You simply can't do anything wrong when visiting Buenos Aires. It's a gorgeous city: the second largest in South America, with plenty of green space, architecture, and culture to keep any taste occupied. It's great for explorers, partiers, and adventurers. Budgeters and indulgers, wimpy travelers and fearless ones. Over the course of four days Mark and I planned a few events like "secret dinners" and a tango show, but mostly we wandered the various upscale, bohemian, or historic Argentinian neighborhoods as we found them. It was nearly impossible to get lost with the city's strategic street numbering system, and there was always a cafe nearby to plan the next steps if we did. Not once did we drink bad espresso either. Or beer. Or wine. God- the wine! They all said it would be good, but I had no idea. Malbecs, cabs, sauvignon blancs, chardonnay... all of it cheap and tasty (like 3 bucks a bottle), yet still with a touch of class. As much as a Schlink could have anyway.
Speaking of class, there was one thing that surprised me about Buenos Aires: the odd, uncomfortable return of the chunky treaded platform shoe. I mean- perfectly reasonable women with perfectly reasonable clothing choices were ruined with canoe sized jalopies scuffing the sidewalks. From stained off white foam-ish material to formidable black rubber, these shoes/sandals/boots were everywhere. I wonder if emergency room visits for sprained ankles have increased since this unfortunate comeback. But then again, I'm fully aware that my fashionable opinion doesn't count for much especially since I wear sensible flats with cocktail dresses.
Aside from all the shoe gawking commentary (who am I? Joan Rivers (R.I.P.)?), I did focus my energy elsewhere. I totally loved the weekend fairs or markets where tourists of all walks of life shopped for anything and everything Argentine. The vendors preferred US dollars over pesos, so we bargained, leaving everyone happy too. We elbowed our way through Florida Street, the city's HQ for all things buyable and gazed at a small gallery of photos (four to be exact) of Jorge Francisco Isidoro Luis Borges. Mark and I hit all the big architecture attractions, including Teatro Colรณn but skipped on the 32 USD tour on offer and the 30 USD bus tour and spent it at the bar instead. We walked until we were tired enough to get a taxi home where we'd see even more stuff we wanted to visit- on and off the "Top 10" list. But of course there's never enough time.
The New York Times did a piece on "secret restaurants" where people dine in the private homes of culinary school trained chefs with a set menu and wine pairings. It was great to relinquish control and try new dishes, though admittedly there were a few plates I don't care to try again. Basically, I sent an email to the restaurant with our available dates and assumed I wouldn't hear back since I did it the day before we left for Buenos Aires. Less than 24 hours later, all three responded with availability, contrary to the authors' experiences.
We ended up eating at Ocho Once, and Paladar. Both were great though for different reasons. The former, served us "an experience of carrot textures" which quite frankly were delicious, though we couldn't stop snickering about the description. We ate plenty of octopus and shrimp, chasing it with smooth chilled wine and devoured the strawberry sorbet. None of these items are personal favorites, but... it was all about the experience. Plus, we enjoyed our own private nook in their wine cellar where we would watch the legs of the waiters scurrying to/from the kitchen. Total cost: 1000 pesos (114 USD, 8.70 pesos to the dollar).
As for Paladar we had choices: meat or seafood selections, which made Mark joyously happy. We met the chef, Pablo Abramovsky, who introduced the menu which I found adorable and pleasing. His wife was another bit of amazing, continually refilling our glasses with crisp Mantra wine from Patagonia (we liked all of them, though the pinot noir was a bit too brown. Can I even say that?) It was another savory, gut-filling five course meal. Though I enjoyed all of it, I must mention the salmon carpaccio. It was all I could do not to lick the plate- Mark felt the same about the carpaccio carpaccio. So good. Grand total for two: 800 pesos (91 USD). Plus both restaurants kindly called us cabs as we rolled out of their homes. I would definitely do this again.
Of course besides Argentina's reputation for wine and good food, is their reputation for the world's sexiest form of dancing: tango. (And soccer, horse racing, horse polo, ice cream, mate tea drinking, leather goods, furs...) I wanted a show that would be saucy, energizing, and fun. Our first recommendation was Senor Tango. So was our second, third, and fourth. All my friends who visited Buenos Aires said it was the biggest, loudest, over-the-top tango show in town. Who am I to disagree? With our outfits squeezed into and tickets bought, we grabbed a cab to one of the seedier parts of town. We arrived hungry for dinner only to find out I only bought tickets for the show. My bad. The generous maitre d' told us Mark and I could pay an extra 2400 pesos to eat (275 USD), so we settled on a liquid dinner instead. Ninety "tranquil" minutes later, the show began. We got horses and Indians, cronies, dancers in 1/2 leotards, sexy shoes and sparkly show jewelry. We got singing and dancing, acrobatics and orgies. We got lessons in history and in nationalism too. I definitely think we got what we paid for.
I left Argentina tired but wanting more fun, and a belly (and bags) full of wine and a salad in which I sprinkled sugar instead of salt; both signs that it was probably time to go home.
Speaking of class, there was one thing that surprised me about Buenos Aires: the odd, uncomfortable return of the chunky treaded platform shoe. I mean- perfectly reasonable women with perfectly reasonable clothing choices were ruined with canoe sized jalopies scuffing the sidewalks. From stained off white foam-ish material to formidable black rubber, these shoes/sandals/boots were everywhere. I wonder if emergency room visits for sprained ankles have increased since this unfortunate comeback. But then again, I'm fully aware that my fashionable opinion doesn't count for much especially since I wear sensible flats with cocktail dresses.
Aside from all the shoe gawking commentary (who am I? Joan Rivers (R.I.P.)?), I did focus my energy elsewhere. I totally loved the weekend fairs or markets where tourists of all walks of life shopped for anything and everything Argentine. The vendors preferred US dollars over pesos, so we bargained, leaving everyone happy too. We elbowed our way through Florida Street, the city's HQ for all things buyable and gazed at a small gallery of photos (four to be exact) of Jorge Francisco Isidoro Luis Borges. Mark and I hit all the big architecture attractions, including Teatro Colรณn but skipped on the 32 USD tour on offer and the 30 USD bus tour and spent it at the bar instead. We walked until we were tired enough to get a taxi home where we'd see even more stuff we wanted to visit- on and off the "Top 10" list. But of course there's never enough time.
The New York Times did a piece on "secret restaurants" where people dine in the private homes of culinary school trained chefs with a set menu and wine pairings. It was great to relinquish control and try new dishes, though admittedly there were a few plates I don't care to try again. Basically, I sent an email to the restaurant with our available dates and assumed I wouldn't hear back since I did it the day before we left for Buenos Aires. Less than 24 hours later, all three responded with availability, contrary to the authors' experiences.
We ended up eating at Ocho Once, and Paladar. Both were great though for different reasons. The former, served us "an experience of carrot textures" which quite frankly were delicious, though we couldn't stop snickering about the description. We ate plenty of octopus and shrimp, chasing it with smooth chilled wine and devoured the strawberry sorbet. None of these items are personal favorites, but... it was all about the experience. Plus, we enjoyed our own private nook in their wine cellar where we would watch the legs of the waiters scurrying to/from the kitchen. Total cost: 1000 pesos (114 USD, 8.70 pesos to the dollar).
As for Paladar we had choices: meat or seafood selections, which made Mark joyously happy. We met the chef, Pablo Abramovsky, who introduced the menu which I found adorable and pleasing. His wife was another bit of amazing, continually refilling our glasses with crisp Mantra wine from Patagonia (we liked all of them, though the pinot noir was a bit too brown. Can I even say that?) It was another savory, gut-filling five course meal. Though I enjoyed all of it, I must mention the salmon carpaccio. It was all I could do not to lick the plate- Mark felt the same about the carpaccio carpaccio. So good. Grand total for two: 800 pesos (91 USD). Plus both restaurants kindly called us cabs as we rolled out of their homes. I would definitely do this again.
Of course besides Argentina's reputation for wine and good food, is their reputation for the world's sexiest form of dancing: tango. (And soccer, horse racing, horse polo, ice cream, mate tea drinking, leather goods, furs...) I wanted a show that would be saucy, energizing, and fun. Our first recommendation was Senor Tango. So was our second, third, and fourth. All my friends who visited Buenos Aires said it was the biggest, loudest, over-the-top tango show in town. Who am I to disagree? With our outfits squeezed into and tickets bought, we grabbed a cab to one of the seedier parts of town. We arrived hungry for dinner only to find out I only bought tickets for the show. My bad. The generous maitre d' told us Mark and I could pay an extra 2400 pesos to eat (275 USD), so we settled on a liquid dinner instead. Ninety "tranquil" minutes later, the show began. We got horses and Indians, cronies, dancers in 1/2 leotards, sexy shoes and sparkly show jewelry. We got singing and dancing, acrobatics and orgies. We got lessons in history and in nationalism too. I definitely think we got what we paid for.
I left Argentina tired but wanting more fun, and a belly (and bags) full of wine and a salad in which I sprinkled sugar instead of salt; both signs that it was probably time to go home.
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| Recoleta Cemetery |
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| Recoleta Cemetery |
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| Skateboarding by the closed Libyan Embassy. |
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| Fruit, veggies everywhere. EVERYWHERE. |
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| Why? |
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| Senor Bessini at Recoleta Craft Fair |
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| Once a tangoer, always a tangoer. |
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| Belgrano neighborhood |
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