Daniel Neilson is a freelance writer and photographer, and lived in Buenos Aires for five years eating too much meat, going hoarse at football games and thoroughly failing to learn a step of tango. He edited Time Out’s Buenos Aires guidebook and has contributed words and photos to a variety of publications about Argentina for Four Four Two, The Wire, CNN Traveller, Real Travel, Adventure Travel and the Observer among others. He now spends his days drinking imported mate and planning his return journey.
Salta beats to a different drum, figuratively and literally. Gone is the incessant Tango of Buenos Aires, and gone are the frenetic rhythms of cumbia. In the dramatic north-western province of Salta, it is the resonant thud of a bombo legüero, the chiming mandolin-like charango and guitar that provide the soundtrack…
For some incomprehensible reason, young Argentines don’t find it particularly attractive to get blindingly drunk and fall flat off a bar stool. Argentines are a cosmopolitan bunch — sipping beer in streetside cafes, savouring wine by the glass in upscale bars, or nursing a coke in a nightclub looking sexy until sunrise…
It would be fair to say that mate falls in to that polite category of beverages – along with Fernet – of being ‘an acquired taste’. Pronounced ‘mah-tay’ (as opposed to an informal synonym of friend), this drink infusion is ubiquitous in Argentina and Uruguay. You’ll see taxi drivers, old ladies in the streets, lovers in parks, and friends in houses cradling a little gourd, taking a sip of mate through a bombilla (straw), and sharing it round. You’ll see it everywhere, and it will only be a matter of time (measured in hours rather than days) before you are offered some…
It is ox blood that first stained the slaughterhouses of Mataderos pink. The name of the neighbourhood itself means ‘slaughterhouses’. And throughout the week, Mataderos is still bovine hell – your last steak was probably alive and well (although a little trepidatious) until entering this suburb, at the westernmost end of Buenos Aires. However, on the weekend, particularly Sundays, the center of Mataderos becomes a fair and a celebration of all things country. It is where the country and city clash…
How exactly do you define a boutique hotel? Well it is a bit of a loose term, and one that is stretched to its limit in Buenos Aires. Boutique usually means small. But in this city, it can mean anything with modern art in the lobby, bamboo walls and a spa in the basement, and who cares if it has 60 rooms. Boutique is buzz, and like all buzzes, the term becomes so common that it fades out into more of a putter. That said, there are some very very good boutique hotels in Buenos Aires, award-winning, world-beating, praised-in-Wallpaper* type of places…
Granted, it doesn’t help that chinchulines look exactly like what they are; namely the small intestine, but these little innards are an indispensable part of that indispensable Buenos Aires experience: the asado barbecue. Closing your eyes is one tactic. Another is to quaff enough Malbec to not really care what you throw down your throat. But those who do have the, er, guts to order dangly bits of cow will be rewarded with a tasty treat, or at least a good story to tell your mates at home…
Turn a corner in Buenos Aires and you could arrive in a completely different neighbourhood, a different vibe, and different look. Cross Avenida del Libertador from plush Recoleta to Retiro train station and you’ll move from mansions and embassies to the hugger-mugger of street stalls, pastry sellers, cut-price asados and fake football shirts. Here is a guide to the main barrios (neighbourhoods) of Buenos Aires, each totally distinct…
Meat, meat, meat. There is no doubt that Argentina can do the Best Steak in the World ™ but there is one food that porteños adore almost as much as their beloved bovine: pizza. If you want to start a heated debate between two porteños (not tricky), either ask them to define Peronism, or ask them where to find the best pizza. It’s in their blood you see. The majority of Argentines claim Italian ancestry, significantly more than Spanish, which is why you’ll find fresh pasta outlets on every other block and pizzerias everywhere. But if you are looking for an authentic thin crust Roman pie, I’m afraid you are going to be disappointed. In Buenos Aires, pizzas are bready, smothered in an inch of cheese and loaded with toppings…
The sky turns white with torn newspaper. The clattering of drums heightens. Machines blast out blue and yellow smoke. “Ole, ole, ole, ole” 40,000 of the world’s nosiest fans scream. They bounce – the shaking stadium is felt more than two miles away. Many have their shirts off in the heat and are swinging them around their heads. The horn section can be heard through the melee. And the fans continue singing: “Soy de Boca/cada dia te quiero mas”, I’m Boca/everyday I love you more. Boca Juniors have just appeared from the tunnel…