Don't Cry for Me ARGENTINAAAAA!!!

Alright. I'm sorry, but it had to be said somewhere. I was singing it as we pulled up to the dock at the Port of Buenos Aires and right into the middle of a big shining modern city of skyscrapers and tall palms. It took me about 15 minutes to fall in love and decide to start googling Recoleta real estate. We took a city tour to get our bearings and it quickly became apparent what was important in this grand old lady of a city. Diego Maradona, Soccer, SOCCER and when they're not thinking about that, antiques and Eva Peron. Smoking and emotional outbursts are socially acceptable and most responses to simple questions are unusually out of proportion. Porteans, as the citizens are called, speak loudly and with their hands and even the black and white question, "where can I find a bathroom" will get you a good loud bout of shouting and smacking the forehead before they finally actually take you to the door themselves. They are very friendly, go out of their way and like to share information even if they don't have a clue about what they're talking about or even speak any english for that matter. 

Recoleta is the Beverly Hills of Buenos Aires, home of the movie stars, politicans and industry giants. The curving tree-lined streets shelter the mostly spanish colonial style homes and embassies that are sandwiched together sharing walls on both sides. French, Italianate and even a little Swedish modern/Scan influence (go figure) are scattered throughout, sometimes on the same house.  The architectural detail is quite beautiful--most homes have tall thin wooden shutters behind the curving flowery iron balconies. Huge hand carved wooden doors with large brass doorknockers and ivy grace almost every house. Cats quietly sneak around the interesting nooks and crannies as the housekeepers and gardeners stand outside gossiping and smoking. It's a very peaceful cozy neighborhood; betrayed only by the fact that there are manned security guard posts on every corner indicating a little something more sinister behind the scenes. On the flip side of the coin, we drive past a sizeable shanty town under a huge bridge by the port and it is grim. Dirty, barefoot kids run between the tin and cardboard huts, all of which have modern satellite dishes on top. The next neighborhood over is called La Boca. Built close to the port by seafarers who had little money, the homes are largely made of corrugated metal painted in bold bright color combinations and possibly on the brink of falling apart right before your eyes. Apparently in the 20's, the men went down to the docks where the cargo boats were being painted and they were given the leftover paints and as much free tin as they could haul. They would build their rickety homes on top or next to each other. 'Boca' is a vibrant, slightly menacing patchwork hub of action all pink, yellow, purple and bright blue, with hustlers, beggars and tango dancers on tiny stages wearing next to nothing and really gettin' down all at 11:30 am. Psychedelic colors, barbecue, smoke, beer and the cacaphony of banging piano and violin music all combine to create a very confusing backdrop. Men hang out of windows smoking and doing running commentaries on the action below with the fellows across the allies. Shouting, laughing, singing, dancing.

No wonder this is where the famous soccer stadium is located.