Buenos Aires: La Boca
Famous Colorful Buildins in Buenos Aires barrio of La Boca
Señor Tango
We went to see a tango floor show on our first night in Buenos Aires at 350 Argentine pesos (about $100) per person, which includes the food, the show and the door-to-door shuttle service. Unfortunately, they did not allow photography at anytime, so there is not much photography to display today.
Senor Tango. http://www.senortango.com.ar/
Street Crime within 2 hours
17:42 | Common bathroom at Hostel Suites Florida
The stains appear darker than the black material of my jacket. But the smell is stronger and hard to get out. I apply some bar soap and start scrubbing.
10:45 | Terminal A, Ezeiza Airport in Buenos Airport
I find Jenica sitting against a column on a bench in the crowded Terminal outside of the International Arrivals exit. She’s reading an eBook.
11:15 | Hostel Suites Florida
Jenica and I check into our hostel on Avenida Florida. At the center of a commercial district with a long pedestrian walkway. We walk aimlessly around town, and enjoy the architecture and the weather.
12:37 | Avenida Belgrano y Chacabuco
The sun shines in the blue-bird sky. It’s 68F with a gentle breeze. Some families are out on a walk enjoying the spring Saturday.
Jenica looks up and then at me: “Did someone just throw something at us?”
I look up. No birds. No air conditioners precariously hanging from the edge of a window sill. No children with water balloons. “No. I don’t think so.”
Suddenly a strong odor hits. A fresh yellowish-gray stain on her right shoulder. I glance behind, and there was an indigenous-looking woman (whatever than means), with dusty clothes and carrying a yarn-knit bag walking jut several feet behind our pace. She appears to be somewhat concerned for us and rambles something in Spanish.
“<F>”, I thought to myself. We’ve been targeted. “Jenica, just keep walking.”
Suddenly a short indigenous-looking man paces quickly alongside us. He’s dressed in humble clothing with an American baseball cap. He glances up and points to the sky. He rattles something off in Spanish, but all I hear is the word “… caido…” – “fallen” in English.
“Don’t stop.” We pick up the pace and keep walking. <S> is about to happen. “Do you have tissues? I’ll wipe it off.”
“No.” Jenica holds her gaze firmly ahead. She dares not make eye contact in the direction of the stranger.
“Hey!” The stranger tries to call our attention. “Hey!” as if he was concerned and keeps pointing upwards as if to explain.
My mind struggles send my mouth the signals to say, “No nos molestas,” but Jenica raises the back of her hand to them as we walk away. An “<F> off” gesture without wasting a breath.
The strange woman and man team give up. We find refuge in the nearest cafe. At first just for some napkins, but the server greets us and asks, “para dos?” (Two?).
“Si, gracias.”
She seats us at a nice table outside. Jenica takes off her purse.
“Turnaround.” Jenica’s back is covered in what smells and what we eventually discern to be mustard. Mustard. The rankest mustard I have ever seen, like 10-year-spoiled grey poupon containing real “poup”. I wipe the spots with the minuscule napkins found only outside of the U.S. those just too small to really clean anything. “Take the inner side of the table.”
As I take my camera bag off my shoulder, we notice there’s mustard all over it. “Jude, it’s all over the back of your leg.”
We stink. I notice the waitress glance at belongings and then our jackets. I wanted to explain that we were OK, but I just gave her a smile and a nod. “Buenos. Sta bien.”
A middle-aged woman passes by from the cross walk and notices the stain… and the smell. “<blah blah blah>… son robados?”. That was all that I could make out. “No, fortunadamente.” And I sit down and scan the menu like nothing happened, but I wasn’t really reading.
The waitress came back with a large moist cloth. She knew what just went down, and that we were lucky enough to avoid the scam.
The bastards managed to take nothing from us. “We were lucky. That guy and lady was a two-man team trying to feign concern that birds pooped on us and then they attempt to offer help by wiping it off…. while they rob you. No one is that enthusiastic about helping someone else that they yell at you to come back.”
We order “cafe” – that can mean almost anything. The waitress returns with small shots of espresso and seltzer water. A tourist bus cruises down the street from whence we came behind Jenica. I start to laugh from an image in my mind.
“You know what would be funny? Mustard vigilantes. If we got bottles of mustard and targeted mustard thieves while riding on the upper deck of a tourist bus.” I made the comment hoping to lighten the mood, but perhaps just a device to make myself feel better.
(Want to know more about the mustard scam? Here’s just one of hundreds of stories from similar victims. http://www.travbuddy.com/travel-blogs/26844/Victims-pickpockets-Mustard-Trick-222)
