I know many Argentinians but none of them are currently in Argentina. They all went abroad because, well, the economy—insert a one-hour-long monologue about the peso here or ask your nearest Argentinian about politics to learn everything you need to know about the Argentinian Paradox.
So I was technically alone in Buenos Aires. However, I had a busy social life with perfect strangers, starting with my neighbours.
My San Telmo Airbnb was only a block down from Avenida 9 de Julio, so not deep into the barrio. It was an old but well-maintained building with a very handy fruits-and-vegetable store downstairs run (of course!) by a Bolivian couple who didn’t sell corn, potatoes, quinoa and beans—the staple of Bolivian cuisine—but fresh tomatoes, bananas and green peppers.
The apartment was clean and cozy, with a window in the bedroom overlooking a courtyard. Every apartment on every floor had a clothesline full of clean laundry or a drying rack behind the open window. Every apartment was cooking something smelling deliciously at one point between 9 p.m. and 2 a.m. Every apartment was lively, with people chatting, drinking, smoking, telling the kids to go to bed already, and eventually closing the curtains—or not.
It was a bit noisy but I loved it. I could feel the pulse of the city and witness many schedules and lifestyles.
The doorbell rang at 2:30 a.m. the first night—at least I assumed it was the doorbell because I never use this feature when I travel alone.
I froze. I wasn’t sleeping. I was making a sandwich in the kitchen, listening to the French news, because I had just returned from another stand-up comedy show on Avenida Corrientes.
Shit. Did I do something wrong?
The doorbell rang again.
I looked through the peephole.
A lady was standing behind the door.
She seemed to be wearing flip-flops.
Nobody comes to kill a neighbour wearing flip-flops. It would be a very messy crime scene.
I cracked the door open, not so much because I was scared but because I was in my undies.
“Yes?”
“What’s with that racket? Tell your friends someone is trying to sleep, enough already!”
“I… I’m alone in there.”
“Are you? Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I live right below and I can’t sleep, there’s a party somewhere and I thought… oh, poor you, sorry!”
It was noisy. I could hear voices and some music, but I hadn’t paid much attention to it since I was just back from the noisy streets and I wasn’t about to sleep yet.
“I rented the place for the week,” I explained. “This is my first night, so I’m not sure what’s normal or not in this building… It is noisy, I think there’s a group of people down in the courtyard.”
The woman sighed. “I can’t tell where it’s coming from. It’s driving me crazy.”
“Do you want earplugs?” I offered.
“No, no, I’ll be fine! You’re here for the week, right? If you have any problems, come and see me. Anytime. Don’t hesitate.”
On the second day, I was about to take the elevator when I noticed all the buttons were bright red. This is not a good sign when the only red button should be the one you’ve just pressed, so I stepped out of the elevator, willing to take the stairs to the fifth floor (or the twentieth, really) instead of being trapped in a wonky Argentinian elevator.
An older guy pushed the building’s front door and saw me in front of the elevator.
“Anything wrong?”
“The elevator isn’t working, I guess. I wouldn’t take it if I was you.”
“Not AGAIN! That’s it, I’m calling the property management company. We need another meeting about this damn elevator. When are you free? Evenings this week? Give me your number.”
“I… I don’t actually live here. I rented the place for a week.”
“That’s a shame. We need more people complaining about the elevator, or else it will never get fixed. I keep on writing letters to the company! No one cares!”
On the fifth night, the doorbell rang again, and this time, I knew for sure it was the doorbell but I froze anyway. What’s with me and doorbells? Or rather, what’s with this place and doorbells?
I opened the door, fully dressed this time.
The woman in front of me was about my age.
“Sorry to bother you! I noticed the water from your air con is dripping on my balcony… it happened before.”
“Shit, I’m sorry.”
Again, I explained I was just renting the place for the week and I wasn’t very familiar with most of the pipes or hosepipes around the apartment.
“Come in, let’s take a look.”
We inspected the air con unit and tried to figure out where the water was going.
“Nah, it goes down the drain over there…”
“So it’s not coming from this apartment, I guess. I’m sorry!”
“Look, I’ll give you the owner’s contact info,” I offered. “And since you’re here… I’m leaving tomorrow and I have food I can’t take with me because, well, you know, Aerolíneas Argentinas. I have… some rice, pasta, tomato sauce, and…”
“But what are you going to eat today and tomorrow?”
I laughed. “I’m fine, I have fresh ravioli from around the corner. This was my emergency stash. Please, take it or give it to someone in need.”
“What can I give you? Coffee? Come over to my place!”
And this is how I met half of Buenos Aires.
Here are a few pictures of the people of Buenos Aires, summer 2025 edition!
