Overheard at a hostel breakfast in Lima, two travellers arguing over which Latin American city matches their vibe, with the confidence of people who slept four hours:
Backpack: Buenos Aires. Dinner at ten at night, steak, then a bookshop that used to be a theater.
Sunburn: I'd be asleep before the starter. Give me Rio, a beach chair and a caipirinha.
Backpack: You'd last one day before you wanted tacos al pastor and a mural in Mexico City.
Sunburn: Fine. But you'd cry the second you saw an alpaca in Cusco.
Backpack: That's fair. The altitude would make me cry anyway.
Both of them had a point, which is the annoying thing about travel arguments. A city fits you the way a good jacket does: it depends on when you like to eat, how much noise you can sleep through and what you'd do with a free afternoon and no map. Rio Beach Spirit, Buenos Aires Night Owl, Mexico City Food Hunter, Cusco Mountain Dreamer. One of them already has a postcard with your name on it. It just needs a stamp.
