To the vanishing point

Studying perspective in art or photography? Visit Buenos Aires! Something about it makes you want to capture the city on film/paper as it stretches neatly towards the horizon-- thank you, modern city planning-- while it also breaks up the straight lines with endless neoclassical details carved or built into the buildings.

Here's my layman's guide to How To Plan Cities and Use Lots of Perspective:

Find an obelisk and aim for it!

Reverse it!

Church it!

Top it with some dudes and a bell!

Walk it!

Elevate it!

Pair old and new with it!

Reflect it!

Cobblestone it!

Randomly arch it!

Plant it!

Reverse upward selfie it!

Teatro Colón

Teatro Colón is a gorgeous theater with near-perfect acoustics that practically screams "Look! Even though we live in South America we are European! And rich and classy!" When it opened in 1908 I think a lot of rich locals actually were screaming that, or they would have been if screaming weren't so gauche. They only thing they didn't gild in here was Beethoven (and Mozart, Rossini, Verdi, etc.).

I don't have more to say about it that isn't also invented, so here! Look at pretty pictures!

Middle Finger Plaza

We took a walking tour of the Recoleta area in Buenos Aires that included a memorial to the Argentinians who died in the Falklands War. In case this corner of 20th-century history is rusty for you, the Falkland Islands, or Las Malvinas to folks around here, is a small archipelago off the coast of Argentina that's been controlled by the UK since 1830 or so. In 1982 Argentina's military dictatorship decided to retake the islands to drum up popular support. After about 3 months the Brits won, and not long afterward the dictatorship fell. Most Argentinians seem to agree that the government that started the war was sketchy and responsible for the disappearance of somewhere between 20,000–30,000 people. However, many are still very bitter and vocal about the war itself and the UK's continued control of the islands.

So now you see why it's funny that this memorial:

is overlooked by this memorial (in the far center):

It's hard to tell in my photo, but that is an intergovernmental-gift-sized replica of Big Ben. Like from England. Given long before the conflict, but still–kind of funny.

Also from the same plaza you can see this tall and very modern-looking building. 

See that green dome peeking out from behind it on the left? That's a lovely neoclassical church that used to be visible from the palacio (mansion) of a rich and powerful old-money family across the park. They basically paid to build it and considered it their family chapel. Then the old-money son broke off his engagement to a new-money girl because his mama disapproved of the nouveau riche. When the new-money mama built her tall, starkly modern, decidedly un-neo-anything building, whose view do you suppose she decided to block?

Those two pointy-in-the-middle structures and their stories are why we have dubbed this park Middle Finger Plaza.

The Search for the Missing Milonga

There's an episode of TV (title withheld to protect my dignity) in which the characters spend all night following obscure clues in the hopes of finding a legendary annual party hidden in the desert; hijinks ensue. Considering how famous Buenos Aires is for tango, finding a place to actually dance resembled this plot a lot more than I expected.

Our hostel was located one door down from a well-known confitería (translates more or less as cafeteria, but think hardwood and old-world charm rather than hair nets). Confitería Ideal boasted good coffee and lunch downstairs, and dancing upstairs. 

Confiteria Ideal

Inside, no mystery meat in sight

Classy coffee

Even the sidewalk outside could dance

We had read much of the Argentine milonga, a regular tango gathering with dancers of many skill levels. It's like a good old-fashioned dance hall in the US, if ballroom-dancing Americans stayed out until 3 or 4 in the morning several times a week.

Wednesday: dresses on and new shoes buckled, we headed next door for the advertised beginners class. Well, there were a couple instructors there who offered quick lessons in the basics, but not a full class, and the "afternoon" milonga (until 8:30 p.m.) in progress was wrapping up. It seemed that Wednesday was a quiet day for milongas, because that was the one day that none of the locations we knew about offered anything after 8 or 9.

Thursday night: all dressed up again, this time with our shoes in bags as we walked to a few options further away. We found the place only to find a totally different schedule on the door than on their website, and of course there was nothing happening Thursday night. Option #2 wasn't too far away, supposedly, but the address in the guidebook led us to nothing but a street full of locked gates and not even a potential former site. Back to the hostel. 

Friday was our last night in Buenos Aires, which lent a now-or-never air to our efforts. Confitería Ideal again had lessons around 6, so we tried to level up our skills just a bit. 

Afterwards the instructor told us about a milonga that evening, and hey, she should know. Even though the source was more reliable, we were getting a little tired of literally getting all dressed with nowhere to go, so we stuck with jeans and tango shoes this time. 

As we approached the address she gave us, apparently some kind of Italian Society, we heard muffled tango music from beyond an open door. Promising... Up two flights of stairs and through double doors we found this:

At last! You see dancing, I see the Holy Grail

La Nacional: This was in fact the milonga we were looking for the other
night (totally different address )

There were dancers of all ages on the floor or watching from the sidelines. Some were more experienced than others, but they were all a LOT better than us. A few gents were kind enough to dance with us throughout the evening, even though we really were bad. Despite our teacher's assurances that we were ready for a milonga, the basic beginner's steps we learned did very little to prepare us for actual tango with experienced dancers. I think I actually stepped on a foot once or twice-- really bad. Also, we wished we had worn our cute dresses after all, but it was fun to step out and try anyway.

For the rest of the time we got to see all sorts of good dancing, including a few performances by pros, we chatted with folks, and we finally got to try the local favorite drink of fernet con cola, which has something of a unique taste. I liked it, Kat not as much. To top it off, I won the door prize of a seat at a special table featuring a meat and cheese plate and champagne (sorry, Kat...).

Nothing says "Winner!" like champagne and ham rolls

Some kind of traditional folk dance everyone (but us) knew

We should have eaten dinner first since all the available food options were wheat-based (except my meat platter...again, sorry, Kat!), but besides that, it felt like the perfect ending to our week in Buenos Aires.

 

Local boy makes good

Somebody is proud of their new pope!

 

(I'm looking at you, Buenos Aires)

At the cathedral...

 

...in the street...

...in the cafe/tango hall...

...on the bus. Have pope, will travel!

Shoes at ten, church at eleven

13 mayo 2014

We are in Buenos Aires for the week. There is so much to see and do here that I don't know how to do it blog-justice, but the morning of our first full day we bought tango shoes, then we visited the cathedral. Tango and architecture pretty well sums up my two highest priorites for the week. Make that tango, architecture, and beef.

The box claims these are magic shoes. We'll see.

The cathdral is an easy place to lose yourself for an hour or two if you have any interest in church art and architecture. Like in the city itself, every time you turn your head in Catedral Metropolitana de Buenos Aires there is something interesting to see.

That is one greco-roman-political-looking cathedral

Part of me wishes–just a little–that this statue were on wheels.

"I have overcome the world"

Oldest altarpiece in here (1671)

Crypt of national hero Jose de San Martin w/ honor guard.

As a suspected freemason, San Martin got a mausoleum
"next to" the sanctuary proper, not in it. Poor guy.