or bus. To avoid the stress of trying to navigate the bus system in Buenos Aires, we opted for a taxi. So we jumped in and started to converse with the driver, telling him where we wanted to go. The driver, then, gave us an estimated cost for the journey: 800 pesos. This amount was a lot more than the 200 pesos we were previously quoted by our Air B&B hosts. We knew inflation was high in Argentina, but this was obscene. We argued with the driver until he pulled up alongside the road and we promptly jumped out with our luggage. Ricky turned to the driver and, thanks to bad Mexican telenovelas, he called him a thief in Spanish, ladron, which was met with a mouthful of abuse, none of which Ricky understood. We then realised that we had the correct street address but not the correct suburb of Buenos Aires. Oops! Sorry driver. Luckily we had this altercation otherwise we would've ended up in the wrong part of town and poorer for it.

Once we had settled in, we joined the free walking tour of downtown Buenos Aires. This gave us an opportunity to get an overview of the city and its history. The tour commenced in Centro, then went through Retiro and finished up at Recoleta, where we were staying. For some reason, the tour group was full of Brits, some of whom were offended by the Tour Guide's account of the Falklands war. Who would have thought it would be offensive to say that the British were colonists? If the truth hurts ...

The following day was a public holiday to celebrate national sovereignty. National public holidays seem to be following us, along with the rain. It was a good opportunity to relax, and develop a new addition. The Caiprinihas of Brazil were replaced with lemon mojitos from the local Dia supermarket, which was dangerously positioned at the bottom of our apartment complex. Jason fulfilled a dream and finally became a member of the Dia supermarket cult, so that he could enjoy the daily bargains on offer. Jason had fallen in love with the supermarket chain in Madrid, where he would, almost religiously, purchase his baguette for afternoon tapas. Bucket list. Tick.

There was one cultural tradition that was never going to be part of our daily routine and that was drinking mate, a national drink in Argentina (and Uruguay). It's best described as a green tea with freshly cut grass-clippings that had been scooped out of a mower. We took one sip of the drink and almost vomited. What are we going to do with half a kilo of it? Regardless of the health benefits, it was never going to take over from the mojitos, beer or any of the dulce de leche (caramel) filled desserts.

Once we recovered from our mojito hangover, we were set to explore the Recoleta cemetery, which was located near our apartment. The cemetery is occupied by former Presidents as well as the most famous Argentinian, Eva Perón (Evita). The first challenge was trying to find Evita's grave and, after circling most of the cemetery for what felt like an hour and constantly referring to the cemetery map, we finally found the gravesite, only minutes before we were ready to give-up. As we stood in front of the tomb, we looked over and saw a colleague from QUT. A few minutes earlier or later and our paths would have never crossed. What a small world it is after all!

After the tour of the cemetery, we struck up a conversation with two young guys, Ronald from Venezuela and Francisco from Bolivia. Apart from conversations with Air B&B hosts, this was the first time that we put our Spanish conversational skills into action. We are fairly certain that they were laughing at us because of our pronunciation and not the content of our conversation. It's all practice and maybe one day some of it might sink in.

The next challenge was to work-out the bus network in Buenos Aires. After figuring out the correct bus and where it was departing, we jumped on-board to discover that you can't buy tickets on the bus and need to purchase a special card. With the card sorted, we headed to the south-side of the city to an area called La Boca, with its brightly coloured tenement buildings. With street art covering the walls of the neighbourhood, Jason was in his element. Instagram sensation eat your heart out. But he hasn't gone viral yet (by the way, when did viral become something desirable?).

Any visit to Buenos Aires has to include a trip to La Casa Rosada, the Pink House, where Evita lived and delivered her famous speech. But getting to Centro by metro presented us with another challenge. We walked what seemed to be the entire subway and could only find two platforms. Tucked away in a hidden spot, where there was no signage, was the gateway to the other platforms. Phew! Another physical challenge overcome.

The last and final challenge for Buenos Aires was finding stamps and a post box. This proved to be the most difficult challenge of all. It seems no-one uses snail mail anymore. We eventually found a shop that sold stamps, after trying to find an ATM, which it too was a challenge to find. It seems that many ATMs in Argentina don't accept foreign cards. Even using a credit card in a shop requires showing your passport. And now we understand why most people don't post letters or postcards – you need to take out a small mortgage or rob an ATM to buy the stamps. Then, try and find a post box! We built-up our hopes as we approached the only one we had seen for kilometres, but as we got closer, all of our hopes were shattered. It had been decommissioned and was no longer in service, reduced to being a mere garbage bin. Oh well, an excuse to return to Argentina. Don't cry for us Argentina. The truth is, we never left you (well, just for a while).

Next stop: Montevideo.Read more