Buenos Aires, Argentina, captures the minds of many writers and evokes a melody of words when describing it: elegant, classic, un sueño, marvelous…

“Convenient” is not part of this melody.

In fact, the only word resembling “convenient” that may slip into a description of Buenos Aires is its alter ego, “inconvenient”.

Nay, if efficiency, fast pace of life, and sensible bureaucratic processes are what you seek, then Buenos Aires is not the city for you. Try somewhere in Germany.

Ailing for years from a nasty addiction to productivity, I found it hard to accept the reality of this southern metro upon my arrival at the beginning of the year. There is no such thing as a streamlined existence here, and being impatient tops the list of all the things you cannot do in this place.

Your barber appointments begin an hour late on average. Pulling cash can take about a half day. You will wait 20 minutes in one line at a bar to purchase a drink voucher, entitling you to another 20-minute wait in a separate line to redeem it to a bartender.

Dinner is at 10 PM, and the clock completes a full circuit before anything opens the next day. Shops are closed on Sundays and holidays, which occur weekly and seemingly bi-monthly respectively.

You will wait in line at the “self-service” fruit stand as one-by-one customers order their fruit from some shuffling veteran grocer when everyone could just as easily pick out their own onions simultaneously. In some larger grocery stores, there is an extra employee who is solely there to place your fruit on a scale and slap a sticker on it before you take it up to the register.

God forbid you expect a bus to arrive on a regular schedule—consider yourself lucky if it even shows up. If it does, rest assured there are probably another three of the same line tailing it. Of course, I’m only referring to the days when there is not a paro general (strike) by the public transport authorities.

It’s for all of these reasons that I love Buenos Aires. Something beautiful lies in its inconvenience.

Never have I felt so unhurried in such a big city. These bothers may grind on the nerves of some, but I’ve found these inefficient nuisances to be the key to slow living (a goal of mine in 2024).

The daily rhythm of Buenos Aires doesn’t encourage a slow life—it demands one. Food doesn’t keep long here as if missing some strange preservative chemical. Most apartments in my budget don’t have a washing machine. Buying in bulk means losing potential purchasing power a week later (see hyperinflation).

Instead, I visit my local fruit stand, butcher, chicken guy, laundromat, and baker twice a week minimum*.

*There do exist one-stop shops here too like COTO and Carrefour, but I’ve been inside enough Walmarts for my taste these days. Besides, these chain markets don’t lend themselves to long-winded conversations with my grocer Carlos, or the aforementioned natural food products.

Unsurprisingly, having to pick up a loaf of bread every third day wore on me the first few weeks here. The incessant trips to the fruit stand to grab a handful of apples and peppers ate up a good chunk of each morning. More time was incurred when my butcher wanted to chat before slicing into the rump steak. I was getting less done, and it drove me bonkers.

Truthfully though, what else is there to do? Write another Ferg’s Focus? Work longer hours? Read a book about some faraway place while living in one?

The best use of my time is to embrace the inconvenience.

This speed of life was the remedy to my hurried state. I am forced to slow down here, take my walks more deliberately, and get to know my local neighborhood community more presently.

It’s remarkable how differently my mornings appeared when the goal was to be rather than be somewhere.

Do not be deceived when the guidebooks tell you that the “Buenos Aires experience” is standing underneath its looming obelisk and attending a tango show, for the most authentic thing you can do in Buenos Aires is wait.