prettyugly.

Alot of exploring recently. As it stands, I have visited an impressive 29 out of the 48 barrios de Buenos Aires. Most-recently, I have focused on the (relatively) suburban NW part of the city; Agronomía, Parque Chas, Villa Devoto, and Villa del Parque. Apart from those, attention has been given to Caballito's beautiful Barrio Inglesa; huge swaths of the southern giant, Barracas; and the gritty, rough-and-tumble barrio of La Paternal.

Posted by Devan at 12:19:00 AM Comments

I love this city, and all of its quirks. For instance, in when leaving in the morning, the cacophony of hola’s, qué tal’s, and buen día locos. Then there are the sidewalk cafés: sitting at an outdoor café with a friend and debating the merit (or conversely, the lack of merit) of women, fútbol, politics or, in Argentina, pizza, is unbeatable. Far from being a restaurant snob, when I am in the mood for a quality cup of coffee and place to converse, ambiance is everything.

Reflecting that, some of my favorite places belong to the new wave of cool-but-cheap restaurants popping up in slowly gentrifying places like Chacarita, Colegiales, and Villa Crespo. Le Blé, a French boulangerie on a shady, tree-lined stretch of Avenida Dorrego, is my favorite of the bunch. Its airy interior, oversized communal tables and, most of all, flaky pain au chocolate, won me over. On the other end of the spectrum, there is the bare bones, sparsely-decorated La Piurana in Abasto, whose 18ar ¼ pollo-a-la brasa “promoción” brings me in on a weekly basis.

Recently, I came across a website run by a Mexican woman who makes tortillas and other Mexican foodstuffs in her spare time. As tortillas don’t exist here, I ordered a ½ kilo of hand-made, yellow corn tortillas. After picking them up from her office in an unassuming, un-renovated Montserrat building, I got together with a friend, Gringo Mike, and made tacos. Mike, who is from Virginia, is one of a handful of Americans I have met here. Evidenced by a pair of New Hampshire college students befriending me in a lonely, un-interesting coffee shop, I have noticed that once abroad, regional (American) and political differences melt away, and people unite under a national identity.

Still, the randomness of the city is what always does it for me. Stumbling upon a death metal club on a deserted San Telmo sidestreet, at 2:30am on a Tuesday. Or walking into a bodegón and seeing viejos in full-blown suites, cardigans and argyle-patterned pants on an 80 degree summer day, drink Basque wines in cups full of ice cubes. Or the hidden art gallery in the small house next door, with no adornment or signs announcing its presence. Or the attractive older lady in the Montserrat óptica, who fixed my Ray Bans because she enjoyed my “presence.” If “not ever knowing what comes next” was a quality, BA would have it in spades.

About the viejos, they are most common in the near-south neighborhoods of San Telmo, Constitución, and La Boca. A friend called these areas the Casco Viejo of BA. True, there always seems to be alot of older men, wandering around, overdressed for the humid Argentine summer. These barrios are also the main focal points for the city’s much-loved parillas (neighborhood restaurants specializing in comida porteña, especially large, oversized cuts of beef). But as time hasn’t been to kind to these once-grand neighborhoods, viejos, often born to European immigrants, are the only whites left. I guess that is the Argentine equivalent of White Flight. Visiting is like stepping into a real-life Grand Torino movie. The paucity of whites (along with the abundance of graffiti, derelict buildings, and the [usually non-Argentine] thugs, thieves, and pregnant teenagers) lends the southern part of the city a very..”Latin American” feel.

Last week, in La Boca, I saw a guy cross a street mid-block. Initially, I thought nothing of it, as city-dwellers routinely cross during a lull in automobile traffic. Bit-by-bit, as the man emerged, I saw drops on his shirt. But as he was still in the shadowy part of the street, I wrote that off, thinking it was part of his shirt’s design. I then walked into a market, to buy a cold drink. As I walked out of the market, I saw the man again, and as he entered plain view, the entire right side of his face was covered in blood. I guess that answered my question about the “drops” on his shirt. Or the San Cristóbal grandma, with a broken nose and missing purse, crying and screaming for police. Or the bare-footed ladrón leaving the cozy confines of his Calle Godoy Cruz slum to try and wrestle a purse from a well-dressed, middle-aged mother and daughter. I have seen more crimes take place in six weeks here than I have in my whole life in Los Angeles.

I reserve a special disdain, though, for the “trapitos.” People who, in busy areas on the weekend, extort money from drivers parking their cars, “making sure nothing happens” to their cars. You see them standing on corners wearing orange vests and swinging towels in the air; the towels are used to cover their hands when punching out the windows of people who refuse to pay them.

Relatively speaking, BA is a safe city, and it enjoys low levels of violent crime. Unlike other Latin American cities, here one can stay in posh, luxurious locales like Palermo, Puerto Madero, Recoleta, or Retiro, and - for a second - squint your eyes and pretend you are in Europe. As for the occurrences above, while they don’t define and characterize life here, as they do in Caracas, or Managua, they are apparently common enough to bare mentioning.

Posted by Devan at 10:32:00 PM Comments

Posted by Devan at 5:28:00 AM Comments

One of my favorite things about Buenos Aires is the sometimes grungy, always chaotic, mix that characterizes the city’s enduring clash with the new and old. The beautiful and the ugly. Strangely enough, the mix is harmonious, and has resulted in me further appreciating the city’s historic architecture. By having an always fluctuating and vibrant, eclectic mix, the city manages to escape the staid, museum-like feel found in cities with overprotective preservation ordinances. However, I still vehemently oppose the unnecessary demolition and destruction of BA’s architecture, history, and patrimony.

Although sometimes inconvenient, segregated uses for stores (i.e, no multinational, corporatized big box stores) can be rearding.. In addition to imparting character, the expertise or knowledge of somebody who has been doing one thing their whole life (most of the time, anyways) is unbeatable. While chains - capitalist jack-of-all-trades - are good at many things, but great at none, the many unique stores here, with their much-touted niches and specialties, are. Fruits from a frutería, vegetables from a verdulería, bread and pastries from panaderías and confiterías. And the more, uh, practical ones: cerrajerías, ferreterías, and talleres mecánicas. My shopping is reflective of the mom & pop-dominated landscape. Chocolate-filled croissants and “pan de campo” from a French bakery in Villa Ortúzar; pita bread, hummus and baklava from an Armenian sweet shop on Scalabrini Ortiz; juicy peaches and apples from a Bolivian family operation in Almagro; and ají peppers from Peruvian vegetable stand-owners.

Speaking of Peruvians, recently I explored their ground zero in Buenos Aires: Barrio Abasto. Abasto, the city’s former central market that, after sitting abandoned, was renovated and converted into an upscale shopping mall, sparking the revitalization of its adjacent (now) namesake barrio. Incredibly enough, some blocks that have, amazingly, gone from literal grit to glam. The streets behind the mall went from perpetually half-completed shanties and informal houses to shiny, glimmering condo towers. Having had wonderful culinary experiences there, I headed back on the advice of a food blog. Although the blog post was from 2008, the moment I read about a ½ pollo a la brasa chicken, with french fries and salad, for only $18ar (~$4), I was sold. In retrospect, I should have know that was too good to be true.

The 2011 price was 35ar for a ½ chicken, and the cheapest offering, the ¼ pollo a la brasa (just the chicken), was 23ar. Inflation here is a serious matter, with Argentina recently in the news for being on the cusp of hyperinflation. The article says Argentina’s inflation, at 11%, is the second-highest in the world, second to only Venezuela. Despite the dollar strengthening against the peso (3.75ar - $1usd in 2009, to 4.05ar = $1usd ), inflation means it is more expensive than ever. Eventually, I settled for another place with a ¼ pollo a la brasa and french fries for 17ar, a good-enough price. Yesterday I went to the supermarket, intent on buying sirloin steak. Two weeks ago, four sirloin tip steaks would have cost ~21ar ($4.93usd). As of today, I am lucky to pay 30ar ($7.40usd). Not terrible in the grand scheme of things, but not knowing prices is no fun. This has contributed to the feeling of hopelessness and pessimism here. That Buenos Aires’ best days, sadly, are behind her.

Reflecting a money-driven single-dimensional purpose for being here, the dollar/euro-earning expats’ usual complaints are rising costs. To them, using BA as a cheap, South American alternative to Europe, is a thing of the past. Then, the feeling of a secret having been let out; that the city has sold out to tourist masses. Aside from the said inflation, blame lies with the New York Times and Lonely Planets of the world; their role in romanticizing and over-hyping the city’s affordability has contributed to this.

Anecdotally, it seems like everybody is moving to or talking about Colombia. As an avid cyclist and supporter of contemporary urban planning trends, I am a big fan of Bogotá and, more importantly, what it has been able to accomplish as a developing South American metropolis. That said, with all due respect, it is no Buenos Aires. The country itself is fascinating, but even after visiting both cities, I would never compare Bogotá to Buenos Aires. That wouldn’t be fair - the two are totally different. Anyways, the “creative” types are flocking to Berlin, as well as Brooklyn, Detroit, and Portland. The human rights/NGO crowd seems big on Cambodia and Nicaragua (the more poor and obscure a place is, the more “street cred”).

About expats: the condescending, patronizing attitudes held by some are major turn-offs. Aside from thinking BA begins and ends at Palermo (or Recoleta, or San Telmo; each attract unique sub-sects of gringos), or that the city’s only joys lie in overpriced Puerto Madero restaurants, or upscale, bad electronic music-playing Palermo Hollywood bars, the feeling of entitlement is the lamentable. Worse, girls come here, get a porteño boyfriend, pick up a bit of Spanish and begin thinking of themselves as holier-than-thou know-it-all’s. Disgusting. Along with copious amounts of whining and complaining about life here, that rounds out the norm.

On the topic of markets, probably 75% of the markets are owned by Chinese immigrants. Chinese-owned markets are so common, that people call all markets “chinos.” To say “me voy al chino” means that I am going to the market - Chinese one or not. A visible part of the porteño barrio fabric and streetscape, no doubt these markets play an important role in providing accessible foodstuffs in areas not well-serviced by traditional markets. And unlike corner stores back home, who from their bulletproof-glass windows, rip captive markets off by selling single rolls of toilet paper, or loose cigarettes, the markets here have..everything. Except for the weird 3ar fee charged for the purchase of glass bottles, I like the chinos. The halting Spanish spoken by many shopkeepers can be grinding to the ears, though.

That’s about the extent of my recent observations. P.S, Argentines, I am *not* from Brazil ;)

As I took the photo above, a police officer in an orange vest appeared. "Muchacho! Sabés que dónde estás?" I reply "Sí, ya sé. Estamos en Constitución." He then says "tenés ID? Necesito que ver tu ID." I show him my passport card, and he looks both the card and I, gives it back to me and says "Cuidado con la cámara, eh!" Heh.

Posted by Devan at 10:15:00 PM Comments