New Years 2025 Part I: Buenos Aires, Argentina

My annual New Years trip is something I’ve come to cherish. It has been a privileged opportunity to make unique and lasting memories in unfamiliar places with complete strangers (something that has for me removed much of the modern anxiety with having the perfect New Year’s Eve). And if my sixth installment of this tradition was any indication, I’d say this was a trip that won’t soon fade from my conscious – both for the good, and the bad.

Like with Sydney and Rio de Janeiro before it, Buenos Aires is a city I’d taken a liking to from my days as a cruise ship musician back in 2019/2020. I figured that if I went now I could tie in a visit to my 48th country of Paraguay and stop at the famous Iguazu Falls before making a stop in São Paulo for my return flight. Traveling on standby to Buenos Aires I got a last minute Business Class upgrade – a pleasant surprise for my last flight of the year. Before moving cabins I’d discovered that my seat-mate and I had both spent the previous New Year’s Eve in Guatemala’s Lake Atitlán. Small world!

Though I’d been to Argentina before, I’d forgotten about the fragility of the country’s economy, and about the Blue Dollar situation. Basically, men known as “Cambio Men” can be found yelling “cambio! cambio!” in certain busy streets. They exchange Argentine pesos at a higher rate for large US or Euro bills (at my time of visiting $1 “officially” = 1000 pesos, but at the Blue Rate $1 = 1195 pesos). Tourists are often reluctant to exchange with the cambio men, as they’re sometimes known to scam you with fake pesos, but my hostel advised me on a specific Newspaper stand that could be trusted and there I had no problem.

To withdraw money from an ATM in Argentina is ill-advised. They are known to charge astronomical fees, as much as $15 per transaction, which is insane. Some people also use Western Union to make cheaper withdrawals, and this seemed to be a good option for those without US currency to exchange. Regarding the economy, things are in such constant flux that the prices at restaurants have been rumored to change almost daily. Apparently just six months earlier the US dollar had twice the purchasing power it did today. During my first visit to Buenos Aires in 2019 everything was enticingly affordable, but now most things felt expensive. Almost America expensive.

On the Sunday of my arrival I checked into Parla Hostel in the historic city center. I only intended to stay here for a few nights before moving to the more touristy neighborhood of Palermo, but I wound up extending for a total of six nights. Parla quickly became one of my favorite hostels I’ve stayed – there was such a great mix of people of different ages from around the world, and the volunteers ran fun nightly activities such as group Tango lessons, trivia, and “Argentinian Dinner” (AKA empanadas).

The rooftop terrace was a big reason I’d booked the place, it seemed like a promising space to view fireworks. Many hostels I’ve been have had common spaces that were too big to foster socializing, but the somewhat small terrace here at Parla made it easy to connect with fellow travelers. There was also a bar, where my usually sober-self let go and indulged on surprisingly cheap glasses of Argentina’s famous Malbec. With it being summertime in the southern hemisphere the sun set very late, and I enjoyed long golden-hours with good wine, conversation, and my journal.

Much of the conversation while at Parla Hostel revolved around Patagonia, the long stretch comprising the southern ends of both Argentina and Chile. It seemed everyone was either on their way there, or they had just returned. I’d been to coastal bits of it such as Punta Arenas and Ushuaia, but inland areas such as El Chaltén and Bariloche were unknown to me. I learned a lot about Patagonia just by sitting there on Parla’s terrace. It was a tempting thought to alter my itinerary and go to Patagonia as well, but with Argentina’s current inflation amidst peak tourist season I knew it wasn’t the right time for me.

With the high prices of food I realized that restaurant-hopping around Buenos Aires wasn’t going to be the basis of this visit. Instead I took to sampling the most affordable (and delicious) thing – empanadas. You could readily find them pre-made sitting beside the windows at casual restaurants, but I usually opted for sit-down places where empanadas are made fresh to order. I’d get three or four in all different varieties, usually with cheese (I am from Wisconsin, after-all). Up on the hostel terrace we’d joke that all any of us ate were empanadas, and it’s safe to say I had them almost every day!

On New Year’s Eve I went out by myself for the day. When my first stop at the Museo de Bellas Artes turned out to be closed I took the time instead to walk around the nearby neighborhood of Recoleta. There I happened upon the empanadas pictured above. Later that afternoon I wandered the grid-like streets of Palermo for some street photography, and I sat at an outdoor brewery with a book. Feeling a little bored with myself, I swiped through the dating apps, but nothing came of that. Parla Hostel was having a group dinner at 9 PM, so with plenty of daylight left I headed out on the train back across the city.

I got off the train at a station near to the Plaza del Mayo. Huddled amongst the masses of late afternoon travelers, I followed the signs within the station for salida (exit). One minute I was beside everyone, and the next it was just me heading up a single escalator to the street. Halfway up I tried to take a photo of something when I saw a young guy’s head pop out ahead and look down at me from the top of the escalator. “Wtf?” – I didn’t think much of this, except to give him a face that read get the hell out of my shot. I didn’t even take the photo.

The top didn’t exit straight to the street, but rather to a room with glass doors to the street. There I found the guy I’d seen, and with him three others standing throughout the room. I made my way for the door when one of them came and grabbed my arm from behind. Having recently traveled in India I was used to people (both men and women) grabbing me and begging, so my immediate thought wasn’t that I was in trouble. Then, when I pulled away that’s when all four of them came at me. The next thing I knew, I was flung to the ground. Large drops of blood dripped down from my face. This is really happening, I remember thinking.

There was no opportunity to surrender my items, and since they didn’t have weapons I kept hold of my camera and bag. Following the initial blow it was just a lot of intense pulling and grabbing, and my shirt was torn open. I remember ducking to the ground, trying to protect my teeth and face, all while holding onto everything. The whole encounter probably took just over one and a half minutes, and in the end I managed to fling myself through a push door and to the ground on the outside street. There the sight of pedestrians scared the guys off. I looked back inside to see my favorite green Cape Cod hat siting there, blood speckled all over it.

It was by some miracle that I’d escaped, and that none of my belongings were missing. I threw my Fuji-film camera inside my drawstring bag, grabbed my hat, and took a moment to look at my face. I needed an ambulance, and stitches. Close by, a middle-aged man on a bicycle led me to the Plaza de Mayo park, where he phoned me with his English speaking son who helped translate to a police officer there. It took over 45 minutes for the ambulance to arrive, “there was also a stabbing at the Obelisk today”, the officer said, shaking his head, as if to explain the delay. And so, after a good while of waiting around looking like a wreck in front of the President’s Palace, I was picked up and taken to the hospital. There I received my first-ever stitches and a head scan.

As an American easily the most pressing thought in this situation was what all this was going to cost me, and how I was going to go about filing my insurance claim. Around 10:30 PM my doctor told me that I should ideally stay a while longer, but that I could leave if I wanted. I sat there for a while wondering when someone would come to me about the payment, but no-one ever did. It felt criminal, but around 11:15 I walked out of the hospital, still expecting someone to stop me for payment. What I didn’t know is that public healthcare is free in Argentina, even for tourists. I called an Uber and was back to my hostel 20 minutes before midnight. Ultimately the fireworks weren’t very visible from our terrace, but the hostel gave me free Malbec for my troubles. I probably recounted the story of the night’s events over a dozen times to the small mass of people up there, it was the strangest thing.

In nearly 10 years of on/off foreign travel this was the first time I had ever become a victim of violence anywhere. In the days directly after the attack I found myself grateful for the hostel community I had at Parla. Had I stayed alone at a hotel I’m fairly certain I would’ve taken a flight home on standby the day after the attack. But the people I knew and those I continued to meet helped to keep me active in my stay and to feel empowered in the fact that I’d escaped an attack by four guys with nothing but a head gash (and no lost items). In a way I did feel badass, but I also kept replaying the incident over and over in my mind, still in disbelief that it had happened. When I did finally make it to the Museo de Bellas Artes there was a marble statue of a nude woman with her hands held over her head – it was both beautiful and triggering of my experience on New Year’s Eve.

My favorite day in Buenos Aires (and possibly of this whole trip) came a few days into the new year when I joined a European couple and another American solo traveler for a day trip up to the northerly suburb of Tigre. It was a place I’d thought of visiting myself, but the experience was much more enjoyable with good company. Likewise, I probably wouldn’t have taken the popular delta boat ride by myself. Besides learning that I need to be more aware of my surroundings, this stay in Buenos Aires also helped me realize that there are not many aspects of traveling alone that I enjoy. With the exceptions of certain hikes and street photography, I much prefer to spend my time on trips with people, allowing others to sometimes make the decisions. As such, I end up doing a better variety of things than I would do alone.

For the last couple days in Buenos Aires I left Parla Hostel and moved to Palermo. This is the neighborhood I’d liked best when I first visited BA in 2019, but for some reason now it didn’t appeal to me the same. Perhaps it’s because I’ve wandered many cafe and tree-lined neighborhoods throughout the world, and with nothing much being affordable there wasn’t a ton to do. Interestingly, and despite my attack, it was the city center that had captured my liking on this trip, along with those nights on Parla Hostel’s terrace. Thanks to the people I met there I had the courage to continue on with my itinerary and I booked a 19-hour bus to the capital of Paraguay. On the last day in Buenos Aires I visited a private clinic to have my stitches examined and properly bandaged, I was instructed to leave the wound taped up for seven more days.