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Save Me a Spot Near Evita
by Cara Frost Sharratt
I don't like going to see a film when I've read or heard too much
about it. You have so many preconceptions and other peoples'
opinions clouding your viewing that it’s sometimes difficult to
make your own unimpaired judgement of it. The same goes for
places, and this is particularly true when you're travelling. You
rarely arrive in a new place without the thoughts and advice of a
dozen different people steering you subconsciously towards certain
hostels, sights and restaurants and you've pretty much made up
your mind if you're going to like a place before you've even
stepped off the bus.
And so it was that we arrived in Buenos Aires, weary and dazed
after our mammoth journey, and heads full of a thousand
recommendations. It was probably partly due to this that we chose
a hostel that had only been open a month - if we were going to
tread the well-trodden tourist paths around the city, then at
least we'd be sleeping somewhere that not many people had stayed
in yet. As the taxi pulled up outside, I began to think we
shouldn't have been quite so trail blazing. It was situated
underneath a flyover for what was apparently, judging by the
noise, a very busy dual carriageway, and the bags of festering
rubbish just beside the door didn't make for a particularly
appealing entranceway. The driver offered to wait while we checked
it out and when we said we were sure it would be fine for one
night, he mumbled something about looks sometimes being deceiving
and pushed a handful of leaflets for other establishments into my
hand. He clearly thought we were barking mad for even considering
going inside, but as it turned out, we were right to push the
buzzer, as it was by far the nicest hostel we had parked our
rucksacks in yet. We stayed there for the whole week, gradually
becoming accustomed to the noise of the traffic, which only made
our room vibrate noticeably when a particularly large lorry drove
past.
I didn't fall in love with Buenos Aires at first sight, far from
it in fact. I was almost disappointed by this as we walked around
the streets on our first morning there, as I really wanted too. I
was mentally urging Tangoing couples to spill out of smoky cafes,
the open doors revealing old men playing week-old games of chess.
However, it wasn't to be, and the sleepy streets of San Telmo
district revealed only shut shops and restaurants and the odd
drunk slumped in a doorway. As it turned out, we couldn't have
picked a worse day to arrive. Monday is the quietest day of the
week, when everyone and everything recovers from the weekend and
catches up on some sleep, ready to start all over again around
Wednesday.
Buenos Aires is the kind of city that requires perseverance and,
given the right amount of patience and a comfortable pair of
shoes, it will slowly reveal its charm and beauty. By day two, we
were starting to be drawn into the spell, as we wandered around
the up market area of Recoleta. We made the obligatory stop at the
city's most famous tourist attraction - Recoleta Cemetry and, more
specifically, the grave of Eva Peron. It says something (and I'm
not quite sure what) about a city, that it's most-visited landmark
is a cemetery, but it is a pretty amazing place, packed with
ostentatious mausoleums, some of which are bigger than your
average UK starter home. We were pleased to discover that Evita's
was comparably understated, tucked between others adorned with
marble carvings and statues of the deceased in biblical poses. We
followed this by a trip to 'Grant's', an up market all-you-can-eat
restaurant, where for the princely sum of two pounds, you can
gorge yourself on as much freshly-grilled meat and fish, pasta,
salads and a tooth-decaying selection of desserts as you can eat
without bursting.
Food and drink forms a large part of Buenos Aires (and indeed
Argentinian) culture. There's a café, bar or restaurant on every
corner of every street, and often a good few in between as well,
most of which are packed for the hours surrounding lunchtime, and
busy the rest of the day. In scenes more reminiscent of Italy than
South America, men in suits stand side-by-side along the café
counters, sipping on espressos and catching up on the headlines in
the papers. Seating areas seem to be the domain of ladies of
indeterminable age, with unsubtle but impeccable make-up, and
'just stepped out of the salon' hair that wouldn't give an inch in
a hurricane. It means that any walk around an area is inevitably
punctuated by numerous coffee and cake stops, which provide the
ideal opportunity for that great Argentinian pastime,
people-watching. It's also often a chance to shop. People come
into the cafes selling a wide range of generally useless goods,
ranging from clothes pegs to stationary sets. I have to admit that
I did get a bit carried away on one occasion and ended up
purchasing a self-opening calculator clock, with time displays for
fifteen cities and ten different alarm tones, wondering at the
time how I'd managed to get through my life to date without one.
Needless to say, it's been buried at the bottom of my bag ever
since.
This propensity for checking everyone out is perfectly harmless
and seems to be borne more out of genuine interest than rudeness.
Walk into any restaurant and most of the clientele will give you a
perfunctory once-over before returning to their starters. This
attitude spills over into the nightlife too, and it's here that
Buenos Aires really has the edge on other cities. With a thriving
indigenous dance music scene and world-renowned clubs, you could
happily keep yourself up all night, every night of the week (apart
from perhaps Monday, when you'd have to make do with a few drinks
in a bar until about 3am). The real eye-opener though,
particularly from a Londoner's perspective, is that most
self-respecting establishments don't really get going until after
midnight, and more often, around 2am. Therefore, the only feasible
way to be able to at least make a dent on the bar and club scene
and still be able to function during the day, is to take a nap in
the evening before going out. It takes more than a certain amount
of will-power and practise to get up, get dressed and go out at
around the time you’d normally be heading home after a night out.
But practise makes perfect as they say, and by our fourth night in
the city, having spent a couple of evenings in the most archetypal
Argentinean bar that looked like a chair hadn't changed position
for the last hundred years, we'd sussed it and headed off to 'the'
club to go to on a Thursday night. Despite arriving at just after
1am, we still had to queue for an hour before it opened and,
although I probably didn't think so whilst in the queue, with
hindsight it was well worth the effort. It was packed to bursting,
but with a bunch of really friendly people and the atmosphere was
great.
This hospitality often makes you forget you're in a capital city,
inhabited by over thirteen million people. Portenos (as residents
of the city are called) are generally very open and warm and there
doesn't seem to be any of that 'time is money' mentality that is
an inherent part of cities like London and New York. Buenos Aires
is bustling at best, but never overwhelming, and people will take
the time to stop and chat. Like the old man at the bus stop who
beckoned us over to sit next to him on a bench as he proceeded, in
impeccable English, to tell us about some of the history of his
country.
We headed across town to the area of Palermo on Saturday, where
the streets were lined with trendy bars and restaurants, some of
which give over much of their floor-space to up-and-coming clothes
designers during the day, so you can sip on a cold beer whilst
browsing rails of one-off skirts and T-shirts. In the little
square in the centre, artists and photographers display their work
and people wander around between refreshment stops, stopping to
admire each other’s dogs and babies.
Saturday night was when we found our tangoing couples, and in
abundance. We bit the bullet and went to a Tango show, which
turned out to be superb. Tables of people were squashed like
sardines into a tiny cafe called 'Bar Sur' where, blinds drawn and
lights dimmed, we were introduced to this Argentinian phenomenon.
The dancing itself is breathtaking, with the clothes and the
dramatic execution adding to the whole experience. It's also at
the weekend that the dancers take to the streets and the whole San
Telmo district finally comes alive, buzzing with music, market
stalls and people wandering around or sitting on cafe balconies,
enjoying the sunshine. Nearby La Bocca is also tapping its toes to
the sultry sounds of Tango and the famous brightly-coloured houses
form a suitable backdrop for the dancers and artists.
It's strange to think that just a few years ago, Buenos Aires
would have been beyond the budget of your average traveller and
although the recent economic problems have obviously had a
devastating effect on the people and the country as a whole, you
hope that in some small way, the fact that more people will now be
able to afford to spend more time and money in this amazing
country, may help to at least offer a boost to the tourism
industry. A proud and resilient population appears to have brushed
itself off and isn't going to let past events cloud the present -
after all, there's always another party round the corner. The
anger and frustration is still very obvious however, and many
banks remained boarded up, the graffiti left uncleaned.
Our last outing was to watch the famous River Plate football team
lose quite convincingly to Newham's Old Boys, the score being
almost irrelevant at the end of the game, as the two sides of fans
tried to out-sing each other. And then it was time to leave Buenos
Aires. We had a hundred things still to do, but I think that's
always the best way, then at least you have the perfect excuse to
come back.
© Cara Frost Sharratt 2003
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