In the Recoleta part of Buenos Aires, which reminds me very much of a swanky Parisian neighborhood. This here´s a real purty town.
For some reason it was a bitch finding an Internet cafe in Sao Paulo, as the Brazilians believe the Internet was created by the Devil to specifically swallow up all of your valuable samba time. In Buenos Aires, however, Web access grows on trees, with an Internet cafe on every single block, charging less than a dollar per hour.
This more or less makes it a bit more tolerable for me when the Argentines suddenly break into song. You see, the whole country believes it´s living in a giant production of the musical "Evita." Every thirty minutes, some chick pops onto a random balcony and starts belting out "Don´t Cry For Me Argentina." The weird part for me is the people wearing cat costumes who suddenly jump out of trash cans.
The other quirky thing about Argentines is that they only drink wine, which irks me to no end. Most of my friends know I´m not a big fan of any beverage that people sniff before they drink. Same goes for bad milk. To make matters worse, the only vodka they´ve got here is fricking Absolut. I am in the land of vaginas.
But where else can you get a ridiculously perfect 18 oz steak for $14?