Jono and I wasted no time in kicking off Buenos Aires with good food and great times: local beers and a big night of parrilla – neither disappointed. We managed to try three different grills and different cuts of meat. Our favourite -Bife de chorizo, a sirloin cut- has nothing to do with chorizo (disappointingly), except for the similarity in appearance when raw.
Also on the food trail, we tasted different chimichurri, a sauce typically made with vinegar, parsley, garlic and other ingredients with each restaurant makes their own to taste. Savoured a few bottles of Malbec and misordered a Tortontes, thinking it was a red wine and to be surprised by a sweet, full white. Conquered ordering pizza and empanadas at Güerrin, where we were the only gringos and pigged out (mostly me!) on the cheesy cheesy pizza. Gulped down a submarino, which is hot milk and a side of chocolate to melt for a liquid hot chocolate. And relaxed with a Saturday afternoon brunch at Hierbabuena in historic San Telmo.
The “free” BA walking was a great introduction to the city named by the Spanish sailors to thank the lady of the Good Winds, patron saint of sailors, for arriving on dry land after months of sailing. I found it unusual that for a city on the Atlantic sea, it didn’t make a bigger deal out of the water – I mean, Sydney is all about the harbour darling ☺️
Everything in Argentina is measured from the Plaza del Congreso at the ‘Monolito Kimolmetro Cero’ (0km monolith) which has been caged to protect it from “public expression” aka graffiti usually of a political nature, which seems to be everywhere. There’s also visible signs of protest about, with heavy police and blockade fencing on hand to respond quickly to the 20-30 strikes, protests or demonstrations that happen each week.
Every Thursday, the remaining Mothers of Plaza de Mayo silently protest, demanding to know what happened to their children – mostly students who “disappeared” (-aka were imprisoned by and) during the military government; since starting their protest in 1977, only three are now alive to continue. The white headscarf stencilled around town also represents their struggle.
Recoleta cemetery is a city within a city, hosting departed souls, intricate, breathtaking sculptures and grand mausoleums.
We headed back there to the Recoleta cultural centre which hosts, amongst other events, Fuerza Bruta. Running for more than 12years, it’s part circus, part nightclub, part visual feast, and was an incredible night out. Highly recommended.
The city has a relaxed approach to street art, with no restrictions as long as the artists has the property owner’s consent. We headed out on a street art tour to a district where the military government demolished houses to make way for a highway… that never got built. It’s a haven for large murals, breathing life into previously abandoned buildings and the neighbourhood is also going through a regeneration. It was really interesting to be talked through the meaning, process and history of the pieces.
We booked free tickets online for an English speaking tour of the Casa Rosada, the seat of Argentinian presidents – who needs a White House, when it can be pink?!! Legend has it that the Casa Rosada was painted pink as that they used cow blood and fat mixed with limestone to make waterproof paint and protect from the harbour and elements. It was amazing to be given access to the internal workings of the house, and be able to walk through one of the most important buildings in Argentina.
I especially liked the president bust gallery where the tour finished and the humour of the sculpture who produced Kirchner’s: see if you can spot the bandaid on his forehead. (Apparently the portrait for the sculptor was taken just after a journalist had thrown something at K hitting him in the head, and the sculptor stayed true to the picture!).
Jono and I mostly concentrated on BA by day – it’s a tale of two cities, with a whole new side being revealed at night. Only catch is that their evenings start at 2-3am! We wanted to see tango at a milonga (dance club) but weren’t keen on doing the lessons which started at 8pm, leaving on the option to go and see the social dancing which started from 11:30pm or 1:30am depending on the club. We chickened out and had a final fling with great cocktails at Doppelgänger. Upon hearing my poison of choice was a French martini, our mixologist said he would make me a drink full of body (said with a hip thrust gesture) and surprise (eye brows popping). I nearly fell off my chair after a sip – golly, it was strong!
Jono’s alarm woke us both early – he off to the airport, and me to wander the streets of San Telmo and its Sunday market.
I was happy to meet a group of Peronistas who were in BA to attend their political congress ahead of general elections in August and befriended me, chatting in Spanglish and French with some Google translate help. They shared their Yerba mate which was my first introduction to the green tea drink. It’s traditionally not sold in cafes as is seen as a communal drink: a person makes up a gourd-like cup with the herbs and hot water from their thermos, and is drunk through a metal straw, a bombilla. Once finished, it’s handed back, topped up with hot water and given to the next person, doing the rounds of the group. The mate paraphernalia business runs hot in afternoons – keep your eyes open for decorated gourds, matching thermos and carry bag kits, and even stylised bombillas. A great end to BA!
Muchas gracias y hasta luego Jono!
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