Argentina: I Love You But I’m Not In Love With You

I left the US and moved to Buenos Aires, Argentina in June 2010. In 8 days, I will say goodbye to the place I have called home for the past year and a half. It is very incredibly bittersweet, but this article is not going to be about the sadness and difficulties of internationals moves or leaving home. In the past, I have spoke of Argentina as if it was my boyfriend, a living human I could get mad at and forgive, so for this article, I intend to keep it lighthearted and tell you some reasons why Argentina and I have to break up.

Argentina, why you gotta be such a gold digger?

Seriously, Argentina, I’ve heard of inflation but this shit is just ridiculous. In the past year and a half, your prices have skyrocketed. The only thing that seems to stay cheap in this country is wine. Don’t get me wrong, Argentina, I love the wine, I really, really do, but you have got to get your hands up out of my bank account. After spending 5 miserable months jumping through hoops to become a resident, I am still charged like a tourist. Not all Americans are rich and living off trust funds, and I can no longer afford to be treated as such.

Damn, Argentina, keep it in your pants!

I feel like you only think of one thing, Argentina! What happened to our love? I feel like an object in your eyes! All those men on the streets, licking their lips, blowing me loud kisses and shouting out ridiculous things and then getting offended when I send a sassy remark back at them. Need I even mention the horrible dating in Buenos Aires? I just want to walk to the grocery store without being verbally accosted and maybe encounter a man who doesn’t believe he is God’s gift to me.

Argentina, you need to get your shit together

Sometimes I think the things you ask me to do must be a joke, but I am almost always sadly mistaken. The mail system here is mind blowing. There are so many slips of paper, different offices to go to, and totally useless package searches. I don’t like being treated like a terrorist just because my last name is the same as the president’s or because my mom just happened to throw some Airheads candy into my care package without listing their full ingredients on the outside. And what about the all the scams and lies, especially the ones aimed at foreigners? Remember the Taxi Nazi? I certainly do. And what about those weird medical tests everyone has to do before starting to work. I also had to send a Quitting Telegram to formally quit my job here. Not an email, not a letter, but an actual telegram. I had to wait in line for 2 hours to send that worthless piece of paper. What is up with your crazy processes and rules, Argentina?!

Argentina, you a hot mess

I know I am no beauty queen but, damn, you need to clean yourself up. Littering is so common and acceptable here that it makes me sick. People buy a piece of candy and immediately throw the wrapper on the ground. No one picks up after their dogs and garbage is often just piled next to trees, left to rot and stink up their air that we all know is not so bueno. You have so much potential, you could be so incredibly beautiful, but you have really let yourself go.

Argentina, stop eating garbage

I know it is harsh to compare you to my ex, but seriously, the United States has food from almost every culture and it is all pretty freaking delicious. I know I don’t eat steak and that is supposed to be your most impressive dish, but that does not excuse some of the garbage you serve up. Flavorless pizza which is really more like cheese with some greasy bread bits? So called “salads” that are made completely of shredded carrots? Hot dogs that sit in hot water at a kiosko all day and then are covered with stale crispy “potato” things? Gross, Argentina. Your body deserves better than this.

But we had our good times..

I do love you, Argentina, I truly do. I will miss you dearly and may or may not drunkenly text you, telling you how much I miss your incredible ice cream, your comprehensive and affordable transportation system, and all those unforgettable nights we spent together until way past sunrise. I may even write poetry about our love. Hell, I already have. But it is time. I need to move on. Perhaps we shall meet again someday. I certainly hope so.