Argentina by Barbara Erasmus
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Moreno 376 Buenos Aires
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Standing in the queue for foreign passport holders at Buenos Aires’ revamped international airport, I wondered what to expect from Argentina. My major source of information at that stage was Andrew Lloyd Webber. I had a lot to learn.
First impressions of the capital are European. Buenos Aires is a sophisticated, first world city. Elegant, stylish women. Men in dark suits. Classy shops with expensive clothing. Cashmere sweaters. Suede and leather jackets, sensuously soft and pliable in your fingers. Jewellery. Antiques. I sip my cappuccino at a pavement café on Avenida Corrientes, a wide pedestrian boulevard with gracious cupolas and columns from a colonial past. A professional dog-walker strolls past, trailing half a dozen well-groomed hounds. It’s very civilised.
Tourists are important to Argentina and the service is good at Lola’s in the upmarket suburb of Recoleta. Ornate jacaranda-framed mirrors reflect the art- nouveau décor of the bar, well-stocked with a variety of international brand-names. Even our party of meat-familiar South Africans is awestruck at the size and succulence of the gargantuan steaks set before us. I notice posters on the streets exhorting the locals to eat more meat. The salad / low cholesterol generation is wrecking havoc with local consumption, which has dropped from 82 to 63kg a head per annum over the last decade. ‘Let them eat meat…’ is a policy statement in Argentina.
Sophisticated entertainment is plentiful in Buenos Aires. Concerts. Art exhibitions. A Spanish version of Les Mis. And, of course, the celebrated Tango. The show at Casa Blanca in the theatre district starts after 10.00pm. Argentina runs on a Latin tempo of late nights and mid-day siestas. There’s nothing casual about the Tango. The dancers have lithe, perfect bodies and every movement makes a sensuous statement. Passion with precision. It’s a brooding, pre-meditated dance, without the careless spontaneity of the samba in neighbouring Brazil.
But the Argentines aren’t a light-hearted people, I discover. The local paper features an article entitled ‘Sad land of psychoanalysis and tango’. It claims that the portenos- the residents of Buenos Aires – are the world’s most psycho-analysed people. There are three times as many shrinks per capita as there are in New York. One of the suburbs is named Villa Freud! Articles on depression and anxiety are found in all the local magazines and state schools and many large companies have an on-site psychologist. Headlines spell out corruption in high places. The new president was elected on a reform ticket. Promises to purge the excesses of his predecessor with his executive jet and champagne lifestyle. But not much has changed, it seems. I read of senators bribed with millions over labour laws. Power cuts which last a week. The stories make me homesick for South Africa…
So do the street vendors, with their pleading fingers. I buy a Pierre Cardin watch, going for a song. It still works at this stage. So does their phone system which has recently been privatised. Large, highly functional Telefonika booths are much in evidence. E.T. should phone home from one of them, rather than from the Sheraton. A three minute call from the hotel room cost $80 – the highly overvalued peso is pegged to the American dollar. A call of the same length from Telefonika cost $12.00. You have been warned…
Outside the city borders, we visit an estancia – a memory from a distant geography classroom. Colourful gauchos ride out of the text-book pages on their criollo ponies to escort us to a gracious home. We eat traditional asado, prepared on an open fire and watch a graceful squad of boys and girls perform the dance-steps their grandparents taught them. A convectional thunderstorm disrupts the gauchos display of horsemanship and we resort to drinking large quantities of local wine – a hazy end to another day in Argentina.
We fly westwards over the flat plains of the pampas, up into the Andes mountains. Bariloche is a picturesque stone village beside a lake which reflects the blueness of the sky. A kaleidoscope of impressions as we explore. St Bernard dogs in the village square. Gnomes in the doorways, icons of Fenoglios, the chocolate factory. Rich, dark confections with surprising centres – irresistible! A slow boat trip to the Chilean border. An alpine lake, milky green with glacial melt water. The semi desert of Patagonia – back in the Karoo with dry brown grass. Sheep country.
There’s more to Argentina than Eva Peron…