A Day to Forget

This morning I woke up to what sounded like a freight train. Across the room the guy sleeping in the top bunk was definitely snoring the loudest I have ever heard in my life. Earplugs would have taken the edge off, but I still think I would have gone crazy. Needless to say, once I woke up I didn't take long to get up.

I decided to spend today wandering through the south section of the city, San Telmo and La Boca - both places that are quite old and full of a lot of culture. As soon as I walked outside, though, I knew something was up. It was 11am (late start, no judging please) and everything was closed. On a Friday. It didn't make sense. Either I had date and time completely wrong (which is entirely possible, because the fact that it is 45 degrees out is not helping me get my bearings), or it was some sort of National Holiday or impromptu siesta. Or maybe it was a national holiday honoring the siesta, so everyone was taking a siesta.

I discovered that today is actually the Argentinian Declaration of Independence Day; basically the equivalent of our July 4. I figured this out as I was walking through the empty streets of San Telmo (empty except for the two drunk guys singing to the huge audience of an empty alley at 11:30am), so I decided to head back to the main square to see if there were any kind of celebrations going on.

And then, my day just about became the worst day imaginable. I was maybe two blocks away from the square and I noticed a beautiful church on my right, so I decided to stop and check it out. I was about to enter when I get tapped on my shoulder. I turn around, and here is this short, middle-aged lady talking about how I have bird guano all over me. I remember thinking, oh this is going to be fun to write about. I turn around, and sure enough there is white stuff on my pack and all down my leg. As kind as she is, she offers me a tissue and leads me back outside to clean it up. She starts to wipe my pack and suggests I put it on the ground. I had my camera slung on my shoulder, and she says I should put it back in my bag so as not to get it dirty while we wipe all the poop up. As I begin taking apart my camera I notice an elderly woman, probably in her mid- to late-sixties, point up at a telephone wire and say the bird was up there. So, laughing to myself that I was pooped on by a bird, I put the camera and lens in their various cases and put it back in my bag. The lady gives me a new tissue to wipe my leg, and I gratefully take it and turn around to do just that. No more than half a minute later, figuring a tissue isn't going to do a whole lot and I might as well just walk back to the hostel, I turn back around to pick up my bag and thank the lady for her kind help. CUT. Take 2. This scene is an entire scam to make off with the stupid naive tourist's nice camera and backpack. Not to mention the cash inside it. I took so much care in putting my camera equipment away I suppose I could have gift wrapped it. My bad. To continue: I turn around and she's gone. With my bag. And my camera. I saw someone out of the corner of my eye walking quickly towards the front gate, but someone yells as I start to move after that person, 'she went inside the church!' So of course, I run frantically into the Church and of course there's no one in the small room with a blue backpack. So I run back outside and figure that was probably a third person messing with me. Any more people and their split wasn't going to buy them a big mac.

It was gone. Without a doubt. I hung around just to make sure she didn't duck inside the Church and wait for me to walk away, but of course that was wishful thinking. If I only I did see her walk away, because if it was a foot race it would have been over in the first 500m. Too bad big stupid American tourist fell for the play. I wound up talking to a cop about it- he asked if I lost my passport, and I said no, to which he replied, 'lo siento, y buen suerte,' which some might think means 'I'm sorry and good luck' but in reality it actually means 'ha sucks to be you suckaaaaaah!'.

So the rest of my day was pretty much shot. I tried to use a phone at a convenience store, but the guy said no. I don't know if they were broken or what, but after what had just happened, I felt like giving him the finger. As you can see, my day was going real well at that point.

I wandered over to starbucks to have a chai and get my head out of the city for a while and decompress. Everyone takes pictures of the starbucks queen and if you're over 25 you aren't allowed in. It seemed like quite the tourist attraction.

In the end, they didn't get my wallet, passport or phone, so I guess that's a plus. No violence either. Not even here for 24 hours though and I already get nailed. How am I doing so far?

So I've come up with a few guidelines for all of you-

1. Don't EVER trust ladies who are over 60. They can lie. If they offer you milk, make them drink it first.
2. Bird shit is never real. It apparently smells really bad. I wouldn't know though, I was hit with the extremely rare strain called showerius soapus.
3. If you're taller than everyone else, wearing a homing beacon built by the classified government firm Canon and are alone, the general idea is that you're a target. A big fat juicy one.
4. Only carry enough money to get you through the day. No need to carry Fort Knox around.
5. Pickpockets are amateurs. The pros throw soap.
6. Don't carry an adapter with you if you're not going to charge anything.
7. The bag never leaves the body. Ever. End of story.
8. Getting pooped on is like getting hit by lightning - it rarely ever happens twice. So don't put your nice camera BACK into your bag.

I know it's time to regroup and start fresh, but that was a very expensive way to learn about the con artists of Buenos Aires. I have to admit, it was an extremely well-run con. Now I know. I thought I was ready for the likes of pick pockets, but they got me like the veteran gets the rookie after his first game. I didn't have a prayer.

I don't know if I've ever been that pissed off.