In foundering Argentina, entrepreneurs shift gears

While the Nous try to get by under the corralito, Belisario Rodriguez prospers from it. Mr. Rodriguez, a Buenos Aires attorney with over 20 years' experience, has found a new specialty: forcing banks to give customers their money back. Although the corralito restricts large withdrawals, the Supreme Court accepts appeals from customers who challenge the law's constitutionality.

These appeals, known as amparos, are primarily reserved for the elderly and infirm, who may need more money for special circumstances, such as medical treatment. Since the restrictions began, more than 140,000 amparos have been awarded, ranging from a few thousand dollars to the millions. Rodriguez, who has filed three amparos, relies on his old clients and word of mouth. Having successfully argued each case, he is confident that more people will come knocking on his door.

The process has become quite confrontational. On one occasion, Rodriguez threatened to call the fire department to break open the vault before the bank finally caved in and gave his client $40,000. "They didn't think I was serious until I pulled out my cellphone and dialed," he says. Rodriguez's cut is typically 10 to 15 percent of the award, depending on his relationship with the client.

Although he still has other work, Rodriguez is happy to have found a new niche. "Amparos arrived like a gift," he says.

But, it is unclear how much longer Rodriguez and other lawyers will be presenting these cases. Two weeks ago, a lower court ruled unanimously that some of the government's efforts to stabilize the economy, including the corralito, are unconstitutional. President Eduard Duhalde is appealing the decision to the country's Supreme Court.

Even the smallest of small-business owners are changing to survive. Roberto Montes runs a kiosk in Floresta, one of Buenos Aires' many neighborhoods. For years he has sold packs of gum, soft drinks, and beer. When the crisis came last December, Mr. Montes saw a golden opportunity for his little shop.

"Since I sell [drinks] and snacks at a lower price than bars and discos, people can still afford to stop by," says Montes. When he noticed that more customers were hanging around the shop, he decided to place a few tables on the sidewalk. Then he added a foosball table and his corner store was transformed into a local hot-spot.

Across the city, ubiquitous kiosks are challenging bars and cafes for the ever-shrinking share of the entertainment market. While the discos are having a hard time attracting customers, kiosks are full every weekend.

Some in Buenos Aires don't like the way their sidewalks have been transformed into the local watering hole. Mariana Alfaro who owns a bed and breakfast complains that "the customers at the kiosks don't respect the neighborhood and leave trash everywhere." She also adds that the kiosks don't have a license to sell alcohol for on-site consumption. While she doesn't file formal complaints, she hopes that the police start to crack down.

Montes doesn't think that he is causing any problems, he looks at his business as a service to the neighborhood. "What are they going to do, close the only affordable bars in Buenos Aires down?" he asks.

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