Buenos Aires. December 2011.

The instant I stepped into the subte (subway) on my first day in Buenos Aires, I felt a palpable jolt, a tingling excitement, as I stepped once again into an unfamiliar world; this time into a culture that shares some undertones to the one I grew up with, but is, at the same time, very different. Being surrounded by a language that is vaguely familiar but practically meaningless to me only adds to the sense of excitement. I guess part of the exhilaration one feels when traveling is that initial sense of being lost in unfamiliar territory. Interestingly, the exhilaration seems to intensify as one slowly finds meaning in strange new things. Buenos Aires has brought me such experiences of discovery! Indeed, it is ironic, that it is only when one starts to get to know a culture and becomes, in a sense, less lost, can one also begin to “lose” oneself in a new world.

I lost my way in the street-like alleys of Recoleta Cemetery quite a few times. The vast majority of its residents are unknown; there are but a few key residents of this most famous Buenos Aires landmark that help guide one around its maze-like paths. It is thus unthinkable that the most famous of these residents does not even have a sign that directs people to her final resting place. Yes, there are basic instructions on how to get to her grave, but one soon realizes that every person visiting the cemetery has but one goal, and that one only needs to follow the flock to visit Evita!

After enjoying a relaxing breakfast in the elegant district of Recoleta, I hopped on Bus 17 to San Telmo with no coins and a two peso bill. Talking in the language that I have unsuccessfully tried to learn, the bus driver appeared to reprimand me, though except for the tone of his voice, his stern look, and a smattering of cognates, I had no clue what he was talking about. Did the bus only accept coins? Is he letting me in for free? He eventually gave me a couple of his own coins in exchange for my two peso bill and may have said something about doing me a favor (but who knows?). I dropped the coins in the fare counter, got my ticket, and carefully followed the bus route in my hand-held map, one street corner at a time. I had been warned that San Telmo is a rough neighborhood outside the confines of its tourist-friendly center and I had to get off quite a few blocks from the main square.

A part of me did feel an exhilaration as I navigated my way through unfamilar, sometimes empty, streets to the main square of this old, picturesquely rugged district of once-elegant mansions, cobblestone streets, antique shops, and a mercado (municipal market) teeming with activity.

At Plaza Dorrego, the main square, I felt the soul of San Telmo, the birthplace of tango, as a handsome couple dramatically tangoed amidst the numerous vendors that spread their wares in the square.

When traveling, one has to be observant of one’s surroundings and hopefully recognize a serendipitous event  that may cross one’s path. Some of these experiences may even end up being more relevant than what one had originally planned to do. As I wandered around the streets of San Telmo, I came across a beautiful inner courtyard with a magnificent staircase and beautiful ironwork. I chanced upon and photographed a colorful mural in a building, which by sheer luck led to a cozy family-run restaurant beside it and a memorable sumptious lunch.

On my first day in Buenos Aires, my host/ landlord gave me numerous suggestions for must-see tango shows offered all over BA especially in the old districts of San Telmo and Barracas. I could not make up my mind, all were very expensive, some seemed too kitschy (in my host´s own words, “like Las Vegas!”). Hoping not to miss the last rays of sunlight that day, I left the decision for a later time and went off to explore the city center. As I ambled around town, finding respite in Cafe Tortoni, an elegant turn-of- the- century cafe that is an institution in BA, I learned that a tango show was being performed there that same night.

After savoring my cafe cortado and alfajores (caramel sandwich cookies), I quickly bought a ticket and anxiously awaited the show. With the backdrop of a black and red stage, the lyrical blend of piano, guitar, bandoneon, and a very inspired tenor singing heartrending melodies, I was “lost” in 1920s Buenos Aires, transported to a dimly lit cobblestone alley in old San Telmo, as two lovers crisply and passionately wrapped themselves in a tango embrace….