As the month of February drew to a close, there appeared a light at the end of the tunnel – the CELTA tunnel, that is. For as we drew nearer to the end of our studies as celtees, we started to, once again, dream about adventures in el Gran Capital. We said goodbye to our ever enthusiastic Argentine students and embarked on our first proper evening in Buenos Aires as CELTA graduates. It didn’t take more than two or three cervezas in our Diaz Velez abode to realize that celtees enjoy a fiesta too and we traipsed on at 3 am to enjoy unlimited champagne (the finest that the bottom shelf has to offer, might I add) at “Amerika,” an outrageous night spot in the heart of Abasto.
Suddenly, the weekend seemed endless, and completely free of lesson-plans and grammar analysis. For this, I immediately turned to my trusty guidebook and took on the role as inquisitive tourist once more. First on the list (an essential activity to start off a Sunday in proper Buenos Aires fashion) was a charming brunch at Parisian style café “Oui Oui” in the heart of leafy Palermo. We simply could not resist its reviews and devotedly waited in line for a petite and somewhat rickety wooden table. Twenty minutes later, we had a mesa and gushed over the brunch menu, quickly deciding on Croque Madames and eggs with smoked salmon. We chomped through our food somewhat hurriedly after what we received what we believed to be a few stern glances from the manager. Perhaps we had taken brunch to a new leisurely extreme – the line to sit at one of these exclusive tables, after all, had grown several metres as we sipped on our cortados and told stories of CELTA horrors past.
Full from a lavish brunch, we sauntered onwards to San Telmo, the oldest barrio of Buenos Aires. Famous for its antique fairs and tango parlors, San Telmo was no disappointment on that last Sunday of February. As we turned onto Defensa, the adoquines (or, cobblestones) were lined with stall upon stall of quintessentially Argentine handicrafts. Somewhere in the midst of the Sunday feria, we found Mafalda sitting on a bench, watching the passers-by. Mafalda, created in 1964 by Joaquín Salvador Lavado (or, Quino, as he is more fondly known) is Argentina’s most famous comic strip. The character of Mafalda who appeared for the first time in 1964 in a local newspaper, is five years of age and in her stories is consistently preoccupied with world peace and humanity. A little rebel, she charmed the entire country and has remained one of the most printed characters in Argentina for over fifty years. I, of course, rushed to buy Mafalda books upon arriving in Argentina as a means of improving my Castellano and was shocked to find that the level of the language was anything but basic. Lesson learnt? Never underestimate a five year old, particularly not this one whose words and sentiments are often packed full of underlying meanings and morals. I thanked Mafalda (or, a sculpture of her, at least) for her complexity and wit in person as we posed for a photograph on that very bench in San Telmo.
The cultural endeavors were not left behind in San Telmo that Sunday. As a means of celebrating our move to a new departamento, we decided to dedicate the rest of the day to Eva Peron and the finest art of Buenos Aires. Again, we found ourselves on a little street in Palermo, in search of the building which once upon a time had housed unprivileged women and children, thanks to the efforts of La Fundacion Eva Peron. The building that had in 1948 been bought and restored for the use of the above mentioned women and children now houses all of what remains of Eva Peron’s belongings. Before even arriving in Argentina, my admiration for Eva Peron was immense. The second wife of President Juan Peron, she fought consistently for the rights of the working class (or, los descamisados) and those of the women of Argentina. She founded and ran the nation’s first ever publicly recognized female political party – “The Female Peronist Party.” As we passed through the beautiful historic home, my heart warmed a little as I glanced into the life and achievements of this amazing woman. As we read about Eva’s influence in female suffrage (implemented in Argentina in 1947), I couldn’t help but gawk at the suit which hung, framed, on the wall. That very suit was the one worn by Evita when she voted for the very first time. Beside the suit, the quotation read: “The nation's government has just handed me the bill that grants us our civil rights. I am receiving it before you, certain that I am accepting this on behalf of all Argentinean women, and I can feel my hands tremble with joy as they grasp the laurel proclaiming victory.”
Additionally, the museum gives great insight into the personal life of Eva Peron and highlights the romance between her and the Colonel. As we walked towards the exit I glanced upward and saw the following words floating in beautiful writing on the ceiling: “Mi dia maravilloso fue el dia en que mi vida coincidió con la vida de Peron.” She re-iterated that the Colonel “[fue] la razon de mi vida.”
Almost teary-eyed, we proceeded onwards to the museum of Bellas Artes on the never ending Avenida del Libertador, saluting ten or twelve different embassies along the way. El Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes is home to one of the most important collections in Latin America, and boasts not only an exceedingly impressive permanent collection of mostly external pieces, but also an entire floor of a mescla (or, mixture) of Argentinean paintings and sculptures. Again I said hello to my friend Alejandro Xul Solar, whose exceedingly abstract and at times cubist work took up a lot of wall space on the second floor. I apologized to his paintings for having not yet visited his house-turned-museum in Palermo and promised I would venture there soon. I tried to spend as long as could on the Argentine floor, however as a long-term student of the gothic genre, I couldn’t help but gush over the dibujos of Spaniard Francisco Goya which were neatly tucked away in the “foreign” section of the museum. His series of “Los Caprichos” oozed with dark uncertainty and I was once again reminded of his signature piece which inspired my continuing research into the nature of the gothic: “El sueño de la razón engendra monstrous.” The next morning, however, I hastily put my gothic cap away in the cupboard having suffered a terrible night’s sleep filled with monsters and masks.
