Beyond tourist clichés: the daily reality of the Argentine capital between double prices, customs barriers and stories of Italians who don’t return. The Argentine capital still attracts professionals and dreamers ready to reinvent themselves.
It doesn’t matter if you get to Buenos Aires for work, for tourism or to look for your distant roots: once you land here, you quickly understand that the European logic is baggage that is best left in the hotel. As soon as you immerse yourself in the capital, reality throws an immediate contrast in your face: the elegance of the old continent and the dignity of the people clash with the chaos that boils beneath the surface. For those arriving from the “north of the world”, accustomed to defined rhythms and patterns, the city becomes a constant test, immersed in aeconomy out of control where everything seems possible precisely because there are no rules to prevent it. Its appeal, however, remains intact. We no longer talk about the mass immigration of cardboard suitcases; today, between the avenues of Palermo and the art nouveau buildings of Avenida de Mayo, a new generation of Italians: professionals with hard currency salaries and dreamers who have chosen to challenge an economic context that would require a survival manual to understand.
I am thus looking for answers by crossing the threshold of Italian clubin the Leloir Palace on Calle Libertad. A jewel from the early twentieth century, where the halls evoke the opulence of times gone by and the café seems to catapult you into the 1930s. There I meet Renata, 86 years old, Milanese, widow. She moved to Buenos Aires three years ago with her older daughter, chasing the call of tango. “I don’t speak Spanish,” he confides to me with a mischievous smile as he fixes his hat, “but at 86 years old I make myself understood very well”. She is shiny, lively, made up in a refined way. He tells me the secret of milongas: i taxi dancer. “They are guys paid to make us ladies dance,” he explains. “Otherwise, with the young and talented dancers here, I would stay on the edge of the floor. In tango you have to look each other in the eye, it’s a profound intimacy.” When he feels like it, he calls his dancer and has fun: it’s his way of staying young. In this one Argentinawe try, despite everything, not to leave anyone on the sidelines.
The memories of the Italian Club and the high cost of living trap
Not far away, here is the engineer Alberto. Ninety-six years old, Roman, a mind that runs faster than a fifty-year-old. He teaches Italian language and culture to a heterogeneous population: Argentinians with Ligurian, Calabrian, Venetian roots, but also Armenian ladies fascinated by the Bel Paese. Alberto arrived in the 80s for work and never left. His daughter now lives in Lucca, but he has found his true home here. Once the lesson is over, he gets up, fully dressed, gallant like few others, and accompanies me out the door with old-fashioned courtesy. Outside the doors of the club, Argentina shows the face of an exhausted economy. Shopping has become prohibitive, marked by a customs protectionism which isolated the market. This country has historically erected barriers to protect the national industry, but the result is a short circuit: the lack of competition allows local brands to maintain high prices, often disconnected from reality. The cost of a pair of “Made in Argentina” jeans rises dramatically, from 160 to 480 euros and more, for brands like Kousikothe most appreciated by young people and the common practice is payment in installments: four or five deadlines taken monthly from the credit card. Even Zarasymbol of global democratic fashion, here becomes a status symbol inaccessible to most.
An isolation that is also reflected in digital habits: Amazon it doesn’t exist here and the restrictions for purchasing from abroad are strict, limited to just five parcels a year.
Daily life is a magic game: there are two prices, the “official” one for those who use the card and the “cash” one, which often guarantees a 20% discount.
The double speed of cash and access to culture
It is the land of the “black”, ashadow economy which acts as a true social safety net, where even between private individuals everything is converted into dollars, often moved to foreign accounts in the name of frontmen to escape ainflation which devours all savings.
In this stark contrast, the city retains its own ability to break down social distancing; it is not uncommon to sit at the counter of a café and find a shop assistant chatting amiably with a federal judge next to you: he does not feel belittled and she does not feel inadequate. We talk about football, politics, life. In the poorest areas, you happen to meet guys who ask you for a few coins for a photo in a thug suit or with a foam rubber mask. Messi; but if you stop to exchange a few words, it’s almost certain that they are the ones offering you the photo, proud to share their story more than their need. Culture also follows this double speed logic. Museums or iconic places such as for example Palazzo Barolothe architect’s visionary homage to the Divine Comedy Mario Palantihave become selective destinations: if for a foreigner crossing that threshold means paying a ticket of almost 30 euros, for locals the price is reduced, but it still remains a prohibitive sum, a luxury that most citizens cannot afford to spend on a visit.
The short circuit of beauty between empty trolleys and golden scalpels
The cost of living is a cruel paradox: you pay 3.50 euros for a coffee and a common cleansing milk at the supermarket costs 11. With average salaries of around eight hundred to a thousand dollars a month, most people are forced to bend over backwards to buy food. Yet, a few blocks away, an Argentina shines that seems to ignore this crisis. It is the world of the local elite, where Dr Andreas Freschi is a facial surgery institution: its facelifts start at $40,000, with waiting lists exceeding two years.
But the city offers even more striking paradoxes. Dating professionals like Gustavo Sampietroamong the best-known plastic surgeons in the city: his operations have costs in line with European standards, reflecting a consolidated reputation. Yet, here the PRPthe regenerative treatment that uses plasma to stimulate the production of new collagen on the face, has become a routine habit. For this practice, Sampietro asks for just 40 dollars. In Milan, the same session reaches astronomical figures: up to 3,000 euros. It is a short circuit that leaves one incredulous: where major surgery remains a luxury for the few, regenerative medicine breaks down every social barrier. It is in this plot that Buenos Aires reveals its true nature. Realities that seem to belong to different worlds coexist: those who challenge the registry office in a milonga and those who deal with inflation in front of the supermarket shelf while a few meters away time stops for the rich, under a golden scalpel. In the end, I discovered that this is a city that knows no half measures: it just overwhelms you, leaving you with the certainty that dreams here are not a hope, but the only possible way to stay afloat for those who live here.
