Like honey attracts flies and Justin Bieber inexplicably attracts tweens, it seems my lot in life is to attract naked neighbors.
If you’re in Buenos Aires for any length of time — from a few days to a few weeks — learning to ride the city’s extensive bus network makes sense.
What are the sights one sees in a famously perilous neighborhood, where crime and muggings and deep poverty lurk just footsteps away? Probably not these.
I haven’t encountered this level of travel mystification since I stumbled upon a Vietnamese amusement park in its off season.
When I die, if it’s possible to place a well-timed request for the next life, I’m totally asking to return as a tango dancer in Buenos Aires.
Meat is the Argentine delicacy, the great mecca of meals. And the institution where Buenos Aires locals go to get their beef, is the parrilla, a traditional steakhouse.
When the going gets steamy, the Porteños hit the road to find respite. Trying to make like a local, we took a day trip to the Tigre Delta.
As you try to grasp Buenos Aires’s vibe, one thing becomes abundantly clear: the Palermo neighborhoods, including Palermo Hollywood, are the ultimate haps.
It’s hotter than Hades here in Buenos Aires, and seriously, guys? I’ve got one word for you: Buckets. As in, I’m sweating BUCKETS in Buenos Aires.
I’m love-, love-, loving the return to the sights, sounds, possibility and energy of an enormous urban world while still struggling to fully experience them.
I’ve said before that I’m my favorite version of myself when I travel, and I want to see that side of myself again, and soon.