Buenos Aires has far too many transvestite prostitutes walking around at night.

Before you go jogging in the evening, it’s better to be absolutely sure you’ll be back by the time the sun sets, or wait until the next morning. FYI.

Tonight is not a great night to be in my apartment, for the following two reasons:

1. My cleaning lady must have smoked half a pack of cigarettes in here this afternoon.
2. When I tried to air the place out, I was greeted with a warm breeze that smelled like onions. It’s like there’s an invisible giant breathing right into the open window - and this invisible giant needs a mint or a piece of gum in the worst way.

I sure hope things improve in this place by morning, smell-wise.

The other day, I struck up a conversation with a girl, and, after she asked me to tell her something in English, attempted to teach her how to say “Hi”.

“Hi es ‘hola’ en inglés”. I wrote it down.

“Eee?”

No, “Hi”!

This went on for like ten minutes. I left believing she would never speak a single word of English.

Today, I saw her again, and, to my shock, the first thing she said was “Hi, Matt”. She said it in a smooth, confident voice, without a hint of an accent. She sounded like a reporter for CNN. Her pronunciation was so startlingly flawless that I thought she must’ve been messing with me when I first met her.

Recognizing I’d been had, I sort of grinned and said, “Hey, what’s going on?”

“No entiendo nada.”

Which just goes to show that it’s never a good idea to jump to conclusions too quickly.

This past Saturday night, everyone in Buenos Aires moved their clocks ahead one hour. I managed to make it until tonight without realizing this.

I was wondering why everything seemed to be happening on time this week.

Even if you speak Spanish very well, when you come down here, you’ll definitely hear bunch of words and phrases you’ve never heard before. For many of these, not even Google Translate can help. This website can.

Buenos Aires has an empanada place on every corner. My favorite one is called Cümen-Cümen, on J.L. Borges & Guatemala. (There are two other locations, as well.)

The best thing on the menu is also the smallest and cheapest thing on the menu: the empanadita de dulce de leche. When eaten hot, it’s awesome.

My visits to Cümen-Cümen progressed like so:

Visit #1: “Por favor, una empanadita de dulce de leche”.

Visit #2: “Por favor, 3 empanaditas de dulce de leche”.

Visit #3: “Por favor, 12 empanaditas de dulce de leche – son para una fiesta.” (Yes, that was a total lie, and no, I didn’t eat them all at once. Y’know, no one likes to be judged.)

Most taxi rides in Buenos Aires are routine affairs. You get in, go from A to B, and get out. Nothing exciting - completely forgettable.

On the other hand, if you take enough cabs, you will have a few rides that are exceptionally memorable.

On one late-night taxi ride, I had a driver, who I’m pretty sure was drunk, talking at me in rapid-fire Castellano for the whole trip. He had no idea that I didn’t speak his language, and politely kept steady eye contact with me, breaking it only to make the sign of the cross and whisper a quick prayer each time we passed a church.

I was puzzled after the first prayer, but after it became clear that we would not be stopping for intersections, red lights, or pedestrians, I understood and was thankful for it. Rather than stop at these places, he would tap the horn a few times and speed through. I can’t complain, though. I made it home in record time, and I learned that I can continue to be a good listener even when I think I’m about to die.

Also, taxi drivers here speak English more often than you’d think. One morning, as my driver and I were sitting in rush hour traffic, the driver threw his hands up and said “Do you believe this? Same shit, different day. This traffic was the same shit yesterday. Always the same shit at this time!”

The traffic was, in fact, worse than usual because of a protest* going on, and he started to rant about the President, Cristina Fernández de Kirchner: how she’s an idiot, doesn’t know anything about the country, doesn’t care about the people. And then he remarked, “But you know about that! You have Bush! He’s the same shit. The same shit as Kirschner. Everywhere, it’s always the same shit! What do you think about Bush?”

I let him know that I didn’t vote for Bush and quickly changed the subject to the weather, which, for July, was unseasonably warm. “This is our winter!” he said, “Do you believe this! Here, it’s this hot in the winter!** It’s very nice; look at what I’m wearing in the winter! Not like where you come from, right?”

“Well, as a matter of fact,” I said, “I came here from Miami.”

“Oh!” he said, “it’s the same shit there! Always hot! Same shit as here!”

Yep.

But wait a second.

I think warm weather is nice. He had just said he thought so, too. I wouldn’t think of two places that have warm weather as having “the same shit”. Traffic problems - sure. Incompetent politicians - of course. But nice weather? I’d call that having “the same really good thing”.

And then I got it: he thought that “the same shit” simply meant “the same”.

He’d probably heard one of his passengers say “same shit, different day”, didn’t recognize the phrase, and, when he asked what it meant, was hastily told that it just meant “the same”.

I didn’t have it me to correct him, and I don’t mean to make fun of the guy, but I did tip him especially well because I knew I’d definitely get a lot of mileage out of this story.

*North American protesters should take a trip to South America to learn how protesting’s done. Here, you’ll find none of this “honk if you support workers’ rights” garbage. We get all-day events, parades with dozens of giant marching-band drums, abandoned trucks blocking major traffic arteries. One group came up with a catchy song and sang it from the back of a vegetable truck with a microphone, huge speakers, and full-band accompaniment. This is major-league protesting. I don’t how effective it is in terms of getting what they want, but, in terms of performance, these protesters commit.

**Not usually. If you’re coming in July or August, bring a coat. You’ll need it.

For the first time since I’ve been here, there was no line whatsoever at the supermarket. I was in and out in like 10 minutes.

Turns out that today is Mother’s Day (”El Día de la Mamá”) in Argentina.

If you weigh less than 190 lbs, the bridge that crosses the train tracks near Libertador 5400 will probably not collapse under the weight of your body. (As long as you step gingerly.)

If you’re a little heavier, I strongly advise you to use a different route.

Okay. If you’re an American, the last couple of months have probably felt like you’ve been getting screwed by a rhinoceros unusually challenging times. I know this turn of events has added some extra excitement to my life.

There are some things you can do to make yourself feel better, though.

One of them is voting – but, in most states, you have to wait a few more weeks to do it (until Tuesday, November 4th), and it looks like that game is winding down a little early this year, anyway. (Let’s hear it for Florida!)

Still, please vote; it’s never a sure thing until the guy takes office. Especially if you live in Florida or Ohio.

The other, more immediately-gratifying thing you can do is eat panqueques con dulce de leche – one of Argentina’s most significant contributions world happiness:

If you’re in Buenos Aires, Miami, or New York, you should make your way to Novecento. I used to live across the street from the one in Brickell (Miami). Take my word for it on this one. Order the panqueques, with ice cream.

In the likely event that you don’t live in any of those places though, or, in the even more likely even that you’re on a budget, you’ve got to take a slightly longer road to get your panqueques.

First, go to Pip In the City, (the source of the picture above) and get her recipe. Pip has graciously provided it as a public service to the entire world.

Second, find someone who you love very much.

Next, find some way to get that person to make the panqueques for you.

Finally, eat the panqueques.

After taking these four simple steps, I guarantee you’ll feel much, much better about everything.