A Walk Through the Wilderness: Notes from the Beautiful Buenos Aires

In Spanish they use the word “know” when asking about where you visit instead of “see”. This weekend I met the lovely Buenos Aires, city of good air (aptly named when compared to Santiago).

If Rome and Paris had a child, it would be Buenos Aires, and it’s English speaking brother would be New York City. It’s cosmopolitan, with districts named Soho and Hollywood, where I learned the fun of window shopping - each glassy front presenting a story with mannequins and different props. Peeking in while walking along the cobblestoned streets was entertaining in itself and fun to imagine what money could buy if I had it. Tailored leather bags, sweaters, satin and cotton shirts with paisley or flower patterns covered the models, along with scarves and artistic trimmings. Leather shoes for ladies and gentlemen shone brightly in the windows. Tailored mens’ evening coats and jackets, complemented with a patterned tie and straight jeans appeared in browns and deep purple. Striped, paisley, tartan, and flower printed clothing hug the hangers, parading with finely knitted and checkered scarves, leather bags, fluorescent trinkets and retro bags with Marilyn Monroe face printed on them. These stores weren’t within the skyscrapers of NYC, but rather the smaller Spanish storefronts, with wooden doors, long windows and colored outer walls. As I walked along the sidewalk, golden leaves slowly fell around me and the street glistened from the light rain in the early afternoon. I could’ve wandered around these streets for more hours, which says a lot considering shopping tends to give me more anxiety than pleasure. I had fun buying some items for friends back home… as well as a few things for myself.

I felt like I was in NYC most of the time I was walking around the city. The massive Avenida 9 de Julio stretches out through the center, expanding with four streets, each with 2 or 3 lanes of traffic, as well as a park running through the middle. Roman columned government buildings dot the sidelines and an obelisk, a shorter copy of our own Washington monument, claims space in the middle. Every street contains restaurants, stores, pubs and cinemas. I stumbled upon one street that was lit up like Times Square for about 3 blocks, littered with cheap restaurants, cinemas and people selling kitsch items, reminding me of the Wildwood boardwalk in NJ. Another wider street, Santa Fe, hosted larger designer stores, sophisticated theaters and dozens of specialty furniture shops mixed with convenient stores and pharmacies. About 5 taxies drove by me every 30 seconds as I could feel my feet threatening to cramp from having walked for hours. I began thinking of myself more as trekking than walking in order to absorb as much of the city as possible.

Everyone I’ve met in Chile claims that Argentina has better meat but worse wine. I agree with this. What’s funny is that Chileans love their wine so much that it’s all you’ll really find in the grocery stores and wine shops, though I can’t blame them because it is so delicious. Also, what I think is different about South Americans, is that they know all the parts of the cow and the different kinds of cuts of meat. On the menu it specifies exactly where it’s coming from. The meat is definitely awesome, in both Chile and Argentina. The food in general, I think, has more of a kick to it – I feel like you get more quality for less money and the portion is more appropriate for what you can eat. Instead of receiving 8 oz of meat per person, coming with mashed potatoes, vegetables and salad – we shared about 12 oz of meat with tiny dishes providing tasty flavors to mix the meat with: pumpkin, mashed potatoes, onion, artichoke, tomato, and olive pastes. Prior to that, we actually shared other parts of the cow – the names of them escape me though. One was intestine I believe and the other was like sausage; both were fantastic.

When I walked through the parks in the afternoon people were relaxing and drinking matte while others were kicking around a soccer ball and still others had set up ropes between trees and were walking along them like a tightrope – interesting. I loved watching the people play soccer, not just because I actually do enjoy watching soccer, but it just seemed so particularly Argentine. I also wanted to just join some of the people drinking matte, but didn’t act upon that. At my hostel I had matte with some of the staff a couple mornings in a row - lovely.

But one area that absolutely floored me was the cemetery in Ricoleta. It had been recommended to me, but what I hadn’t known was that it doesn’t consist of graves in the ground, but actual mausoleums - houses of graves along tiny stone streets. Walking through brought new meaning to the phrase “on death’s door” in that, these people had tombs with their own doors. It was like streets of the dead. It almost doesn’t surprise me though, that South Americans would find a way to construct beautiful grave sights as well – some complete with columns, domes and sculptures of angels and the men within the ground. The evening light added even more weight to the artistry, the shadows adding more severity to the statues. In the moonlight I imagine it must be incredibly eerie and perhaps ghosts even peek their heads out of their doors and windows to see the night sky.

After the cemetary, I walked back through the market, where some people were dancing Tango on the street, to find La Flor. In the middle of an intersection I heard the tune of an American accent walk by.

"Excuse me! Where's La Flor?"

"Ah, the flower! Yes, that's worth seeing. I think it's over there..." said the Texan, as he pointed me in the wrong direction, "Our daughter just bought a miniature of it!"

His daughter proceeded to open a box with miniature metallic model of La Flor, a huge sculpture created for the university by one of its students. The metallic flower opens during the day and then closes at night. We had to ask a couple other people for the proper directions, but I loved connecting with these Texans. Hearing an American accent is music to my ears when in a crowd, it echoes of familiarity and home, even if they're from Texas.

Arriving back in Santiago was actually quite refreshing, mostly due to the people. Argentines struck me quite similar to New Yorkers, in the sense that they seemed more suspicious of me and though were truly accommodating, it was underneath a thicker skin. They seemed rougher around the edges and direct, whereas Chileans are a bit more open and warmer upon first acquaintance. For example, my taxi driver in Buenos Aires was swearing at the cars on the road, whereas in Chile, he was making small talk with me and I heard him say, “un beso, chau!” (“a kiss!”) at the end of his phone conversation. Hearing this, along with the quick intonation with the rises and drops, made me smile and very happy to be back.

Just a note on the change of Spanish, the Argentines pronounce all "y"s with a "sh". Therefore, you get:

Nueva York = Nueva Shor (New York)

hoy = hoysh (today)

alli = ashi (there)

aye = asher (yesterday)

lluvia = shuvia (rain)

Though I had enjoyed watching hundreds of rocky snowy mountain peaks change into expansive patches of plains below me as I flew across to Argentina, seeing the orange sky contrast with the majestic blue and purple shadowed mountains was a peaceful landscape to watch on the taxi ride back into Santiago. This is also the memory I have imprinted on my mind when I first arrived from Lima, finally reaching near the end of the Andes spine. Moments like this pull on my heartstrings, making me think twice about leaving such a new land. However, knowing that you’re leaving somehow sweetens each moment that you have left to cling onto, which is what time feels like now.

All I can do now is just savor the sweetness as best as possible.