Buenos Aires: City of passions

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We have it on good authority that a quintessential visit to Buenos Aires in Argentina isn’t a fait accompli unless you’ve become properly acquainted with the city’s legendary mainstays – tango, football, wine and steak.

Having four left feet and an entirely unsexy travel wardrobe between us, we made the difficult decision to pass on the tango lessons, and the milonga, an informal tango ‘social’ where one runs a real risk of being pulled up to dance if eye contact is made. Instead, we toasted the pastime with glasses of malbec at an outdoor tango performance in vibrant La Boca.

We head to polychrome La Boca to search out some tango action (for viewing purposes only).

Football was a far less conflicted choice – it’s long been on John’s bucket list to attend an Argentinian game. More complicated was figuring out how to get tickets, turn up in the right colours and avoid being pummelled for smiling at an inappropriate moment, a distinct possibility if the travel guides are to be believed.

Urban legend or no, gringo security is enough of a concern that various companies have popped up offering foreigners a stint at the football in the safe-keeping of a local guide who organises your tickets, collects and returns you to your hotel door, walks you the safe way to the stadium, delivers you to your seats and – if you’re lucky – translates the insults and chants during the game….all for a fair fee of course! The experience was worth every penny though, even earning its own blog entry.

Football in Buenos Aires, River Plate Stadium
Crowds begin to gather at River Plate Stadium, or El Monumental.

On to the divine…the vino and carne. While we sampled some very nice Salteňo and Mendozan malbecs throughout our visit (along with some less than heavenly drops), our hearts remain true to our Aussie vines.

The steak, however, is another story – one worth migrating for. Our first night in the city, we visited a delightful local recommendation in the suburb of Palermo. Our B&B host Dave suggested taking a more conservative approach to our first Argentinian steak and ordering just one Bife de Chorizo between us. We reacted with mock horror but found it to be life-saving advice when our two-inch thick, half-kilo of beef arrived steaming on a cutting board. Rare, salted to perfection, embellished with a simple side salad and grilled provoleta cheese; we both agreed we’d found our last supper.

Steak and wine meal to die for.

It seemed an insurmountable eating experience, but it was pipped just days later when our host-with-the-most Dave fired up the B&B’s coal barbie and cooked us a genuine Argentine parilla. Five different cuts of beef that we wouldn’t find on any restaurant menu, pork, chicken, and the most incredible black pudding in the history of black pudding (and kidney but, well, I was just too full to eat that too).

We started eating at 8pm and were still going at 1am…a slow, delicious, cut-by-cut meat fiesta washed down with some very nice wine brought along by local sommelier, Nigel Tollerman, a friend of our hosts and a Brit who’s cornered the Argentinian wine specialist market – what a gig!

King of barbecues – we feast at a home-cooked Argentine parilla.

With the exception of the sultry tango, we gave our all to the pillars of BA culture. But in the process we discovered a fifth – unmentioned – weave in the cultural fabric of the city.

Caca de perro.

It even sounds exotic in Spanish. But if you haven’t found yourself dancing around the fallen leaf ‘mines’, jumping over ubiquitous skid marks, or hopping on one foot on the curb as you tool fresh, gag-inducing dog poo out of the deep grooves of your walking boots with a stick, well, then there’s still a whole world of BA that awaits you.

No need for a demonstrative photo of that experience though. Here’s a selection from our trip to BA’s grand city of the dead, Recoleta Cemetery, instead.

Flush with red wine and carne, and with at least one shoe smelling like Dove body wash, we farewelled this fascinating city with its Latin soul and European overcoat, and boarded the first of what would shortly become our preferred mode of transport – Argentinian buses! – taking us northwest to the mile-high foothills and vineyards of the Andes.

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