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Three months. Had it already been three months? I don’t think we’ve ever lived in a place where time seemed to fly past so quickly. It felt as though we had just arrived and yet, there we were with bags packed. After a week-long vacation on the Paraná Delta, we were going to hop on a plane for Bolivia, our next destination.
Avenida 9 de Julio, which cuts north-south through the city is one of the world’s widest avenues. Where it intersects Calle Corrientes, the city’s most emblematic symbol shoots grandly into the air: the Obelisk of Buenos Aires. The phallus-shaped monument is the perfect symbol for a country that so proudly basks in machismo.
Fleeing the yellow fever which was devastating the city’s southern barrios at the beginning of the 20th century, Buenos Aires’ most wealthy families established fabulous residences around Retiro’s Plaza San Martín. None were more extravagant than the Palacio Paz.
We confidently strode up the stairs of an impressive neoclassical building, convinced that it was the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes. Passing between the massive gray Doric columns, a guard brusquely informed us that we were actually at the University’s Law School. He shoved us off toward a nearby clump of dark red clay, which had been been molded into the form of a building.
As anyone versed in such matters already knows, Argentine wine has been gaining in respect and influence over the past decade. Jürgen and I definitively aren’t versed in such matters, so we’ve had some learning to do.