Childish Games? In Buenos Aires?

Recently, reviewing the English translations on a Chilean hotel website, I came upon the bewildering phrase “childish games” as one of the hotel's features, and I had to refer back to the Spanish original to find the term “juegos infantiles” to realize that what they meant was “playground for kids.” They'd apparently relied on translation software—thanks, Google!—to promote themselves to English-speaking audiences.

Recently, in the New York Times travel section, Danielle Pergament offered an account of seeing Buenos Aires through her children’s rudimentary Spanish. For Pergament, who proudly proclaims that neither she nor her husband speaks a word of Spanish, this was a potential interesting conceit, but one that failed in its execution—at least in my opinion and my Argentine wife’s.

So far as I can tell, Pergament ignored what should have been visible evidence regarding the status of children in Argentina, and Buenos Aires in particular. I say that as someone who helped raise a half-Argentine daughter, with many Argentine nieces and nephews whom I’ve known since their early childhoods.

Somehow, Pergament concludes that children are peripheral to local life—she cites the example of an English-speaking waitress and a concierge who chose to address her rather her kids—but she mightn’t think that if, somehow, she had noticed that young children often accompany their parents to very late meals, often well after 9 p.m. In fact, dinner at home is often that late and even the youngest children are an integral part of the event, though if it’s a big family dinner the kids may have their own separate table.

Children watch a street performer at the Feria Plaza Francia.

She also missed a big opportunity by not having her kids—ages eight and ten—interact with their Argentine counterparts by paying more attention to parks and playgrounds. Easy walking distance from her lodgings at Recoleta’s Hotel Mío Buenos Aires, the Feria Plaza Francia (a sophisticated crafts fair that she dismisses as a “trinkets market”) often has street performers that appeal to children, and the Plaza Emilio Mitre has a fine playground.

Plaza Emilio Mitre is one of many where Porteño parents bring kids.

Freddo is a fading presence in the quality ice cream sector.

She does recognize one aspect of Buenos Aires that certainly appeals to kids, and that is ice cream. Sadly, her kids appear to have sampled only chains like the moribund Freddo (no longer the go-to choice it once was), Lucciano’s (very decent) and Rapa Nui (a chocolates specialist that originated in Bariloche but has branches here and in beach resorts). In fairness, these were conspicuous locales the Pergament and her family were likeliest to come across in their walks around the tourist-oriented northern neighborhoods, so more distinctive choices like Heladería Cadore were not on their itinerary.

Rapa Nui is primarily a chocolatier that got its start in Bariloche, in northern Argentine Patagonia.

At Palermo's Jardín Japonés, the colorfully carp-filled ponds appeal to kids.

Other child-friendly sights she suggests are the Abasto Shopping Center, the Centro Cultural Recoleta with its motto of ¡prohibido no tocar! (not touching prohibited!), Palermo’s Jardín Japonés and Planetario Galileo Galilei, and the often quirky Museo de Arte Latinoamericano Buenos Aires (MALBA). All of these are worthwhile, especially the MALBA, but I can’t stop thinking of her own childish oversights.

A young Porteña stands alongside the late León Ferrari's dark-themed "Mushroom Cloud" at the MALBA.

I've Never Been to Spain?

I’ve never been to Spain. Well I have been, I guess, if you count Catalonia as part of Spain, because I once spent a week in Barcelona. But I’ve been to Salamanca…oh, wait, not that Salamanca! Earlier this month, I spent two nights in the Chilean city of Salamanca, which I’d visited before, but this was an escape from Santiago after spending most of the previous two months in Patagonia.

Gregorio de la Fuente's "Abrazo de los Pueblos" still decorates the now disused passenger  terminal of Los Andes' Ferrocarril Transandino.

How did I get to Salamanca? Well, I started slow, thanks to late-rush hour traffic out of Santiago, but then headed north to the town of Los Andes, where the Ferrocarril Transandino once carried passengers and freight across the Andean divide to Mendoza. I had no intention of visiting Argentina this time, but I did want to see the mural by Gregorio de la Fuente—his "El Abrazo de los Pueblos” (Embrace of the Peoples) at the old train station is a celebration of Argentine-Chilean friendship. It was just a brief stop, though I did learn that there’s now an occasional tourist train on this route.

Vehicles pass along the old railroad route through Túnel La Grupa, near the town of Cabildo.

Symbolically, at least, trains played a role in my route to Salamanca, as I took the paved highway west to the town of San Felipe and then north through scenic Andean foothills that resemble the higher, drier parts of Southern California. There are only scattered settlements along this route E-71, which leads to the town of Cabildo; there, a traffic light controls access through the Túnel La Grupa, one of a series of tunnels that belonged to the Longino, the Ferrocarril Longitudinal that connected La Calera (west of Santiago) to the nitrate mines and ports of the northernmost Atacama Desert.

The landscape here resembles the higher, drier areas of Southern California.

I’d driven this route before, but not for several years. In the interim, authorities have either paved—or begun to pave—much of it north of the border between Region V (Valparaíso) and Region IV (Coquimbo). This is significant because most of Coquimbo’s population resides along the coast, where cities like Los Vilos and La Serena attract beachgoers from Santiago, and this is a more adventurous (if slower) alternative to lesser-known points.

Túnel Las Palmas marks the border between the Valparaíso and Coquimbo regions.

Café Quarzo is one of few roadside services here.

There are few services on this stretch of “highway” but, surprisingly, one enterprising local has opened a small café on the northbound descent from Túnel Las Palmas, which marks the regional border. She sells ground coffee drinks—in a country where Nescafé is often still the default option—as well as juices and mineral souvenirs (hence the name Café Quarzo). The road continues, passing several railroad bridges, to the enigmatically named village of Caimanes (there are no carnivorous aquatic reptiles here, though; the name apparently comes from an indigenous Mapundungun [Mapuche] word meaning “six condors”).

Carnivorous aquatic reptiles do not populate the area around Caimanes.

Túnel Las Astas is the last of three short tunnels north of Caimanes.

The foundations of the old railroad station still stand here, but there’s no more obvious evidence until a short distance north, where the road passes through three short tunnels with no traffic lights. Several years ago, in Argentina, I met two US cyclists who’d taken this road on my guidebook recommendation and loved it, but they confessed their trepidation in riding through the narrow tunnels, with little room to dodge any oncoming vehicle. That said, this route remains a potentially great ride for adventure-seeking cyclists.

The old train station at Limáhuida is now a country store.

Emerging from the Túnel Los Astas, the road continues to Limáhuida, where the old train station is now a small market and fading wooden workshops still stand below it. That’s also where a new bridge crosses the Río Choapa and leads east to Salamanca, where I spent two nights at the modern and comfortable Hotel Recanto, on the eastern outskirts of town.

Hotel Recanto is full during the week, but nearly empty on weekends.

Oddly—or not—I was virtually the only guest in contemporary accommodations with spacious rooms, solar-powered hot water, and an outstanding restaurant. That’s because it clears out on the Thursday and Friday, as mining managers—there are large copper deposits in the area—leave for the weekend.

Farm-fresh garlic spreads at Salamanca's central plaza

Salamanca's old train station is now a museum and part of a pleasant public park.

Nevertheless, the hotel was still walking distance from a handsome central plaza with a lively crafts and farmers market, a former train station turned museum and municipal park, and easy access to nearby petroglyphs. There are also wineries in the area, though I didn’t get to visit those, but Salamanca—where I’d stayed once several years earlier, still struck me as a good weekend getaway.

The pre-Columbian petroglyphs at Cerro Chalinga are walking distance from downtown Salamanca.

It’s not the area’s only attraction, though. The next day I took the paved highway north to Combarbalá, a village which, on the face of it, resembles some Mexican villages, with narrow streets lined by adobe houses and even ranchera music. To get there, I did veer northwest off the more direct but still unpaved railroad route (though, had there been tunnels, I would have taken it again).

The fountain at Combarbalá's central plaza represents indigenous Diaguita motifs.

Mexican ranchera music is popular in rural Chile, including Combarbalá.

Small-scale mines extract combarbalita for local crafts workers.

What Combarbalá does have is small-scale mining for the semi-precious gemstone combarbalita (I visited a local mine, thanks to Paola Yáñez of Inti Wasi Tour), and the community astronomical Observatorio Cruz del Sur, which offers nighttime tours in one of the best possible areas for professional and amateur astronomy. I stayed at the cozy Eco-Hostal Alto Algarrobal, one of many accommodations that will fill up in for July 2nd, when a total eclipse of the sun will pass nearby (Combarbalá will be slightly south of totality).

The approach to Observatorio Cruz del Sur, in the daylight hours.

The beginning of a nighttime tour at Observatorio Cruz del Sur

Combarbalá and other nearby towns will fill up for the July 2nd eclipse.

After a night at Combarbalá, I headed the next morning for the coast, where Los Vilos would make an ideal beach break for Santiaguinos returning to Chile’s capital. For my part, I continued along the coast to Viña del Mar and Valparaíso, which will be another story here in the near future.

Sipping and Surfing? Colchagua to Pichilemu

Two hours south of Santiago, as I leave the freeway, trucks with bins of grapes slow the traffic on the westbound two-lane road toward the town of Santa Cruz, in Chile’s Colchagua valley. With the warm dry March weather, it feels like September in the Napa Valley, in my home state of California. This, though, is farther than a day trip from my house, so I’ll spend several days sampling the wines and dining in the country’s premier wine district—tourist-friendly Colchagua is due to host next year’s Congreso Mundial de Enoturismo (World Wine Tourism Conference).

The balconies at Hotel TerraViña have vineyard views.

My first stop is the Danish-Chilean Hotel TerraViña, nearly surrounded by vineyards on the outskirts of town, where I’ve stayed on previous trips. From here, it’s a short stroll through the vines to Viña Laura Hartwig, which now offers carriage rides through its grounds and new tasting facilities for an expanded wine list. They’re part of the Movimiento de Viñateros Independientes (MOVI), an alliance of smaller wineries with an increasingly high profile. I sample a Cabernet, a Merlot and a blend, accompanied by a plate of almonds, cheese, cold cuts and crackers.

Wines to sample in the recova at Laura Hartwig

View across the soggy lawn at Hotel Casa de Campo

The next morning, I move across town to the Hotel Casa de Campo, where the only drawback to my spacious room is its relative proximity to the highway. Fortunately, its French doors face a sprawling lawn with views of the Chilean coast range, though I’m a bit shocked to see the flood-style irrigation in an area where water's at a premium. I’m pleasantly surprised, though, when a gardener knocks on the door with a bowl of freshly picked prunes.

Santa Cruz's Plaza de Armas

From there, I head to Santa Cruz’s walkable downtown, with a lushly landscaped Plaza de Armas surrounded by low-slung buildings and a parish church that was totally rebuilt—on its original design—after severe earthquake damage in 2010 forced its demolition. On this visit I skipped the imposing Museo Colchagua, created by Iran-Contra arms merchant Carlos Cardoen, whose foundation also financed the church’s reconstruction, but the museum’s natural history and agricultural machinery displays are well worth seeing.

The Museo de Colchagua is part of a complex that also includes a hotel and a casino.

After severe quake damage in 2010, Santa Cruz's Iglesia Parroquial underwent  demolition for a total rebuild on the original plan.

Quinotto of scallops, shrimp, and squid at Casa Colchagua 

That afternoon, I eat on the patio at Casa Colchagua, a renovated adobe just a stone’s throw from TerraViña. Rather than bread, the appetizer is a sopaipilla enhanced by the savory tomato-onion-garlic salsa known as pebre. For the main course, there’s quinotto with shrimp, scallops and squid rings–Chile’s diverse seafood is world-class—plus a pisco sour with a touch of ají verde, and a nice glass of Sauvignon Blanc.

José Antonio Bravo opens up his tiny adobe at OWM Wines

In the afternoon, I drive to the village of El Peral to visit OWM Wines, a low-tech operation that produces only blends and does much of the work manually, while bodega itself is a tiny adobe within a far larger garage full of heavy machinery. With a minimum of two guests (maximum of eight), winemaker José Antonio Bravo does the tours himself, and encourages guests to make their own blends. Later, back in Santa Cruz, I dine at Vino Bello—an established Italian option—for a seafood risotto.

Patio dining at Vino Bello

The patio and tasting room at Clos Santa Ana

The next day, an unseasonably rainy one, I meet British photographer Matt Wilson and his wife Andrea—a winemaker at Clos Apalta—for dinner at their house near the Viu Manent winery (whose wines are most readily available in California). We chat about travel writing, photography and the madness of Brexit, among other topics, and enjoy several glasses of Apalta’s wines (Apalta is not a MOVI member). The next morning, I moved to the westerly site of Clos Santa Ana, where Italian winemaker, art collector and dog fancier Luiz Allegretti invites me to a long Sunday lunch with his neighbors—one of whom is also a winemaker—and to spend the night in his sprawling colonial home, with its multiple interior patios. That’s a privilege, but Allegretti also has a tasting room for the general public.

At Clos Santa Ana, Luiz Allegretti has an eclectic art collection.

On the road to Pichilemu, there's a shrine to the Argentine folk saint Difunta Correa.

The next morning, I drive west through the coast range toward the beach town of Pichilemu, passing a large roadside shrine to the Difunta Correa (do Argentine surfers leave bottles of water for San Juan’s legendary folk saint?). Once an exclusive playground for the rich—its renovated cultural center is a Francophile structure built by the Anglo-Chilean Agustín Ross Edwards, whose name also graces the handsome waterfront park. The downtown’s seeing signs of rejuvenation, but much of the action has moved south to Punta de Lobos, which attracts a cosmopolitan surf crowd comparable to what comes to northern California during the famous Mavericks competition. Sacred to surfers, the point of the peninsula here is now a protected reserve under the aegis of the Fundación Punta de Lobos.

Pichilemu's Centro Cultural Agustín Ross was originally a casino.

Pichilemu's Punta de Lobos is sacred to surfers.

There, the budget crowd stays at La Sirena Insolente, the newest member of a small hostel chain that has comfy private rooms as well as dorms. At the other end, I stay at the luxury surf lodge Hotel Alaia, at a spacious room with ocean views and a private deck, not to mention its skateboard park, climbing wall, beach bar, a freshwater pool, and surfing lessons. I don’t ride the waves—at Punta de Lobos there are small monuments to surfers who died here—but I dine its stylish restaurant—primarily using locally sourced ingredients.

At Hotel Alaia, all the rooms have easy beach access.

At Punta de Lobos, I also find a cluster of food trucks offering some unexpected treats such as a Peruvian burrito—perhaps the ultimate in fusion cuisine? Unfortunately, when I arrive around noon the following day, the Peruvian’s hasn't yet opened, and I need to return to Santiago. That tantalizing burrito will have to wait.

When I first saw the Peruvian burrito trailer, I'd already had lunch.

Buenos Aires, by Bus & Bike

These days, whenever I’m in Buenos Aires, I prefer to get around on foot—while it’s more time-consuming than the Subte, city buses or taxis (all of which I use on occasion), walking offers the opportunity to view the city at a slower pace and also provides some exercise that can be otherwise hard to find on the unrelentingly flat terrain. During my recently stay, I walked as much as 11 miles (about 17 km) per day, though most of the time I did half that or a bit less. At some point soon, I’m planning to write about Buenos Aires specifically as a walker’s city—both the good and the bad.

Outside Buenos Aires Bus offices, on Diagonal Norte

I rarely take tours but, shortly before leaving Argentina earlier this month, I chose to see the city through two services I’d not known personally—Buenos Aires Bus and Biking Buenos Aires. Buenos Aires Bus is a hop-on/hop-off tourist shuttle that runs two separate routes around the city, between 9 a.m. and 9 p.m. (though the northerly recorrido verde operates only between 10 a.m. and 6:50 p.m. Frequencies are 20 minutes on the central and southerly recorrido azul/rojo and 30 minutes on the verde.

The Buenos Aires Bus stop on Avenida Libertador in Palermo, two blocks from my apartment

While the company has its offices downtown, a short walk from the central Plaza de Mayo, it has convenient stops throughout the most visited parts of the city, and it’s possible to purchase tickets online and board near your accommodations. In my case, there’s a stop just a couple blocks from my Palermo Botánico apartment, where I boarded for the ride downtown.

Aboard a roofless Buenos Aires Bus

The buses themselves are double-deckers, sometimes open to the sun and sometimes shaded by a tarp; the lower deck is available when it rains. There are trilingual guides on board—Spanish, English and Portuguese—but there are also audio guides in seven other languages, including German, French, Italian, Chinese, Japanese, Hebrew and Arabic. Every passenger receives a pair of headphones to hear the narration.

The iconic Obelisco, from the upper deck of Buenos Aires Bus

Sitting in the upper deck, I got a view of the city that was rather different from that of a pedestrian and I only regret that, as the end of my stay approached, I was not able to take full advantage of the service. For a first-time visitor to the city, though, it’s an option worth consideration, available either for 24 hours at Ar$670 (about US$34) or 48 hours at Ar$850 (about US$43) per person.

Biking Buenos Aires

On another day, though, I was able to indulge myself on a bicycle tour through parts of the city I’ve long known. Based in San Telmo, Biking Buenos Aires offers a variety of excursions, ranging from a five-hour “Heart of the City Tour” to a seven-hour “Ultimate City Tour” and thematic tours on architecture, urban art (including graffiti) and even a combined bike and kayak trip to the northern suburbs.

The Biking Buenos Aires offices in San Telmo

In the last week of my stay, I chose the “Heart of the City” option, which started around 11 a.m. with an orientation meeting, at Biking’s offices, for the eight of us (all Americans except for an English-speaking French couple). Our guides were Cristina Marey, a Galician woman who headed the group, and Olaf Menger, a Dutchman who brought up the rear and directed traffic at intersections where notoriously aggressive porteño drivers might plow into us.

At Parque Lezama, with the Russian Orthodox Church in the background, at right

Our first stop was Parque Lezama, only a few minutes from Biking’s offices, where Cristina spoke about the city’s supposed founding here by Pedro de Mendoza in 1536, and pointed out local landmarks such as the Iglesia Ortodoxa Rusa. We then rode on to La Boca for a stop at the traditional Caminito, where I was a reluctant recruit for a tango lesson with Olaf—I have two left feet and no sense of rhythm (at tango’s beginning, men danced with each other in brothels while waiting for a prostitute).

The Caminito is an obligatory stop in La Boca.

Until April, Ai Weiwei's "Forever Bicycles" will occupy the sidewalk outside the Fundación Proa.

The lesson was mercifully brief, followed by a short walk around the Caminito, where I saw two interesting novelties: first, at the Fundación Proa, a bicycle-oriented art installation by Ai Weiwei (here until early April), and then a fresh-squeezed orange-juice cart. Increasing in numbers, the orange juice carts are a welcome phenomenon in the city’s summer heat, are increasing in numbers.

Fresh-squeezed orange juice carts are an increasingly common sight on the city's streets.

Local boy Carlos Tévez is a hero in La Boca.

I heard, in the orientation, that we would see murals in La Boca, but I anticipated the historic paintings on the walls of La Bombonera, Boca Juniors’ iconic soccer stadium. Instead, we proceeded to a part of the barrio I didn’t know, where newly painted murals, such as this one of barrio hero Carlos Tévez—who recently re-signed with his original team—cover the sides of high-rise apartments. La Bombonera is visible in the distance, but in the other direction.

Puerto Madero's Reserva Ecológica is a reclaimed landfill.

Also atop the reclaimed landfill are luxury apartment buildings.

From La Boca, we rode toward the shores of the Río de la Plata and the Reserva Ecológica Costanera Sur, where grasses, shrubs, woodlands and birds have colonized a landfill that was once off-limits. It’s part of the city’s newest barrio, Puerto Madero, which is also the wealthiest but, not so far in the future, its luxury high-rises might require canoe or kayak access as rising seas also raise the river’s level in an already flood-prone zone.

Biking's clients lunch at Puerto Madero, with the Reserva Ecológica in the background.

Emerging from the woods, we lunched at a sandwich stand before continuing to the classic diques (basins) of the old port, now surrounded by the city’s priciest real estate, and the landmark Puente de la Mujer pedestrian bridge. Cristina commented that Puerto Madero is unaffordable for all but the wealthiest porteños, and that’s certainly true, but as Andrew Graham-Yooll once remarked to me, its ample public spaces—not limited to the Reserva Ecológica—are open to visitors of all social classes.

Spanish architect Antonio Calatrava's Puente de la Mujer has become an icon of Puerto Madero.

Puerto Madero's public areas are open to all, for activities like pickup soccer games.

Leaving Puerto Madero, we had our only uphill segment—a short one, but still a bit of an effort on a relatively heavy bike—before reaching the central Plaza de Mayo and its landmark buildings. Unfortunately, the Plaza itself is undergoing a major remodel (at the height of tourist season!), so we soon looped back to Biking’s offices and the conclusion of a satisfying 17-km two-wheel trip.

Shortly after I took this photo, from the balcony of the colonial Cabildo, the Plaza de Mayo closed for a major remodel.