Visiting Buenos Aires and Other Parts of Argentina

Research in the British Cemetery and the architecturally famous library of Buenos Aires...plus tourism and friends.

Before I made it Ushuaia to research my novel, I spent several days traveling around Chile—where I saw a childhood friend in Santiago and then visited my childhood home in Temuco with my brother—then flew to Argentina’s capital. I’d never been to Buenos Aires before, and I was excited to do some exploring, as well as spend some time with friends and work acquaintances. I was also excited to do the first on-location research for my book by visiting the grave of Thomas Bridges, the (real!) missionary at the center of my book.

The sign that greets tourists at the airport before you reach customs and immigration.

Argentina is the eighth largest country in the world, and I’d only seen part of its southern area when I visited Patagonia as a kid. I was surprised by Buenos Aires: it was larger and much prettier than I expected. It struck me like a bejeweled matron, with its white stone flourishes, iron-grated balconies, and wide avenues dotted with bookstores and museums.

On the sidewalks, the difference between Chile and Argentina was palpable: while I felt just fine walking around as a woman alone in both places, Chileans hadn’t given me (or other Americans) a second glance, but Argentinian men offered more stares and piropos (comments on a woman’s appearance muttered—or not—while passing).

My friend Patricia Cabral showed me around Buenos Aires, including the giant Floralis Generalis sculpture. It was a beautiful day--and so fun to get to spend time with her! Patricia is a professional translator, and I'm hoping she'll translate Fireland when it's ready.

I stayed in the historic Recoleta section of Buenos Aires, known for its Parisian-style townhouses, fancy shops, and cultural attractions. The boutique hotel where I stayed had so much character it could have been its own sitcom. At the check-in desk, a guy with Star Wars fighter planes tattooed on his neck sat in front of a pegboard of dangling room keys, like something out of an Agatha Christie novel. The staircase was a gently curving beauty of shallow steps with a solid wooden handrail. The elevator, with an accordion door, could barely fit two people and a suitcase.

I picked the hotel because of its proximity to what National Geographic named “the world’s most beautiful bookstore,” and I wasn’t disappointed.

What do you think? Worth the label as “the world’s most beautiful bookstore”? The building used to be a theater, and there’s a cafe on the stage, behind the curtain.