The local markets of Buenos Aires are truly unparalleled by anything in the United States. These events, usually just on Sundays, are tremendous gatherings of local jewelers, artists, photographers, junk-vendors, farmers and musicians. All of them get there early in the morning, and line the tables with colored cloth and fill the sides of the wooden tables with various ropes and designs to draw people in. They then unload their product in neat, filed lines so that passerbys can see the items.
Walking down these narrow pathways, I’ve seen a lot of beautiful artfully designed products. I’ve also seen a lot of crap. I’ve seen delicately, hand crafted maté glasses and I’ve seen weak, mass-produced cups with cracking wooden sides. I’ve touched soft purses of shiny, smooth leather, and I’ve felt hanging bags of rough, fake furs. I’ve seen sparkling necklaces of silver and gold chains, and I’ve seen bulky, ugly bracelets of hideous bland rocks of plastic. It’s a peculiar mix between a wonderful artesian fair of beauty and a tacky, touristy center of junk.
One of the best of these markets is in San Telmo, the oldest, most historic part of the city. In this region of the city, there is a large center full of markets. When I first went there, the warm air was rich with the smell of sweet nuts being cooked in a sugar sauce by local vendors. It was loud, as the sound of acoustic guitar filled my ear drums. I walked toward the source of this music and found a pair of guitarists playing with a hat in front of them and a set of Tango dancers behind them. The male dancer had a thin beard traveling from his chin to the tip of his ears and he wore a fancy suit with pin stripes and a silver pocket square. His suit was finished off by a pair of fly, black shoes and a top hat.
In his hands, he twirled a woman, in a bright red dress, around his back, and she elegantly flipped back over on her feet. As the two glided across the small wooden stage, tourists flashed their cameras and vendors looked on with boredom at the everyday activity going on. As I walked past the hundreds of vendors in the area, I felt myself immersed in the wonderful stone pathways.
The food of these markets were always cheap and tasty, but they don’t compare to another set of local businesses in Buenos Aires: Las Parillas. These restaurants, which translate to steakhouses in English, are home to traditional fine dining of amazing meat. There are hundreds of these parillas in the city, and I plan to get as many of them as I can before I leave.
Last week, I went to one called “Estrebe” in Recoletta with my parents. My parents who were visiting for two weeks, were ready to try the scrumptious Argentine beef I had been telling them about for so long. We walked in, and were greeted by a waiter, dressed in the traditional Argentine outfit, with a pointed black hat. He placed us down at a sturdy, wooden table in the corner where there were tall, bright candles and three thick menus placed in front of each of our shiny, white plates. We didn’t get bread until nearly twenty minutes in, and my dad was already growing unsure of the place that took so long to deliver what Bertuccis could, in just a moment. That all changed when the meals came soon after.
The steaks were so juicy and tender, that it melted in our mouths, and the Malbec wines were amazing, neither too dry nor too sweet. When the meal was over, and we were paying the check, my parents agreed. There is nothing better than a parilla in Argentina. I have grown an addiction to red meat while being here. While in Uruguay this weekend, I visited a restaurant that oddly had no red meet, and I felt lost and confused. Unable to order a juicy lomo, the tender bife de chorizo, or even a hamburger, I ordered some fish. As I chowed it down, I started to miss the Argentine meat that has defined the past couple months that I’ve been here. It was at this moment, that I realized that I’d be in some trouble when I go home to the United States. It suddenly occurred to me that the GW Deli and FoBoGro just aren’t gonna cut it anymore once I get back. At least I will lose some weight though.
The last of the local establishments I’ve grown to love here are those that are home to live music and shows. These are all over the city, but to find the best ones, we must return back to San Telmo. While here, I’ve seen shows of Tango, Flamenco, Rock N’ Roll, and classical acoustic guitar. These shows that usually start at around 10:30 at night are meant to be background noise that you can calmly enjoy while eating food with friends and family.
The Tango show, I saw in an upscale restaurant by the old streets of San Telmo, was amazing. Four men, wearing the same classy suits matched up with four women, wearing long, red dresses and high heels. They were accompanied on stage by two older singers. Behind them were five musicians playing piano, accordian, a bass, and two violins. The music and the dancing was incredible. Then, a man with darker skin and long, black hair entered the stage. The larger man, who already had his eyes passionately closed had in his hands a small, traditional guitar, that looked like a mandolin. He peacefully strummed in violent strokes that filled the room with piercing, soothing tones. After a few minutes, another man entered the stage, holding two long whips and dressed in full Gaucho (cowboy) attire. The whips had small, hard surfaced rocks on the bottom, and as they banged against the ground, it created a loud beat. He started to twirl the whips to his side, faster and faster, until the stage was suddenly filled with a complicated beat. As he banged them on the ground, along side six other musicians, the crowd cheered and raised their glasses.
Shows are not always this fancy, but all around the city, events like this can be found. There are restaurants with live music in the US, but they are not nearly as common and they are rarely of such traditional music as Tango or Flamenco. Not to mention, the wine is never as good!
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