Moving to Buenos Aires: Arriving at Hostel Arrabal

(Photo of the view from my hostel balcony)

I’m here. I can’t believe I’m here. After what felt like an eternity of airports, layovers and stale, recycled airplane oxygen, I somehow made it without a hitch and can relax at the hostel. So let’s sum up the last 72 hours, shall we:

I get back to SF after a month in Oceanside, have 2 days to pack up the apartment while simultaneously packing for a year’s worth of belongings in Argentina, Kip drops me off at SFO International Airport, we say our goodbyes and I’m suddenly thrown into a wave of pseudo-anxiety attacks at the realization of my vulnerability as a lone female traveler for the next two weeks. 8 hours pass on the plane to Lima, another 8 hour layover in Lima between midnight and 8am, where sleep never came, and then a 4-hour flight to beautiful Buenos Aires! Both legs of my flights were blessed with the absence aisle mates, giving me ample room to sprawl and commandeer seats, whilst watching a grand total of 5 of the many choice movies offered by LAN. Again, sleep deprivation wins.

As we begin to descend into Buenos Aires, I catch a glimpse of the acres and miles of plotted landscape with small clusters of civilization blotting the terrain. It’s calming, somehow.  The area outside of the Ministro Pistarini International Airport is reminiscent of a drive I once took with my parents in Vancouver, flat lands with bare-leafed trees. It’s a beautiful winter-esque sight. It is a bit chilly here since it’s in the winter season but very comparable to SF weather, so I’m not too worried about what I packed.

After thinking they’ve lost one of my bags and having to hunt it down at another carousel before feeling like I might burst into tears, I found my shuttle driver from the hostel waiting patiently for me outside the terminal. He didn’t speak English so it was a pleasant 40-minute drive to the hostel where my high school Spanish was pushed to its limits but got me roughly through basic conversation. Right off the bat, it was already evident that I’d have difficulty with Argentine Spanish. It’s rapid-fire but sounds melodically similar to Italian. And finally, here I am, Hostel Arrabal in the San Telmo neighborhood, a more European feel with its cobble-stoned streets and architecture. It’s one of the nicer hostels I’ve stayed in and has a full kitchen so I went to a corner market a couple blocks away to buy some food to cook here for the next couple days. I’m greasy from traveling and am ready for a shower and some much needed sleep!