Paint this town roja!

We are having the honor this week of hosting Peter’s old friend, Pete (affectionately called Pedro Dos by our host family) in Buenos Aires this week. A really nice thing about having visitors is that we get to do all of the touristy stuff that we never force ourselves to do, but really ought to—all of that iconic stuff that is so quintessentially “Argentine.” So, for last weekend that meant one thing—FAIRS! BsAs has the best, most absolutely wonderful fairs in the whole world. Cobblestone streets for blocks and blocks filled with tango dancers and crafty stuff that I could just gobble up. Mime artists dressed as robotic angels(?), excellent live music wherever there’s space enough to set up, and somehow harmonious combinations of indigenous dress and wares set up in front of colonial European architecture. It’s rich for all of the senses. Expect presents from here.

We also finally made it to the Recoleta cemetery, one of those “top ten” sites that are so lauded. Well, it turns out for good reason. Yeah, it was crowded with tour groups (except for when we stayed accidentally after close!), but it really was quite aesthetic. Imagine a miniature city filled with gorgeous turrets, columns, stone angels and busts, all decorating…tombs. It was surreal how much it felt like a macabre city square, you expected to see a kiosko selling bubblegum on the corner. Peter remarked how much better these corpses live (hmm, wrong choice of words?) than the poorest of poor in the villas not far away. Yet here it’s considered an honor to be one of these old families with a plot in such famous company—Eva Peron is buried here along with many past presidents, authors, and basically every person that represents the streets that are also named after them. (see pictures on Picasa)

As far as Friday nights, we are obligated (by our self-respect) to go to the coolest house in the barrio, which shall remain anonymous here to protect its clandestine nature. You see, the house, a gorgeous old one from back when, is sort of a speak-easy. A bunch of friends that own the house have painted it and made it all gallery-like to host the jazz-loving folks that show up on Friday nights for some good live tunes and delicious tragos. I almost wish it was the kind of place that had a password you had to say to enter and a dress code of flapper dresses and fedoras (cigars optional)—because, you know, it’s just that kind of place. The fun part is that there are rotating musicians every week so you always hear something new.

Having Pete here is also an excuse to eat helpings upon helpings of empanadas—savory pastries filled with meats, veggies, cheese, or whatever—which is conveniently about the same size as your hand for easy eating. Other delicacies that we are “forced” to enjoy in his company: facturas(croissants and other sweets often eaten at tea time…or, in my case, all the time), alfajores (a sort of puffy cookie sandwich with dulce de leche in the middle), and…(for the boys) buckets of asado (barbecued beef). Peter (Pedro Uno, that is) mastered the parilla beautifully, as usual, when we had a bunch of friends over last Sunday. We were celebrating Pete Dos’s birthday and also wishing a buen viaje to my friend, Lindsey, who’s going back to England for awhile. Parillas here mean delicious smells, good friends chatting in the terrace, lots of wine, and usually a good number of languages interweaving nonsensically.

It’s only been a few days and we’ve already packed in a lot of delights. When the boys get back from Iguazu Falls (yours truly stayed back to keep working), we’ll go on more city adventures…so stay tuned!