LUXURY

A rosy pink palace catches my eye as I face east in the Plaza de
Mayo. The Casa Rosada (Presidential Palace) was originally painted
in a mixture of lime and bovine blood. The door is open on the
first floor speech balcony. I can visualise one-time President Juan
Domingo Peron and Evita addressing the assembled crowd. It
was from here the charismatic Evita wooed her beloved ‘shirtless
ones’ with an emotional plea ‘don’t cry for me Argentina’.
I’m also drawn to the colonnaded, neo-classical splendour of the
Metropolitan Cathedral on the north side of the plaza. Inside,
there is a buzz of activity around the ornate baroque altar. In
a quiet alcove I solemnly approach the statue of Jesus Christ of
the Football Players, where the national team and thousands of
supporters come to pray for victory on each championship year.
Argentine won the World Cup in 1978 and 1986.
Once I emerge into the sunlight and get my bearings. I amble
along the Avenida de Mayo until I reach a prominent red sign,
which reads ‘Café Tortoni 1858’. This café is revered by porteños
as the first French café in the city. I follow the pleasant aroma
of freshly-brewed coffee into the dark-panelled and generouslymirrored
interior and order a cortado (strong espresso) and
medialunas (sweet croissant), just as the conoscente did in the
19th century.
The diners are huddled in close conversation and appear to be
quite physical and demonstrative when speaking. It’s the porteño
way. They are stylishly dressed in formal attire and appear to be
more European in appearance than Latin American. I might well
be sitting in a café in Milan or Madrid. I’m beginning to think
that Buenos Aires is a classic belle-époque European city that has
inexplicably found itself in the heart of South America.
Continuing on my walking tour, I stumble over a weird architectural
creation festooned with gargoyles and other demonic figures.
The Palacio Barolo was inspired by Dantés Divine Comedy. The
entry lobby is decorated as the inferno of Hell, the middle floors
are Purgatory and the upper floors signify Heaven. I take a bumpy
ride in an ancient iron-framed lift, not to enter the pearly gates
but to get a celestial view of the sprawling city.
Catching an inexpensive black and yellow cab (one of 60,000 in
the city) I head to Avenue Ninth of July. This magnificent avenue
hums with a sound that reminds me of low-frequency static in
an amplifier. I stand under the shiny white obelisk that proclaims
Argentina’s independence from Spain and listen to the throb and
thrum of a thousand vehicles traversing the 20 lanes of traffic on
the widest avenue in the world.
At this point I’m rather overwhelmed by the grandeur and
elegance of this vibrant city with a silver lining. Like Paris, it has a
certain je ne sais quoi that compels your attention. The variety of
architecture is surprising and the city is at once bewildering and
beguiling with a subtle blend of old and new.
I stroll east to the main shopping streets of Sante Fe and Florida
which have excellent pedestrian-only precincts. In the Galerias
Pacifico shopping complex with its paintings and frescos by great
masters, I see an impressive range of fashion wear, leather goods,
jewellery and books and sample the mouth-watering helado
(ice cream).
My day of promenading has created an appetite. I find an
Asado restaurant offering a selection of delicious meat cuts
from carcasses suspended over an open charcoal fire. With 50
million beef cattle on the pampas and 6000 restaurants in the
city to serve it, restaurateurs don’t skimp on portion sizes. A
palatable Malbec wine rounds off the meal. I make my way back
to the homely Tanquero Hotel on Suipacha Street for a wellearned
sleep.
Day two sees me jumping on a collectivo (bus), riding to Recoleta,
one of the city’s wealthiest districts. Among the designer fashion
boutiques, ritzy cafés, tango dancing couples, artists, clowns
and human statues is one of Buenos Aires greatest sights – the
Recoleta Cemetery.
I enter the colonnaded gates of this great necropolis and
am instantly lost in a marble-walled labyrinth. Monolithic
mausoleums sit side-by-side with modest tombs in this mini-city
that is a peaceful simulacrum of the frenetic metropolis outside
the gates. I find Eva Peron’s modest resting place, where fresh
flowers attest to the lasting devotion of the porteños.
Another taxi ride and I’m in Calle Defensa, the main street of
San Telmo district. I’m intrigued by the faded grandeur of the
buildings and the free, bohemian spirit of the people. There’s
an unpretentious, working-class charm about this barrio
with its antique dealers, street entertainment, tango dance
demonstrations and café culture. Taking a lunch break, I have a
choice of generous portions of pasta, parrilla (barbecued meat)
or pizza, which I finally select and it’s delicious.
It’s fascinating how Buenos Aires is so cosmopolitan and diverse
in its barrio neighbourhoods. Some have undergone significant
gentrification and are now slick and flashy, like San Telmo.
Others retain their historic, downtrodden look, like La Boca, my
final destination.
La Boca is the cradle of tango and also home to the La Boca
Juniors, Argentina’s greatest football team. In the Football
Museum I meet a larger-than-life statue of Diego Maradonna, an
idolised national hero. I stroll down the tourist honey trap of El
Caminito, an alleyway with eye-catching murals and corrugatediron
clad buildings decorated in unbelievably garish colours.
Buenos Aires is an exciting destination, a European-style cocktail
of pleasures and sights, laced with loads of Latin verve and
energy. For the Kiwi traveller it’s reasonably inexpensive with our
favourable exchange rate.
After two days on the trot I rate Buenos Aires as one of the best
walking cities on earth. The avenues are perfectly flat, there are
ample cool, shady resting places in parks and gardens and many
relaxing corner cafés.
It’s a city where you can step out in confidence and see everything
it has to offer. Allow several days to appreciate the elegance and
charm. Don’t miss any of it.
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