Es mi primer dia...

Day 1.

And, no, this will not be a daily occurrence.  More like a "when something interesting happens" or "when something I can make a witty remark about happens."  Just because I need that validation of everyone knowing how clever I am.

It was a loooooong 48 hours but I've made it safely to Buenos Aires.  I left Minneapolis at around noon on Monday and flew to New York LaGuardia.  It was my first time in NY!   I spent one hour in the airport before boarding my next flight and I never even saw the skyline.  Which is ok by me, NY doesn't particularly interest me.   From there I had another uneventful flight to Atlanta.  My second visit to that particular airport, and I even had a beer at the same bar I did the last time I was through.  The same bar where I met the first of several Brits named Steve on my last trip to South America (that's a whole different story).

Finally, after a rather roundabout trip to get there, I managed to settle in to my seat on the final flight to Buenos Aires.  Is it just me, or are long-haul international flights a totally different experience from domestic air travel?  I had the chance to compare, with two domestic and one international in one day.  And I think it pretty much boils down to this:  domestic flights are turning into busses and international flights tend to retain a little dignity or sense of occasion.  Part of it probably had to do with the fact that the flight to BA was only about 2/3 full and I was able to claim a row of two seats all to myself.  That, and the complimentary mini Woodford Reserve bourbon didn't hurt either.

But my first ride on a 767 (yes, I'm a mass transit geek) was normal enough.  Movie selection was crap, so I plowed through half of a book on the 1972 Fischer/Spassky world championship chess match in Reykjavik.  Don't tell me how it ends.  I haven't finished yet.  I'm using it as a lead up to the Fischer biography I have up next.  And per usual, I got about 4 hours of sleep.  Coach sucks on a long flight.  Even the "stepped up" version with slightly more legroom.  But since I don't have the cash to spring for one of those suite-with-a-bed-and-a-flatscreen tickets on the fancy airlines, I guess I should just get used to it.  Small price to pay to be able to use your passport.

So I grabbed my bags, threw on my sweatshirt (its winter down here) and rambled out to hail a taxi.  I was immediately mobbed by touts and managed to wind up in a cab headed the 10 miles in to the city center with all of my luggage intact.  Next time I get in a cab, I will either negotiate the fare up front or use the meter.  I'm pretty sure that cabbie bought a fancy dinner because of me.  Oh well, c'est la vie.  Wait.  Asi es la vida.  There we go.  That's gonna be a problem.

I went out to buy a power converter (cheaper in the destination country, always buy AFTER leaving the US) and the woman behind the counter showed me what I was looking for.  I immediately said "Oui!" and she tsked me and corrected with a stiff and somewhat pitying, "si."  To which I replied "Je parle francais, aussi."  Which prompted a flood of Spanish-accented French that ran my jet lagged ass over.  So I just chuckled to myself, paid and walked out with my tail firmly between my legs.  It's gonna be rough.  But I'm excited.

Had a quick nap, much needed shower and shave, changed into work clothes and then hopped the subway to work.  Met my boss, got a quick tour, met a few coworkers and had a brief discussion of the organization of the division of the company I'll be working in and an outline of what I'll be doing.  I don't think I've bit off more than I can chew yet, but I'd be lying if I said I was confident I'd sail through it.  Fortunately, everyone seems very willing to help out if I might need it and I have a few resources at my disposal to help me wade through the more complicated stuff.

That's all for now.  More from this humbled and mildy embarrassed American at a later date.