One of the blessings to come out of the struggle I had faced over the last year...in and out of work, back in a city I had been away from for so long, and lacking a sense of place...was the liberation I felt at being able to cut myself loose from the constraints of life in the UK, and head to a country which was completely alien to me, to open myself up to an entirely new experience.
One of the things about arriving in a new city after a long-haul flight is the strong sense of disorientation I tend to feel: ever inquisitive, all I want to do upon touching down somewhere I have never been before is to see and do everything. But this is always in stark contrast to my body´s reaction: being as slight as I am, I tend to be knocked for six by altitude, lack of sleep and a change in time zone and climate. Coupled with culture shock, this is something I can find tricky. This time, my physical reaction to my new environment was more extreme. On the cab journey to my hotel in the early hours of the morning, I took everything in: the surroundings, the driver´s demeanour, the level of traffic, the motorway billboards...but after I checked into my hotel and took my first walk around Buenos Aires, I felt something shift physically when I lay down for some rest. I later discovered that the dizzying feeling and lack of balance I felt, along with the agonising pain coming from my ear was a result of a burst eardrum caused by flying while suffering with a throat infection.
The few hours that followed were scary, as I negotiated a new language and culture at the same time as having zero clue as to what was happening to me physically. Even with a Spanish-speaking friend to help me, zipping round the city in cab with a blood-soaked tissue held to my ear was an unsettling experience. Odder still was my first experience of a foreign hospital: I couldn´t help but think of Scarlett Johannsson in Lost in Translation as I stood at the reception, unable to make head nor tail of the list of floors and departments.
I suppose the experience was something of a baptism of fire to the country - certainly after this I was unfazed by any other challenges that presented themselves, and I felt fresh and new and eager to explore the city once I had been examined and walked away with some wise words of advice and a bag full of antibiotics.
That night I was able to properly reflect on where I was, and I felt extremely privileged to be in this city for this period of my life. My dorm room was huge and spacious with a vast and high ceiling, and I could step out on the balcony to be met by a fantastic view of the Avenida 9 de Julio in all of its hectic, lively glory. There was lane upon lane upon lane of traffic, contrasting with beautiful, sedate monuments which were dotted up and down the street: I felt overwhelmed by this new place, and could only really compare it to how I felt when I arrived in Tokyo - Japan´s vastly different culture was like nothing I´d ever seen before or since, and I felt this similar sense of ´newness´ about my first experience of Argentina.
The oddness of the climate was something else that I was thrown by in my first few days. After recovering from my strange ´health scare´ and upping my caffeine intake ten-fold with countless cafe con leches, I set out to explore some of the city´s sights, instantly unsettled by the strength of the sun alongside an oft-unbearable cold breeze. But this really only enhanced the intensity of my experience of Buenos Aires as I wandered along street after street, taking in the bustle of the Microcentro and the creativity of the architecture. The towering presence of El Obelisco is a sight to behold in itself, but it is surrounded by countless other beautiful buildings, of which the Teatro Colon is arguably the most stunning.
The regular demonstrations taking place in Plaza de Mayo gave me a real insight into the political convictions of many Argentinians. Seeing so many people come together to speak out about something important to them for little other than pure principle was very sobering - it caused me to reflect on how few protests I have seen back home throughout my lifetime. Although maybe symptomatic of ´the English reserve´, I couldn't help but think there is something special and important about expressing opinions and feelings for the sake of expressing them. So it may be that is disrupts schedules and unsettles some people, but it enables people to feel they have a voice and that they are using it, arguably the most important of all things.
My visit to the Cementerio de la Recoleta was perhaps the most moving of all my experiences during the trip. It is difficult for me to describe the scale of it: row upon row upon row of elaborate tombs, each one entirely individual in its design. It is really more of a minature village than a traditional cemetery, and like nothing I´d ever before seen. The number of floral tributes which adorned the family vault of Eva Peron was something I found particularly overwhelming: it has been over fifty years since her death, and yet people regard her so highly they are still moved to leave fresh flowers at her tomb.
In stark contrast to this visit was the trip I took the following day to San Telmo and La Boca. The home of tango in the city, and all things flamboyant, San Telmo was teeming with visitors, street performers and vendors of all kinds on the Sunday I visited. I loved wandering up and down the narrow streets, watching the many performances and mooching around the huge number of antique stalls, with everything from grandfather clocks to Mickey Mouse teaspoons on display.
La Boca´s deprivation, alongside La Bombonera, home to their beloved Boca Juniors, put me in mind of how I felt when I first started going to Old Trafford as a teenager: here was this area full of poverty, but its community was brought together by a universal love of a football club, its commerce and graffiti alike devoted entirely to all things Man U.
The tango shows and parrillas along El Caminito, along with its colourfully decorated shopfronts and apartments gave me a similar feeling - La Boca makes up for in spirit what it may lack in material wealth.
I suppose at this stage of my Argentina experience, what struck me the most was the level and scale of contrast I had witnessed. There is poverty in so many quarters of Buenos Aires, and it is apparent for all to see, but still it remains soulful and committed to passion and beauty - I think it is this above all else which caused me to fall for it in no small way.