When we arrived at the airport, we prepared ourselves for a thorough examination of our bags and an on-the-spot check-up of Zoe, along with immunization verification. In reality: I had a small misunderstanding with the luggage man. I'd asked him for a baggage cart, he gave me 2, then helped me load all the suitcases, and then he said to me, oh, there's a dog in that bag? I nodded. Well, you're supposed to use a special exit, he said looking around. And then he pushed the cart to the exit and we pretty much left. And no one asked us a thing.
Once we got to our apartment, signed our leased, dished out a large stack of cash (for three months rent) and got our keys, I realized a few things:
1. My Spanish isn't half as good as I think it is
2. Okay, it doesn't suck, but getting used to the porteño accent is going to take some time. I keep thinking I'm listening to a Spaniard switch from Castellano to Catalan. It's the shh that really fucks with your sense of reality. But it's so beautiful too
3. Argentinos speak spanish really quickly. When even my ever-so-fluent girlfriend asked people to repeat themselves, I felt a little better
4. It's a terrible idea to speak French to the owner of the apartment, Spanish to Erika's family, and English to Erika, all at the same time, especially after a 13-hour flight. You mix up everything and the words get incestuous as they climb on top of each other and frolick around in your mind
And now I'm ending with some of the wonderful and random things I saw today in Buenos Aires:
Erika waits for her gelato, and in the meantime, decides to rub elbows with some of the stiffest celebrities in town.
When we went shopping at Coto, the supermarket just around the corner, this is one of the things in the self-serve deli