After the infamous “Random Guy Getting to Third Base on a Spanish Sidewalk” incident of 2005, I have NO TIME for people trying to mess around with me when I’m trying to get from Point A to Point B in a new country. It really pisses me off more than most things, because a) I don’t want random strangers touching my lady parts/taking my stuff and b) I think it’s pretty low to try to take advantage of a tourist in the first place. Before we left, my doting father reminded me of the “mustard trick” where the unsuspecting tourist gets squirted with a condiment, and then in the fluster of getting cleaned off also gets cleaned out. And sure enough, some dude actually tried this on us as we trekked down Callao with all of our earthly possessions on our backs. I saw some green slime squirt us from about waist level, and it landed all over—our backpacks, in my hair, on our clothes. This stuff was potent and gave us a headache almost immediately, and a mustachioed Che with a Kleenex magically appeared to help—except he wanted me to take off my backpack and Marlo to not stand nearby. YEAH RIGHT BUDDY! I stole his Kleenex and we moved swiftly on, amazed that someone would actually try that maneuver on us within three days of landing on the continent and also assume that our backpacks were worth taking (if they want my ratty Pumas and cutoff shorts, by all means, lighten the load).
End of story: I was feeling pretty good about not having our stuff taken when we got to our new hostel and decided to rinse the creepy chemicals out of my hair. When I tried to turn on the little hotel hairdryer in the bathroom, I blew the fuse for the entire building. Hi, Buenos Aires! We have an interesting relationship so far!