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June 24, 2004 Don't Cry For Me Argentina....Now, there's a lyricist who knew his subject. for Argentina cries...she's also mad about football, crazy for horses, besotted with beef and intensely, erotically melancholy for tango. You can sum Argentina up in one word - passionate - and it's a passion which envelops the visitor to its shores and leaves them longing for more. But not necessarily more of the same. For this is a vast country which meets the Atlantic to the south and fans out inland to the west and north where it borders five other countries including Brazil and Chile. From Patagonia to the Pampas, the beauty of the high Sierras to the magnificience of the Andes - it's all there. Argentina does nothing by halves. Even when it goes broke, it does it big-time, although the hyper-inflation of a couple of years ago, which caused many, including the highest flyers to be left jobless, homeless and some resorting to barter merely to exist, has begun to settle down. This is all good news for the tourist who benefits from this economic lapse. The Capital, Buenos Aires, is as beautiful as its name. Wide boulevards, some carrying four lanes of traffic, lead to elegant shopping malls and lush, green parks where professional dogwalkers can be routinely seen leading seven or eight pampered pooches at once. It even has its own Opera House, which, although a little tired-looking from the outside, is still impressive and was said by no less a person than Toscanini to have the best accoustics in the world. Mingling with the modern are restaurants of a more traditional nature, high- ceilinged, hall-like establishments which are stuck in a twenties time-warp of wood-pannelling, white-coated waiters and lighting which is bright enough to see the food, which comes at high quality with low prices. An average meal with wine costs around £5 per head and if you're a devotee of red meat, you will be in seventh heaven. Beef is every-day fare for the Argentinians and even the ladies, who have a penchant for smart clothes and lashings of lipstick, consume steaks which would satisfy a medium-sized weightlifter. For the visitor with deadlines to meet, it's helpful to have a guide. Ours was a middle-aged lady with fading red hair, called Patricia. She hailed from Ireland, had lived some years in Italy and was married to an Argentinian long enough to produce three children,all now adults. She was a fund of knowledge, if slightly political, had a Brooklyn accent and a perfectly-timed Jewish sense of humour. So let's go round the many districts of Buenos Aires with Patricia. On from there to Recoleta, an up-market area with a distinctly European atmosphere whose high-class shops and good restaurants are a tourist magnet. Ironically, Eva Peron, who was never in life accepted by the elite, is now, in death amongst them permanently, since her burial mausoleum is in Recoleta's very pricey cemetery. They say it is important to live in Recoleta, but even more important to die there! In stark contrast is La Boca, a poor district which, to this day, retains a unique mood created by early Italian immigrants. It is famously the home of tango, originally danced by men only. La Boca's once-depressing buildings have been brought to life with brightly painted frontages which seduce the visitor through its narrow streets lined with stalls selling paints by local artists. If you're fortunate enough to visit San Telmo on a Sunday, you're in for a treat. It's market day and antiques and crafts are for sale. A large stage is set up in the main square and, on the day we visited, rhythmic African music was belting out. You can eat, stock up with souvenirs or just enjoy the scene. There is tango on every corner, but be prepared to take to the pavement yourself or make a quick getaway as the snake-hipped dancers are prone to offer their hand to onlookers. On a side stree there's another attraction. Visitors cautiously join the knowing audience which line each side of the street. In the roadway, a gaucho gallops at full-speed towards a very high goalpost-shaped contraption. He leans forward, extending one hand in which he is holding something about the size of a pen. As he approaches the goalpost, he lunges at a small metal ring attached the cross-bar, the aim being to catch it on the end of the 'pen'. It's exciting stuff and made even more so by virtue of the fact that only the most adept are successful. The gauchos, recognisable by their distinctive dress, are sassy, swanky and full of South-American swagger. Their women look on in encouragement and their sons, some too small to even ride a bike, sit astride over-sized horses, just to show that in a few years' time they'll be following in father's footsteps. But there's more to Argentina than Buenos Aires. Away from the capital, as far north as you can go, on the border with Brazil, are the Iguazu Falls, 275 in number. You might have seen photographs, but you will have seen little written about them, largely because it's a sight that's impossible to put into words. You can walk for an hour, take a small train, ride in an ATV, and around every corner is another breathtaking vision. Standing at The Devil's Throat, an explosion of water, spray, wheeling birds and unbelievable noise, you have to believe in something, even if it's only Mother Nature has over-dosed on splendour. A dinghy ride through the falls is a must from which even the most faint-hearted emerged grinning from ear to ear. Further south, close to Cordoba, there's a ranch called Los Potreros which is owned by a fourth-generation British family. Set in the Sierras, it's necessarily in an isolated spot, but you want for nothing. The Begg family entertain you in the way their family has for decades. Their home is your home, and provides exquisite food, superb wines and the best of riding for beginners through to the most experienced. But among this ordered hospitality, there is the joy of spontaneity. Plans are made just to be changed. A farmhouse barbecue dissolves in the excitement of going to watch two condor circling a dead carcass. You take a ride to another part of the ranch, where a picnic is waiting and it turns out to be the day their newly-hired ranch hand is about to break a young horse. Thankfully, the gaucho youth, who drives a bus in his other life, works quietly, patiently and with respect for the animal. Within forty minutes he is in the saddle. It's fitting to end where we began - in Buenos Aires. One more night where, a booking at the intimate Bar Sur affords the best night-club entertainment in town; five acts, the pinnacle of which is tango danced so close to your table, their swirling legs could almost part your hair. Magical - one of many great memories to cherish. ------------ About the author Paula Short: I started writing articles around ten years ago, have had around 100 published, many on horses, but particarly people. About to start a book, which I have researched, based on a true murder story. Email: p.r.s@btinternet.com Tell a friend about this site! ------------ |
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