Buenos Aires, capital of Argentina, is located on the Rio de la Plata. The river is 200 miles long, and 60 miles wide at the entrance, and originates in the Rivers Rio Parana, Rio Paraguay ae wnd Rio Uruguay. It is said to be the widest estuary in the world.
But, history destined Buenos Aires to be famous for something apart from Rio de la Plata, it is the 'Paris of the South' and the world capital of Tango.
The city is a treasure trove of French, Neo Classic and Art Deco architecture. Its wide avenues are lined with elaborate and well preserved residential and commercial edifices, vying with the Champs Elisee for best in class. The Casa Rosada, seat of Government at the Plaza de Mayo, sets the overall tone. It is indeed 'rose' coloured, which originally came from a mixture of oxblood and lime. Eva Peron, almost a national Saint, spoke years ago from its famous balcony to the masses of adoring citizens of Buenos Aires.
Beside the Casa Rosada, there are quite a few other classic monuments to Buenos Aires turbulent, but highly cultivated past, such as the famous Opera House 'Teatro Colon', unfortunately not open to the public at present as it is being restored to its past glory. Palace de Congreso, Palacio Bardolo, the National Library and the Cathedral are precious monuments witnessing opulent investment in architecture. The whole city offers a glimpse of the past, which is still vibrantly humming today, in many of the 'districts' like Recoleta, famous for its elegant mansions and the incredibly ornate cemetry tombs, Palermo for its parks and public buildings, La Boca for its shadowy immigranty history and colourful tin architecture as well as the birthplace of Tango, El Centro for its magnificient structures such as the Galleria Pacifico, an exclusive old world shopping centre, one could go on for ever. 'Open air markets selling anything from fresh produce to antiques and trinkets dating back to the times when the local rich fell on bad times and had to sell most of their precious treasures invite browsing, and ever present cafes and restaurants tempt the visitor into a cafecito or a full fledged Argentinian piece of beef. Truly one of those few cities in the world which are alive and singing with excitement and vibrancy, with oases of tranquility offering relief.
I headed for the Sunday StTelmo 'flea-market', a once a week event for antique goodies as well as an open air stage for tango dance and music.
Of course, once we arrived it not only rained, but a prolonged heavy thunderstorm flooded Bueonos Aires with a deluge. Not to be deterred by little inconveniences like that I made my way to St Telmo, after investing $3 in an paragua (umbrella). All the market stands were covered in plastic sheeting. No one really cared too much about the rain, except one had to keep away from the edges of the plastic raincovers over the stalls, as the owners kept poking sticks into them to make the accumulated water spill out, usually over the heads of some unsuspecting passers by. The musicians and tango dancers kept out of the rain inside the numerous cafes, waiting for the thunderstorm to abate.
Tourists arrived and descended from their buses, taking one look at the flooded market place and heading back for their bus seats. I just sat it out in a cafe...the coffee does come in miniscule cups, but the concentration of thr beverage makes up for it.
The rain stopped, the street vendors spread out their offering of mate cups, jewelery incrusted umbrellas, scarves, postcards and whatever else is sellable in the perimeter of the antique market. The dango dancers put down their sheets of plywood serving as a make shift dance floor covering the polished round cobble stones of the streets, the musicians brought out their guitars and bandeons...and things just rolled along.
La Boca, where I went next, was still recovering from the downpour. The streets usually chockerblock full with tourists were deserted, restaurant tables under umbrellas still empty, tango dancers and singers still tentatively plying their trade under overhangs of buildings, and the ususal exhibitors of oil and watercolours on the rought streets keeping out of sight and rain.
I headed for Cafe Tortoni, on the Avenida de Mayo, a literary stronghold of old, and a 'must see' cafe of new. One steps back in time when sitting down own 1920's tables, gazing up at stained glass ceilings, and dark paneled wood walls adorned with ornate mirrors, sipping one of the obligatory cafecitos, thinking of all the literary greats who have debated the merits of politics, philosophy and poetry in these historic locales. Even through the 'dark years' of Argentina, when dictatorship gave rise to conspiracies and made thousands of Argentinians dissappear into obscurity and death, these venerable cafes survived and served 'cafecitos' to Dictators and Rebels alike.
I walked down the elegant Avenida de Mayo towards the Casa Rosada. Luck had it, that being a Sunday, the portals were opened to the public of Argentina. I joined a stream of local visitors, and wandered the opulent halls and meeting rooms, where Evita Peron lived and worked in years past, and where now ministers and government dignitaries sit in conference or are honored with special recognition. I even stood on the famous balcony, where Evita addressed the working poor, who adored her then and still venerate her like a saint today.
The sun had emerged and bathed the city not only in bright light, but suffocating humidity. Time for a 'something refreshing'. I strolled along Calle Florida, now in almost full Sunday afternoon swing, and found a pretty cafe with a view of the old 'Officers Clug of the Argentine Navy', an elaborate and exclusive affair of neo classic architecture and massive bronze doors. There I indulged in a refreshment appropriate to the moment, a Kir Royal. Perfect assessory to watching Portenos going about their Sunday business.
Buenos Aires would not be the same without tango in some reincarnation. I went to Cafe de Angelitos in the evening, and watched in envy as lythe dancers performed incredibly perilous maneuvres in a most sensuous manner accompanied by haunting melodies, going as far back as the beloved Carlos Gardel, most famous of Argentinia's past singers of tango.
That inspired me to search for my own tango assessories the next day: tango shoes. Only Argentinian shoemakers, artists in their own right, seem to understand how to convert cow-hide into the most exquisite creations ever to grace a female (or male) foot. Most of them are designed for superhuman feet, with stiletto heels of unimaginable height, and little if any support for mere mortals ....but, oh do they look georgeous. What is surprising - to me - is the fact that tango dancers almost without exception actually dance in them. Why - slip into one of these little beauties, and it feels as if one slips into the softest bedroom slippers. I bought the 'Salvation Army' version, meaning, the heels are low enough for me to wing my way across a ship board dance floor without toppling over at every little swell.
That was next day, when I ventured forth on my shopping spree. Buenos Aires is a walking city, but it is so vast, that reaching shops far apart would be somewhat strenuous even for the young and fit. So I took one of the many 'Subte's' (subterranean), in other word "Subways" and thus criss-crossed town from one tempting store to another. Pretty efficient and VERY cheap - 30 cents per ride, wherever.
I looked for a store on the 16th floor of the Bardolo Palace, which looks like a huge Parisian hotel with a cupola topping it, all neo -classic and suitably old. I rose to the 14th floor in a cage elevator, where one had to open cage doors by hand and one could see the entire elevator shaft through various gaps in ceilings and floors. Arriving at the 14th floor with great clanging and ringing, I realized that to get to the 16th I had to negotiate a couple of storeys of tight circular marble ladders ending right in the very top of the cupola of the building. The store up there was closed, but the door to the tiny terrace beside the cupola was open. I went out, and there was the whole expanse of Buenos Aires at my feet. Great stuff in one does not suffer from vertigo, and even better if the building would not sway and shudder each time one of the 'subte's' passed by underground 16 floors below.
Feeling a bit nauseous with all that swaying on a building a century old, I clambered down two floors and hitched another ride on the ancient 'acensor', now hoping that the whole thing would not collapse in a dusty heap of rubble before I reach street level.
Pity, one had to leave this fascinating city. The ship left late in the afternoon to cruise downriver for a while, then cruise upriver again (different shipping lanes because of the shallowness of the navigable channels in the Plata) to dock at Montevideo, Uruguay, the next morning.
The Portenos (people of the Port of Buenos Aires) can make it across in an hour. A fast, zero draft hydrofoil leaves from downtown BA and gets to Uruguay in about 40 minutes. Well, we took the scenic route...and danced a bit of imitation Argentinian tango on the way.
