Moving to Buenos Aires

First steps in Argentina: taxis, heat, and a new rhythm of life

We walked out of Ezeiza airport with our suitcases and a heavy belly — my wife was eight months pregnant.
Lithuanian winter was behind us. We were flying toward the sun, in search of calm and a new life.

The taxi into the city cost 30 dollars. My first thought was how cheap everything was compared to Europe — then I caught myself realizing I had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. No friends here, no language, just the conviction that this would be a better place to raise a child.

Palermo Chico: somewhere between Pinterest and reality

I found an apartment in Palermo Chico. In the photos it looked straight out of Pinterest; in reality, the furniture was worn out and the shower leaked — but the balcony looked out over green trees. I told myself, "We're only here for a couple of months anyway…" But somewhere inside I already knew: if things went well, we'd stay.

The first day passed in a blur: heat, Spanish coming from every direction, the air thick with humidity and flowers. We ate ice cream right there on the street, wandered through Recoleta, and held hands the whole time. It was one of those rare moments in life when you've already left your old reality behind but haven't yet landed in the new one.

The moment you stop being a tourist

A couple of days later I found a coworking space nearby and signed up for Spanish lessons. I got myself a SUBE transit card and suddenly felt almost like a local. Almost.

On the third night I couldn't sleep — the baby in my wife's belly was kicking especially hard. We lay there staring at the ceiling, holding hands in silence. And suddenly it was clear to me:
We weren't tourists anymore. We were the kind of people who stay.

Two weeks later, Argentina won the World Cup. The whole city lost its mind. And so did we, right along with it.