Posted on March 21, 2014
It’s the weekend at last and the Mister is finally coming home from California! I’m super excited to see him, and we plan to enjoy the nice weather and have brunch with friends.
One of the biggest draws of Buenos Aires was the amazing street art scene. I noticed a lot of it on my own, but was also lucky enough to go on a street art walking tour with a fantastic American ex-pat guide. Here are few of my favorites. Hope you have a great weekend!
Posted on March 20, 2014
It was gray and drizzling the day I visited Recoleta Cemetery in Buenos Aires. The rain kept other tourists away, and it was quiet and meditative to stroll up and down the pathways of the cemetery, with only a dozen or so stray cats for company. I spent several hours reading the names on the mausoleums, admiring the stonework and marble carvings, and wondering what BA had been like during the lives of the various people buried there.
Cemeteries have always fascinated me and I try to visit them any time I go somewhere new. Though every culture and country has a different approach to burying the dead, there is always a sense of reverence, beauty, and affection to those resting places, and Recoleta is one of the loveliest I’ve ever seen.
Posted on March 19, 2014
Buenos Aires is the most romantic city I’ve ever visited alone. At the time, I had just started dating the Mister and though I missed him, the early thrill of the relationship had me in a state of bliss and it was easy to get caught up in the allure of the city. Every part of the Buenos Aires mesmerized me, whether full of modern art and architecture, tree-lined residential streets, or Beaux Arts buildings that were crumbling around the edges.
Particularly charming was the old neighborhood of San Telmo where I spent most of my time drinking red wine with other travelers, reading books in old cafes, admiring all the street dancers and musicians, and eating dulce de leche for breakfast every day.
Posted on March 18, 2014
The first few days I spent in Buenos Aires are a feverish haze in my memory. I was recovering from a terrible cold or flu, and I’d spend about twelve hours a day sleeping, and the other twelve wandering around the windy, cobble-stoned streets in a mild delirium.
I carried around a little black moleskin notebook in those days and it was amusing to read through my scribbled notes about rambling down narrow streets crowded with wrought-iron balconies, feeling dazzled by the colorful buildings and tiles, peeking into courtyards filled with light and overgrown with ferns. The Sunday antiques market was a delightful jumble of noise, food, junk and treasure. I spent all my pocket money buying fresh-squeezed orange juice after fresh-squeezed orange juice, and tipping the tango dancers on street corners that had me mesmerized. I walked for hours and hours, letting the winter air cool my overheated skin, indulging in way too many Argentine gelatos, and slowly falling in love with Buenos Aires.
Posted on August 27, 2013