Buenos Aires

If we had noticed any differences from Peru and Bolivia when we arrived in Argentina, these were fully realised upon our arrival to the capital city. The people are taller and you might see the occasional blonde. They wear similar clothes to us in Europe. They speak a slightly different form of Spanish at a faster rate. There are no obvious remains of indigenous dress and culture as in Peru and Bolivia. Dogs appear to have owners. They smoke a lot more cigarettes than anywhere else we’ve been and it’s a lot more expensive than everywhere else too. Buenos Aires is referred to as “the Paris of the south” and it’s easy to see why. There is a huge cafe culture (as in Paris), with haughty, indignant waiters (as in Paris). There are roads so wide that it takes an Olympic standard sprint to reach the other side before the lights change (as in Paris) with drivers that view pedestrians as an unnecessary disturbance in their journey and should be swept aside like a gnat hitting a windscreen (as in Paris). Everyone, men included, greet each other with a kiss on the cheek (as in Paris), and presumably they pass on each others germs as there are pharmacies on every corner (as in Paris).

There is one other major thing about Argentina, aside from the incredible steaks and the amazing wine – Matē drinking. Matē is a loose herb fusion packed into a small gourd and topped up with hot water. This is then drunk through a metal straw by the person who prepared the drink and passed amongst their group, who then in turn hand it back when they’re finished. A strange ritual and surely a guaranteed way of catching a cold, we’ve thus far declined to partake. It seems de rigueur for Argentines and certainly a peculiar sight at first, seeing burly Gauchos, in parks, on buses, in the high street, at major tourist attractions, carrying a thermos and clutching their slightly camp, elaborately decorated gourd.

We’d decided to skip the 23 hour bus ride to Buenos Aires and treat ourselves to a 1 ½ hour flight instead. This being a little frivolous in terms of our budget, we were keen to scrape back a few pennies and attempted to get a public bus from the airport. After 10 minutes of being pestered by taxi touts at every step, a woman at the information desk took pity and pointed us in the direction of the tourist friendly, safer and rather more expensive airport transfer.

Safely deposited at our hostel, we walked into a big open plan area with a slightly industrial feel and plenty of poster art and graffiti decorating the walls. The space was occupied by lots of young, cool looking types watching tv, sitting with their laptops, smoking and generally being young and cool. I remember what that was like....*sigh*

The hostel had lost our reservation. I wasn’t overly surprised as this sort of thing crops up a lot when reading reviews on booking sites. Full of pompous bluster I huff my indignation at being put up in a different room to the one we had requested and demand that we get moved to a double room the very next morning. A short while later, a confused looking receptionist appears at the door with a piece of paper bearing my name and booking reference. I notice the date - Tuesday 2nd August. Yesterday. $@#*&$%£”&!
Humbly mumbling profuse gratitude in an attempt to redeem myself, we agree to stay the rest of the week at the hostel, which was becoming increasingly reminiscent of a Spanish “Byker Grove”.

We love the San Telmo district of B.A with its cobbled streets lined with crumbling Parisian style buildings, shop windows brimming with antiques, parilladas serving juicy grilled meats, cosy cafes and bohemian bars adorned with their bright fileteado signage.
A walk around the centre of Buenos Aires taking in the main tourist sights reminds us of London and we can’t help but make comparisons. Plaza De Mayo (Parliament Square), Avenue De Mayo (Holborn), Avenue Corrientes (Shaftesbury Avenue), Calle Esmeralda (Soho), Plaza De Martin (Greenwich), Calle Florida (...Ilford - on a bad day).
As Katy’s jeans were falling from her waist and the big toe protruding from my shoes was drawing adverse attention, we squeezed in a much needed shopping trip before heading out for a night on the tiles. We left the club at 5am after dancing like idiots all night, merry and with ears ringing. Best night out in ages. Who said we’re not cool?!?

After a predictably late start the next (same) day, we summoned our inner “Lovejoy” by taking a gentle wander around the massive antiques and artisan market in San Telmo. They’ve got some incredible stuff and I wish we knew more to fully appreciate it. After walking the seemingly un-ending length of the market, we made our way to the eco-reserve in the smart regeneration area of Puerto Madero, which was a welcome respite after the busy crowds.
To visit one of the highlights of the city we needed to catch the Subte to Retiro, which unbeknownst to us, is the main transport hub of Buenos Aires. Both the coach and train stations are here, making it a noisy and dirty blend of all the worst bits of London’s mainline stations rolled into one. We find our way to Recoleta after initially going in completely the wrong direction (the maps here are terrible...) and head straight for the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes. According to the guide book it has a large display of European Impressionist paintings – which I won’t see as the place is closed for the day. To ease my grim mood we go for a walk around a cemetery.

Recoleta cemetery is unlike any graveyard that we have seen before. It’s the size of a village (they provide you with a map at the entrance) and contains the most incredible crypts and tombs of Argentina’s rich and famous. Katy is fascinated and wanders through the avenues taking photographs of nearly every plaque and memorial. I can’t decide if it’s a low level morbid fascination or her inner Japanese tourist....?
The weather has got noticeably colder (or was it just the cemetery?) so we race back to catch the train. As with London, getting on the tube here is a trying experience, yet I think Londoners are comparatively dignified when fighting their way into cramped carriages. Here, they heave, push, bundle and scramble their way in as if it’s the last train fleeing a city terrorized by alien genocide. Katy and I stood back and watched with bewildered amusement...

Argentines have many passions which are evident by the proliferation of their iconic imagery everywhere you look. The principle idols seem to be; the Virgin Mary, Eva Peron, the Tango, ‘Che’ Guevara, Carlos Gardel (“the king of tango”), Diego Maradona (the less said about him, the better), and, rather oddly, The Beatles. The Fab Four’s faces are plastered everywhere and when people find out we’re from England, they ask “ah, from Liverpool??”
The tango is synonymous with Buenos Aires – people are dancing it in the streets, the imagery is forged onto every conceivable piece of tourist paraphernalia and the markets are filled with vendors hawking the music to accompany it. Our night of experiencing this cultural phenomenon was ace from start to finish. We rocked at the tango lesson, the steak dinner supplemented by bottomless wine tasted great, and the show afterwards was entertaining and fascinating.

La Boca is renowned as being the dodgy part of town, and one where it is advised to stick to the main tourist streets at all times as muggings can happen even in daylight. Our first trip to this area had been aborted after a mild disagreement concerning our safety as we walked towards the football stadium. I had led us down a road I believed to be the correct path but Katy begun voicing her reservations progressively more vehemently as we walked deeper and deeper into an area of tower blocks, burnt out cars and scabby looking dogs fighting over what could be the remains of the last foolish tourist to stray into these parts. Being a former resident of Bromley By Bow, I didn’t see what the problem was but not wishing to have a domestic in front of a council estate in any part of the world, I conceded that this probably fell into the “un-tourist” part of La Boca and we hurried back to the comparative safety of San Telmo.

Four days later and full of “yeah, well, I live in Hackney” bravado, we bowled into the area and, dodging our way amongst the extraordinary amount of dog crap littering the pavements, took in the main sights. Trying to ignore the fact that we were wearing Berghaus jackets that would normally draw threateningly envious looks even in our native Bethnal Green, we wandered (quite quickly) past the La Boca Juniors football stadium and on to the brightly coloured buildings of Caminito. By this time I was in desperate need of a loo and therefore wasn’t thinking clearly when I allowed us to be coaxed into a quiet restaurant by a chap who looked like he was on day release from a mental unit. Crisis over, we sat outside and observed the normal looking waiters serving the crowds at the busy restaurant opposite and tucked into possibly the worst lunch we’ve had yet. Katy sampled a dish from the “traditional Argentinian” section of the menu – fried, breadcrumbed steak with fried egg on top and chips: Yes parents we are eating healthily!

Buenos Aires is great, but as with anywhere, after a while you notice the cracks in the make-up. The broken paving makes it precarious to walk anywhere without constantly looking down, (which actually helps you to avoid the mass of dog turds everywhere). The fact that all of their public buildings, memorials, statues and places of historical interest are covered in graffiti, we found to be irritatingly disrespectful and adds an unnecessary layer of grime to what could (and should) be a very beautiful city.
*****************************************************************************Cordoba
Cordoba is a smart, modern city that is not covered in dog crap, or matē drinkers, has beautiful churches, public spaces and a great art gallery. It’s also scorching hot, which totally caught us out after the rather grey and bleak weather of B.A. We stayed in a grubby, but cheap and centrally located hostel and discovered that Cordoba is seriously lacking in decent eating establishments and anything to keep you there.

So we checked out and took ourselves on a trip to the estancia town of Alta Gracia. Once a mountainous retreat for the provinces bourgeoisie, the town is really only famous for it’s Jesuit church on the main square and the fact that a young Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara spent a few childhood years there. We visited the museum dedicated to the iconic revolutionary and found it to be considerably more interesting than either of us had anticipated.
The Jesuit estancia was picturesque and painted an accurate historical portrait of life in the town from the 1500’s on, but not being overly interested in museums and having already done one that day, we headed back to the bus station and back to Cordoba for our onward bus to Mendoza.

Dean 15/08/11