There is a saying that Argentines are Italians who speak Spanish and act like the English. Yes, they seem to enjoy queuing, polo is popular among rarefied groups and some apparently have tea at 4am (although I didn’t meet any). But it would be more accurate to say that Argentina feels European.
Two-thirds of the 45 million inhabitants have relatives who made the journey around the turn of the century in search of a better life. Italy is everywhere: in charm, style, cuisine. Mostly in the way the country is run. Business and politics revolve around what you can get away with. The economy should be in shambles but somehow manages to get by.
One of the problems with this vast country is choosing where to go. I could go to Patagonia and its glaciers or Bariloche and its lakes. But I choose the less-visited northwest, with its volcanoes and enchanting emptiness.
Most trips start and end in Buenos Aires. We will stay in Palermo, home to the impressive MALBA, the Museum of Latin American Art, where Frida Kahlo is the star.
Nearby, Recoleta is richer, and coiffed ladies fight for space on the sidewalk with professional dog walkers. Here, the cemetery contains the graves of Argentine greats, including Eva Peron (Evita), the famous First Lady who stole the heart of the country from 1946 until her untimely death in 1952.
Lunar landscape: During his tour of northwestern Argentina, John Kampfner visits the town of San Antonio de los Cobres, the terminus of the ‘train to the clouds’ (photo)
With annual inflation approaching 100 percent in the country, people spend their monthly salaries almost as soon as they get paid. Bars and restaurants in Buenos Aires seem to do a good trade, serving steaks and exotica such as llama carpaccio.
When you think of Argentina, you invariably think of tango, the sensual dance that many aspire to but few achieve (my wife and I took classes in London before we left, only to find ourselves tripping on each other’s toes). Buenos Aires is full of clubs where you can watch tango until the wee hours while enjoying food and drink – but choose carefully.
My favorite attraction in the capital is Palacio Barolo. When completed in 1923, it was the tallest skyscraper in South America – 22 stories, inspired by Dante Alighieri’s 14th-century poem, The Divine Comedy. At the top is a lighthouse that has only been lit twice – at the end of World War I and before Argentina’s recent World Cup victory.
A two-hour flight takes us to the colonial city of Salta, whose main square is dominated by a cathedral.
John drives through the Calchaqui Valley (pictured above) and stops at canyons with names like Devil’s Throat
Also on the square is the Museum of Upland Archaeology. Inside, in a glass box, sits a 15-year-old girl, frozen in time. In 1999, scientists working at 23,000 feet on the Chilean border found three Inca children buried at the top of the Llullaillaco volcano. They had been there for 500 years.
Chosen for their beauty, these children walked for seven months from Cusco, the Inca capital, to reach the summit. They were then put to sleep with alcohol and froze in the extreme cold. Child sacrifice was considered a gift to the gods.
Driving through Calchaqui Valley the next morning, we stop at canyons with names like Devil’s Throat. We go to Bodega El Esteco, a vineyard in Cafayate. It’s a mystery to me why Argentina doesn’t export more wine. The reds — malbec or the lesser-known tannat — would give most competitors a run for their money.
For the next four days we are ensconced in a 4×4 with our guide Gaston as he takes us into remote terrain. They call it Pachamama, Mother’s Land, where you can visit the Museo de la Pachamama to see the striking Viracocha pre-Inca and Inca masks.
Meat feast: John says restaurants in Buenos Aires seem to be doing a ‘roaring trade’, with steaks and exotics like llama carpaccio (file image)
When you think of Argentina, you invariably think of tango
The barrenness is the attraction: expanses of jagged rocks, pumice fields and lakes populated by pink flamingos.
With only a few settlements and hundreds of miles of dirt road, you’re mostly on your own.
Gaston also supervises geologists who conduct experiments on rock erosion. “Scientists have scoured the Earth,” he says, “this is the closest you’ll get to Mars.”
On the way down from our lunar landscape, we pass the town of San Antonio de los Cobres, the terminus of the Train to the Clouds. The line is an engineering marvel. Originally built for freight, it now runs for tourists to marvel at the sights below.
Although you see posters proclaiming that the Falklands, known here as the Malvinas, are Argentinian, the British are popular and populous here. I meet an emigrant’s ancestor – Kevin Begg – over torrontes wine.
I had arrived at Los Potreros farm that morning on a flight from Salta to Cordoba. Kevin’s is one of the largest livestock farms in the region, with 500 Aberdeen Angus across 6,500 acres. He wears the gaucho beret and looks just as Argentinian as everyone here – even though he went to boarding school in the West Country.
Aside from the decor, delicious food and lively conversation, people visit Los Potreros mainly for riding – 100 horses cater to all levels. You can go fast or slow and enjoy the open hills – think the Yorkshire Moors in the abundant sunshine.
At the Museo de la Pachamama, John sees striking Viracocha pre-Inca and Inca masks
On our last morning, Kevin throws a surprise. We’re going to play polo.
I’m not a good rider, I remind him, but he just smiles and introduces me to Belem, our teacher, who encourages me with admonitions of ‘well done, come on’ as I lean in to hit the ball.
We split into two teams, divided between hapless visitors and experienced gauchos. My team loses 3-0. It’s like (way too often) England versus Argentina, but they’re all too polite to say that.