Valery – her wonderful blog and pics. (January 09)
http://8daysinbsas.blogspot.com
2. Marcus – his published article in TRIP ADVISOR (March 5, 2009)
“Porteños would never do this.” “Do what, exactly?” Although I knew what this alluring Porteña and my current dinner companion meant, I was eager to avail myself to any and all opportunities to hear her lyrically-accented ingles articulate her whimsical thoughts once more. Her voice was smooth, every syllable as intoxicating as the Malbec we shared around midnight at Quiroz Restaurante in Palermo SoHo.
She nodded slightly to her right thru the large window towards the diners to my left, enjoying dinner al fresco – between staring at the two of us doing ‘this’ – dancing in our seats to a 3-piece band’s loud and disjointed rendition of the Stones’ “Miss You”.
I waved to the eyes outside while admiring their steak. Seemed perfect after our appetizers of calamari fried in a light batter with limon and dill sauce proved crispy and delicious, but our caesar salad with pollo was dreadful with an overpowering anchovie flavor – to salty excess. The filet mignon however, was as succulent, tender and flavorful as it appeared on my audiences’ plate – easily ranking as one of the best steaks I’ve yet to taste. Accompanying sweet potatoes hit a perfect note balancing seasoning and texture. Little room remained for tiramisu, but I’ve never been one to decline postre, and I’m pleased I didn’t this night. Soothing music to the palate – it was that good, that memorable…
As were words spoken softly by the Porteña – “we’re reserved here.” Well, who am I to argue with a born-and-raised native? Still, I begged to differ, “you have tango! Seems such a display of passion and fluid grace doesn’t get much more expressive than that!” Smiling in agreement, she spoke again, “I know you want to dance and I’m adventurous – we’ll dance tonight…”
“Check, please!”
And so went the night, my third of four in BsAs and like the previous two, it was a stimulating one – with the added benefit of not having to partake in BsAs’ splendor all on my own. Not that I had time to contemplate (or even notice) my solitude; due in large part to the many Porteños I encountered and their curiosity, I never felt lonely nor alone. Indeed, after initially finding Porteños rather aloof – as many big-city dwellers seem at first glance – I soon discovered and experienced warm, affable folks who were more than willing to share not only a laugh or two, but also their immense love for this special place called Buenos Aires, that they proudly call home.
But is there truly no place like ‘home’? Afterall Senorita Dorothy, BsAs is often referred to as ‘the Paris of S.A.’ – a catchy sell, but I’m not convinced of its accuracy – or necessity. Paris without question is an extraordinarily beautiful and seductive city, worthy of her place at the pinnacle of scenic and romantic locales – and so is BsAs in her own right and on her own terms. Despite obvious similarities in both cities’ abundant supply of Belle Époque-styled architecture, particularly the apartment towers with their rounded corners and wrought-iron balconies, I admired BsAs’ neighborhoods with their mix of varying styles from different eras, which apparently continues to this day. Many modern high-rises rose above elegant turn-of-the-century apartment houses, some with quaint corner cafes off their lobbies, and yet there remained an appealing, uniformed harmony within their diverse complexity.
When considered with BsAs’ ubiquitous trees, they formed a gorgeous urban landscape from which to ponder these structural wonders as the living art they are. Trees in Paris by comparison (and as envisioned by Haussmann), are positioned in a very orderly fashion with each one perfectly trimmed for exact height and shape (to charming affect I might add). BsAs’ trees had equal charm in addition to being resplendent in full bloom. From surrounding intimate fountains on tiny picturesque squares to the leaves of branches intertwined high above Avenida Sante Fe, they created an inviting (and cooling) canopy of filtered sunlight – perfect for strolling this busy Recoleta thoroughfare on a humid summer’s day.
Thankfully I was well-adjusted to heat, having arrived nicely tanned from the sizzling shores of Praia do Ipanema on a timely and thank God, drama-free Aerolineas Argentinas flight. After a quick pass thru customs, I exchanged dollars with Banco Nacion at the airport just past customs at a rate of AR$3.48.
My pre-arranged driver dropped me off at home – a hip studio apartment at Gurrachaga 1136 off Cordoba in what was billed as Palermo SoHo, but considering it was on the other side of Cordoba, I think Villa Crespo is a more apt designation. Regardless, my abode like this eclectic neighborhood, was perfect for my needs: small but cozy and modern, quite efficient and situated in a hot nightlife/dining area, yet not of it, so what little sleep I managed was very peaceful and needed after enjoying SoHo’s myriad of nocturnal offerings. With an exception given to the lack of a doorman (as advertised), the apartment otherwise lived up to my expectations as did my dealings with Nancy Landi Properties who rented it to me.
Just around the corner on Cordoba, Claro activated my tri-band unlocked phone for AR$30 (a visit to a nearby kiosk is where I subsequently obtained a PIN for AR$45) – so I got my number and me and my camera got to walking… Before long, fear of street crime overtook me. Oh I heard the horror stories, but until just 10 minutes ago, I didn’t understand the severity of these assaults. The culprit? Man and his best friend’s unfriendly sidewalk manners! Now, I can’t say I witnessed the perps in umm, action, but I did see and certainly smelled distinct evidence of their crimes. Cautious eyes trained on the sidewalk prevented any missteps even though my NYC quick-paced gait was held-up on several occasions, if not by Rover’s odors, than certainly by tiled sidewalks in varying states of disrepair. I imagine after yet another near trip and fall, some passerby heard me yell-out in not nearly-fluent español, but rather another language. From France. Pardon moi…
Occasionally, I found myself giving pardons to a few Porteños I passed whose stares bordered on impolite. Granted, I took no offense and instead proffered my smile. Besides, I understood rather quickly from where their reactions stem – I encountered no other person of color during the first 3 of my 5 days amongst the throngs of humanity that passed my way in the heart of this bustling metropolis. The experience, while less than unnerving, was still every bit as exotic and new to me as my presence obviously appeared to them. Of course, that’s not to say BsAs is completely void of diversity; to the contrary, I passed a mosaic of people representing races and cultures from the four corners, and many Porteño faces reflected their native-American heritage. Nevertheless, apparently my dark skin remained a rare sight for many sore eyes.
Although for social purposes, it was a very good look – I suppose I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect opening liner – “stare here often?”
Laughter and a smile go a long way and they were free-flowing with the gregarious locals I had the pleasure to meet. From the bubbly Porteña of a certain age who after a double-take, complimented me as she passed my small sidewalk café table at Tiende in Recoleta, to the kind gentleman who after seeing me consult my ever-present map in the subte, offered his assistance with warmth and an “enjoy BsAs!” as a parting sentiment, I truly could not have asked for more agreeable hosts.
Or more lively ones for that matter. My first night found me jet-lagged and sleep-deprived, yet I was still eager to experience what’s so hot in SoHo. I wasn’t disappointed. Plaza Serrano, just a five-minute walk away, found me enjoying many of the surrounding watering holes in addition to adjacent neighborhood streets filled with culinary and nightlife options and buzzing with activity ‘til very late (or very early in the morning, depending on your stamina). I started at Maleva Restaurant directly on the Plaza at Serrano 1598, enjoying a nice house Malbec, soon making acquaintances with several SoHo residents, many out with their strollers, other couples alternated pushing their little ones on the adjacent swings that elicited shrills of delight from toddlers who swayed back and forth. At 10:30pm.
Meridian Bar 58 on J.L. Borges 1689 was the epitome of laid-back and chilled with a duly radiant crowd that deserved a lounge offering nothing less. And apparently, here is where they wanted to be – swaying to mellow tunes in strapless dresses or tight denim, under an open-roof with a view to a radiant full-moon, this scene redefined the term ‘sexy’. I ordered a caipirinha – “Hola…my what lovely stares you have…”
I called it a night with a delicious slice from a non-descript corner pizzeria on Honduras on the way home, early. It was 2:30am.
The plan was to start the next day with a trip to Floralis Generica, instead the cloudy day that greeted me on my balcony as well as the predicted rain, made an opportune time to visit the serenity and majesty of Recoleta Cemetery. Although I had purchased a subte pass for AR$11 which allowed 10 rides on an efficient subway system, I ventured on foot down Avenida Sante Fe, stopping at Alto Palermo mall for a bite to eat and a respite from the soaking Mother Nature provided to a parched BsAs.
Showers fell and ended within 2 hours, just enough time to regret ordering jamón crudo from Alto’s top-floor glass-enclosed restaurant, overlooking the umbrellas that crowded the intersection of Avenidas Colonial Diaz y Aranales below. Nice setting for lunch, if poor choice of sandwich; no worries, I’d gladly return for their chocolate square-topped cappucino served with a generous dollop of cream that lazily dissolved with each sip. BsAs knows their coffee. Me and my mornings are pleased to now know that fact…
Recoleta was a study in opulence from a bygone era – monuments to the memorable lives that now rest in this hauntingly-beautiful and hallowed ground. Eva Peron’s eternal home was alive with flowers surrounding its relatively subdued facade. I spent well over an hour wandering Recoleta’s narrow passageways, humbled passing yet another elaborately-detailed statue or ornate tomb, alone in thought but not lacking for compania; three friendly felines forever brushed their purring bodies hard against my leg as I attempted to digitally capture what was so visually moving.
Later that night my feet had to do some moving as well; the dance began the moment I entered Club Aråoz and didn’t end until I exited Club Niceto at 4:30am. Both hotspots showcased dancers who gyrated on packed floors with attitude to an exhilarating mix of American-centric hip-hop, rock-infused Argentine electronica and throbbing drum-n-bass. My ears are still ringing! Niceto’s a mere 5 blocks from home, so I enjoyed the casual stroll back thru the quite active calles of SoHo.
Miraculously by 10:30am I was out the door, bound for Avenida Corrientes and an opportunity to ride the fabled wooden subte cars of Linea A. After navigating thru angled streets of Villa Crispo, I arrived in Abasto and walked along Corrientes past everything from car repair shops and markets to laundry facilities and hardwares – this was a well-serviced commercial neighborhood. A wonderful mosaic of folks from all walks of life parading along this busy avenue added color to the scene. Being accustomed to long distances living in NYC, I didn’t mind walking the extra blocks the closure of 2 stations necessitated and Almagro made for an interesting stroll.
The Carlos Gardel station was open, but the train was not wooden; apparently they run at random. Well, I suppose that’s yet another good reason to return to BsAs…
Exiting at Carlos Pelligrini, in short order I toured the area surrounding the Obelisco, including a partially-shrouded Teatro Colón and Plaza Lavalle, strolled thru Plaza de Mayo where Casa Rosada seemed to glow in the early afternoon sun and Calle Florida was as imagined – hectic! Packed with hawkers and shoppers, tourists and performers, it had the feel if not the intensity of Broadway and 47th in Times Square. In other words, I liked it. Heavy on pop culture and kitsch, Florida’s pedestrian mall was the perfect locale to take a break from the heat, grab a dulce de leche and watch the world of people go by.
I continued my walk down Calle Defensa bound for San Telmo, stressed by reality of the painfully obvious variety – I’ve just 2 more days in BsAs! Shifting focus, I returned to enjoying the moment; easy to do while witnessing tango dancers for the very first time in Plaza Dorrego. Smooth as silk with an effortless skill, they twirled and slid across the floor oblivious to an enthralled audience that clung to their every dramatic yet graceful step. The passion on display was quite palpable, even as they gently reminded me that what I was witnessing was not motions of their bodies but from their souls. Set against a backdrop of quaint colonial buildings, their Dorrego stage also included various artisans who sold their crafts between witnessing poetry in motion, the dancers’ performance as art.
After a sincere gracias for their efforts and $10 pesos for their propina, I bid the dancers and San Telmo’s charming and cobble-stoned streets adeus. I was heading to La Boca, quite the distance, but well worth my efforts. My reward came in the form of interesting side streets and colorful buildings that surrounded Parque Lazamo and the Museo Histórico Nacional. El Hippodromo, a relaxing and atmospheric cafe, with plenty of old school charm, was a cool spot to enjoy a cold cervesa.
Tourist traps can have charm too as quirky El Caminito soon proved. Plenty of tango here, performed along streets of vivid, multi-colored tenements where various diminutive doll figures (including Eva Peron who waved from a balcony) further enhanced the carnival-like atmosphere. Several outdoor stages fronted restaurants with make-shift stages where once again I marveled at the grace of seductive movements performed with flair to spare. Seamless movement never looked more perfect. And then a dancer asked that I join her on stage. Can’t say I’m exactly shy and I’m blessed with rhythm, but humility rules my world on all things tango. Something musth’ve been lost in translation, ‘cause she wasn’t entertaining any of my hesitations as this tiny dancer pulled me close and began to count time in my ear to a guitarists’ clipped strumming.
I made a moment, still I’ve no plans to tender my resignation from a day job. Pictures were taken and kisses to cheeks exchanged as I left to further explore amongst the throngs of my fellow camera-toting tourists.
A taxi provided much-needed air conditioning as it sped back uptown for my rendezvous with Punta de la Mujer. I’ve seen countless pictures of this sleek span, but they do its flawless lines little justice. It’s a daring structure with its elegant design and daring engineering, a fact made clear upon noticing the connecting section of the bridge in the center of the waterway, which facilitates the bridge’s 90 degree swing allowing water traffic to pass; the kayaker below, who glided pass required nothing of the bridge, although I’m certain he’s pleased such a striking work of art exists.
On such a humid day, a ride up Cordoba for home on a cooled collectivo was literally just the ticket, dispensed in the form of a tiny receipt of sorts from a meter after depositing $2 pesos in change for fare. Suspended straps are there for a reason I soon discovered as the increasingly packed bus careened thru rush-hour traffic as though it were due ‘there’ yesterday.
After a couple hours of much needed rest, I was ready for Friday night and the rhythmically-gifted Porteña’s 11:00pm arrival for dinner at Quiroz, which concluded with dancing – salsa to be precise, courtesy of my portable iPod player that called the tunes that moved our bodies ‘til 5:30am.
Not at all tired five hours later, I strapped on my rollerblades this balmy Saturday morning and rolled up Calle Thames to Avenida Sante Fe on a direct route past sprawling Jardins Botanico and Zoológica as well as Parque Tres de Febrero and the landmark Monumento a las Españoles, whose fountain served as a makeshift piscina for one animated family who let it be known they were ready for their close-up.
Avenida Alcorta’s expansive width was softened by parks and made more appealing by trees nestled against modern apartment towers that gleamed from upon high; a visual treat along the way to the main course Floralis Generica, which shimmered in the morning sunlight.
Up close, it is both eccentric and graceful and larger than I imagined, but every bit as intriquing. Birds rested gently on its petals as sunlight reflected the waves from a circular pool that served as its base. Resting on the hill that frames this flower’s edge, I reflected on the beauty and serenity this sculptural gift (and of course, the ciudad where it blooms) imparts.
I dined alone on tender veal and of course, a glass or two of Malbec that last Saturday night at Restaurante Lo de Jesus, located at Gurruchaga 1406, just down the calle from my apartment . Sitting outside at 1:00am, the city was alive, the night still very young, and as revelers passed my table, I wondered if they’d be enticed as I was and return to this seemingly perpetually-crowded and uniquely cozy spot. They should. The service as well as the ambiance was very warm and inviting. To say nothing of the prices (reasonable is an understatement for many attractions in BsAs); I almost felt guilty spending so little for such flavorful and inspired culinary indulgences.
My after-dinner intentions were to return to my apartment by 2:00am and pack for a return to my beloved Rio. I left the restaurant for the short 3 block walk home resolved to curtail the night. Then I heard that unmistakable hypnotic samba beat eminating from the vivid facade of club Devenir Brazil. I’d passed this building with its bright facade bearing the green and yellow colors of Brazil’s flag a few times during the day, but had no idea it was this quente at night. Packing would have to wait.
Who knew? There’s a thriving Brazilian community in BsAs as well as a devoted following of Porteños who know their way around a Brazilian back-beat. Well, so do I! Before long, I too was grooving to hot samba and Carioca funky rhythms with the flirtatious of BsAs once again. I managed to leave by 5:30am, reluctantly.
Ahhh, but all good things meet an end and great places require further exploration, so after checking out of my apartment, I wondered a bit thru SoHo melacholy in the thought there were so many things I didn’t explore during my now painfully obvious too-brief visit. Four hours separated me from my ride to the airport, so I flagged a taxi and made a deal: Take any scenic route towards the Obelisco, por favor.
Turns out my cabby loved BsAs and was pleased to indulge my desire to see a bit more of her appeal prior to waving these moments good-bye. We chatted further with an interest of not killing time, but sharing ideas and experiences. Fabled Cafe Tortoni semed a perfect setting for a farewell cappucino with a patient and well-informed driver. Congreso’s fountains and domes met my camera next, before a reminder that I couldn’t possibly leave without stopping by the gem that is the Palace of Running Water. It is a structure without comparison and brimming with architecture any eccentric would love, it was quite a sight to behold.
Alas, time dictated that this brilliantly grandiose Palace would be the last thing I beheld…
So, with an earnest ‘gracias’ and a parting hug, I left Rafael and entered EZE, comforted by that warm glow of feeling I’d experienced something unique, something unforgettable, something that will forever remain with me until my inevitable return, only to be moved again by the seductive intensity expressed in a dance named tango, found within this vibrant city named Buenos Aires…
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A Thousand Words: BFG’s Photographs of BsAs…
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