The Best Weekend Ever: Sunday

Sunday was my last day in Buenos Aires and I was determined to see all the sites I had missed in the previous days. Because I had not done any decent shopping the entire trip and Buenos Aires was supposed to be the best in South America, I headed to another great shopping area near Recoleta. Unfortunately, I forgot that on Sundays nearly everything is closed in South America, even in a big city such as Buenos Aires. Literally the only things that were open were pharmacies, fast food restaurants, and the occasional café. Luckily, the Ateneo bookstore I had wanted to see was also open. El Ateneo was built into a centuries-old theater that was once a popular night spot for performances and shows. Now it is a book lover’s paradise, with the lobby, orchestra seating, and every balcony lined with bookshelves. The stage now hosts a café where customers can enjoy a book and a coffee. Even though there were security guards roaming the entire building, trying to survey the massive bookstore as best they could, many people were sitting in chairs around the bookstore reading their to-be-purchased books. I picked up a copy of Ernesto Sabato’s El Tunel, a classic of Latin American literature which I may have read in high school... but it couldn’t hurt to read it again. I sat down in a balcony chair overlooking the rest of the bookstore and had a delightful moment reading and listening to the Ray Charles CD that was playing at the time.

After leaving El Ateneo, I took the metro to the Plaza de Mayo to switch trains. (Unlike in Santiago, most of the metro entrances only access one side of the tracks, which can get a little confusing.) I spent some time listening to a concert for the Madres de la Plaza de Mayo that had been set up to commemorate 30 years of the Madres demonstrating for information about the disappeared people. I also visited the Cathedral, which was gorgeous but filled with tons of annoying tourists. I then took the metro to the Las Cañitas neighborhood, on the oldest metro line in the city (and probably the oldest in the continent). The cars were wooden, the light fixtures were simple lamps hanging from the ceilings, and the doors were entirely manual. Getting into those cars was like stepping back in time—they were almost like underground trolleys. It was very cool and even though the cars were a little more rickety and exposed it didn’t feel unsafe at all. I rode for several stops outside of the city center and walked to Las Violetas café, another old café like Tortoni that was filled with older people and families enjoying a Sunday afternoon snack. The café was very elegant, with beautiful mirrors and stained glass, as well as smartly-dressed waiters. I ordered a hot chocolate, which came with a tiny pastry and a glass of water. I took in the people around me—an old couple with their grandchildren, a middle-aged woman studying Spanish from what looked just like my freshman year textbook, and the women working in the adjoining candy shop and bakery—while trying to digest my weekend and all the things I had done.

Even after hot chocolate I was in dire need of a nap, so I took the metro back to the hostel and got a few hours of sleep before one final night on the town. Most of our group went out to dinner at Siga La Vaca (“Follow the Cow”), a giant (tourist trap!) restaurant that serves a massive all-you-can-eat buffet for the low price of 37 pesos (12 dollars). Each guest gets a bottle of wine, as much bread and French fries as they can eat, and their pick of foods from two huge salad bars and grilling stations serving every type of beef and chicken imaginable. I’m not a huge meat fan, so I could only have a few bites while marveling at my friends who piled their plates again and again with steaks, ribs, sausages, kebabs, and more. But the food was great and we all left filled up for a relaxing night. I went out pretty early to check out the Port one last time. Several bridges cross from downtown to the edge of the Bay, and one of them is a duplicate of the Santiago Calatrava bridge back in Milwaukee. I was really excited about this but of course none of my Stanford friends understood my love for this bridge. After one last long night at Puerto Madero checking out the bars and clubs, it was time to head back to Santiago. Needless to say, we all secretly wished that we were studying abroad in Buenos Aires instead of the metropolitan to the West of the continent… but I know I have to go back and see just a few more things next time.