‘Don’t Cry For Me Argentina’ was resonating from loudspeakers throughout the Sunday market in the San Telmo district of Buenos Aires, sounding even more wonderfully romantic sung in Spanish as ‘No Llores Por Mi Argentina’.

It was balm to my spirits, having just experienced one of the great scams inflicted on foreigners in that city. Heading to the market that morning I suddenly felt splodges fall on my head and shoulders from a balcony above.

A young woman immediately approached with a handkerchief, offering to wipe away the mess.‘Please remove your rucksack’, she said haltingly in English. No chance, I thought, having been told earlier that morning by a young Frenchman that he’d lost his passport, wallet, camera and all the pictures he’d taken in a year’s travelling in a similar scam just the day before. The scam was tried on me not once, but twice that same day without success, but thankfully did not diminish one jot my enjoyment of the city. Buenos Aires is a city of contrasts.

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