Matadero, a Buenos Aires barrio so distant from downtown, it falls outside the general city maps. But, the
Guya Collectivo (Bus Guide) shows it, as well as a pocket sized Yellow Pages booklet with absolutely wonderful city maps. Wonderful? Yes, one can read them without a magnifying glass, just right for tracing a bus route. Collectivo 55 stops at my front door, and it does go to Matadero. Each Sunday, between April and December Matadero holds a huge urban Street Festival with a special flair. Matadero is the historic site of abattoirs (hence the name matadero) and still maintains tight connection to the cattle men and cowboys, in other words the
rezan and gaucho. A few city blocks are barred to traffic and filled with hundreds of artisan stands and dozens more for
Parillas (BBQ) and other local food goodies. Folklore dancing, tango, musical performances and singing are part of the festival, as well as gaucho shows and competitions. Gauchos dressed in traditional garb and herds of horses trek into the area for the occasion. I paid my 35 cents bus fare to cross the entire city, even found a seat (the advantages of Sunday) in the front and got my Yellow Pages out to keep track of progress. Of course, as soon as the bus took off, the overcast sky let loose with one of those drenching downpours typical of Buenos Aires. The gutters filled with water and passengers had trouble bridging these temporary rivers trying to get on and off the bus. Sitting in front with a great forward view, I could follow the street signs at every intersection (BA is actually quite advanced in that regard). However, here is the bad news. The bus drivers chauffeur like Terminator on Drugs. Anyone who gets slightly nervous being projected towards a red light at breakneck speed with nothing but a wind shield in front, and almost on top of some equally suicidal decrepit micro car ahead, and then coming to a halt that launches one out of one's seat should avoid the front row of BA buses. Pizza deliverers on skimpy mopeds whirl about the bus like a bunch of ants underfoot. Little old ladies, dragging their leashed miniature pinchers, cross the road on 'Red' and are missed by a hair - the dog's tail that is. The bus overtakes ANYTHING on the inside lane, preferably across an intersection with the curb line blocked on the far side. Well, one muscles ones way back into the driving lane between buses, cars, mopeds and pedestrians, open man holes and garbage containers awaiting pick-up. We careened through the barrios of Caballito, Flores (the urban capital for drug trade) and finally to Matadero. It still came down in buckets, but - under my trusty BA umbrella I headed along the street lined with deserted vending stalls towards the centre of activities.
First impression is not too encouraging...
No a single stall occupied....
Entry doors, somewhat decrepit, and held together with various kinds of materials, but with the original doorhandle and letter slot.
All ready for the party - but no one has turned up
Entry doors, somewhat decrepit, and held together with various kinds of materials, but with the original doorhandle and letter slot. 
All ready for the party - but no one has turned up 
