BUENOS AIRES
Buenos Aires which should have been named Malos Aires, on account
of the enervating, depressing humidity of its summer climate when
the thermometer sometimes registers as high as 104° Fahrenheit, and
when not a breath of air is stirring, is a city of nearly 1,750,000
inhabitants and rivals Philadelphia towards being the third in
population in the New World. This capital of Argentina, built upon
the west bank of the muddy La Plata River in latitude 34° south is
the entrepôt and distributing point for all merchandise and goods
that enters and leaves the vast territory which comprises the La Plata
system and in fact of all southern South America east of the Andes. It
is a city of marble statues, of elegant public buildings, of sumptuous
palaces, of parks and boulevards, and is often spoken of as the "Athens
of America." It is also a city of narrow streets, of _conventillos_
(poorer class tenements) teeming with Hebraic and Sicilian life, of
confidence men, lottery ticket vendors, Greek and Syrian peddlers,
fugitives from North American justice, bewhiskered Irish bums, and
Galician Jews reeking of garlic, adorned with corkscrew sideburns.
Down its avenues parade the same sort of crowd seen in Naples, also the
pompous banker, the bespatted fop with slender cane, the staid business
man, the artizan, beggars galore, and a galaxy of prostitutes, both
Iberian and _criolla_.
The most remarkable thing about Buenos Aires is how fast one can get
rid of one's money with so little received for it in return. Everything
costs half as much again as what it should, with the possible exception
of clothes and shoes. Meals, hotel rooms, beverages, lingerie,
photographic material, drugs, theater admissions, and in fact nearly
everything under the sun is sky high. The entertainments for a stranger
to indulge in are but few and mediocre. It is every day the same
routine after the first week of novelty of sight-seeing has worn off.
Unless in Buenos Aires on business, the stranger absolutely kills time
unprofitably by getting into a rut from which he does not extricate
himself until it is time for him to sail for home. He finds himself
two or three times a day at the same table in front of the same café,
watching the same people promenade by, the only variation being an
occasional visit to a burlesque show, the race track, the post office,
or to the zoölogical garden.
[Illustration: Congress Building, Buenos Aires
This is the finest building in South America. It cost $20,000,000. All
the marble for its facing was imported from Italy]
In a previous book, I stated that the sycamore trees on the Avenida
de Mayo were sickly and did not think that they would live. I first
saw them in January, 1913. In December, 1915, when I again beheld
them, I was astonished at their appearance. They were a third again
as large, and they begin to show prospects of becoming elegant shade
trees. The subway was completed in 1914. It begins at the Plaza de
Mayo, on which square the Casa Rosada, or Capitol, faces, and continues
underneath the Avenida de Mayo to the mile-distant Congress Building,
thence underneath the next parallel street to the north, Rivadavia,
the bisecting thoroughfare of the city, to the Once railroad station,
the terminus of the Western Railway. An extension runs three miles
farther to a section of the city named Caballito. Caballito is the name
that the Naón estancia went by years ago before the city grew up. The
part of the city where the estancia once stood still retains the name.
Compared to subways in other cities, this one of Buenos Aires is poorly
patronized. It resembles the Budapest subway, more than it does the New
York or Boston ones, and its cars make but little better speed than do
those in the Budapest tube. Cab fare and taxicabs are cheap, which are
undoubtedly some of the primal causes of the subway's not excessive
patronage.
After his first few days in Buenos Aires, when the novelty of a strange
city had worn off, a friend and brother Elk, Mr. Oliver H. Lane,
remarked to me:
"Buenos Aires looks to me just like a big Italian city. Her Avenida de
Mayo, however, is a poor imitation of the Parisian boulevards."
In the first respect, I agree with him. The architecture of the
buildings, the attire of the male inhabitants, the way the moustaches
are trimmed, the cafés, the _toscanos_, the wax matches, the lottery
tickets, the dirty paper money, the confectionery stores, the ice
creams, and the beggars all savor of the Lavinian shores. In the second
respect I cannot agree with him. The Avenida de Mayo is physically
somewhat similar to the Parisian boulevards, but in character it is
widely different. If it is supposed to ape them, it is then a poor
imitation, but so different is it in most respects, that as a first
impression I would only call it a physical imitation. The oftener and
the longer one sits in front of the cafés and watches the people pass
by, the further apart he draws the comparison of this street to any
street in the world. I would designate the Avenida de Mayo as original.
The buildings that flank it are much taller than those of Paris; the
street is also considerably narrower than those in the French capital;
the crowd that parade the sidewalks is also not the same.
[Illustration: Buenos Aires Types]
Rivadavia is the street which runs at right angles to the La Plata
River, and continuing westward into the country, divides the city into
two parts, its intersectors having different nomenclatures south of
it than they have north. For instance, a cross street has the name
Santiago del Estero south of it, and Talcahuano north of it: another is
named Piedras south of it, and Esmeralda north of it, etc. In the old
section of Buenos Aires, where the buildings are almost entirely given
up to wholesale and retail trade, the streets are exceedingly narrow. A
decade and a half ago, in order to give the people a breathing space,
and to relieve the congestion of traffic in this part of the city,
houses one half a block south of Rivadavia were torn down, and the
Avenida 25 de Mayo was put through. It starts at the Plaza de Mayo
on which is the Capitol, and ends at the Plaza Congreso, on which is
the new white marble Congress Building, the finest and most expensive
building in all South America. The length of this boulevard is about
one mile.
Architecturally the exterior and façades of the Buenos Aires
buildings are as fine as any in the world; the style of architecture
predominating is original, but the contagion has spread, and the new
structures of Montevideo, Rosario, and Mar del Plata have copied the
ornate and domed style that is preëminently Bonaerense. In order to
compare the architecture of Buenos Aires to that of another city,
let us choose Paris or Vienna because the Argentine capital is a city
that is fundamentally European. Although more beautiful in buildings
than either Paris or Vienna, it can hold no comparison to them in the
massiveness and solidity of the edifices in either of them. Nearly
all the buildings in Argentina are built of the poorest imaginable
brick, loosely fitted together, but little mortar having been used.
To these is given a coating of plaster, which on the façades is
worked into ornaments. On account of the climatic effects on the cheap
material, these buildings in a few years' time take on a weather-beaten
appearance. On account of the poor foundations on a muddy soil, many
structures sink after a few years.
[Illustration: Avenida de Mayo, Buenos Aires
This view is looking west from Calle Santiago del Estero]
With the exception of the modern steel and trussed concrete edifices,
the old patriarchal houses of the colonial times and days of the early
republic are the best built. Hundreds of these are to be seen to-day
on the side streets. They have marble-paved, glass-roofed patios onto
which open the doors of the parlor, dining room, and living rooms.
These rooms are likewise dependent on the patio for their light. Behind
the first patio is generally a second one, open to the sky, but on
rainy and on sunny days decked with an awning. Here sit the family in
their leisure hours; from this patio open the doors to the bedrooms.
A small garden is invariably at the rear; the kitchen and servants'
quarters are in its proximity. The handsome villas and private
residences of the wealthy inhabitants differ but little in architecture
from the same class of buildings the whole world over. It must not be
imagined that because the material and construction are poor that they
are cheap. They cost nearly double to build what their duplicates would
be in the United States. Brick, stone, iron, sand, lime, and lumber are
much more expensive than at home.
The cost of living in Buenos Aires is higher than in New York, with
the exception of some articles I have already named. The hotel rates
are, however, cheaper. On the Avenida de Mayo, Calle Florida, and Calle
Callao, the show streets, one is obliged to pay Fifth Avenue prices
for articles purchased; on the side streets the same goods are much
cheaper. The average native does not patronize the show places. At
any of the Avenida de Mayo cafés, a small cordial glass of Benedictine
costs twenty-one cents. At one of the side-street _almazens_ (grocery
stores), which have a dispensary, the same glass costs nine and one
half cents. A pint of Guinness' stout at the Hotel Savoy costs sixty
cents; at the Avenida de Mayo cafés it sells for forty-three cents,
while in the almazens it can be bought for twenty-six cents.
[Illustration: Mr. Oliver H. Lane
This photograph was taken on roof garden of the Hotel Majestic]
Regarding hotels, Buenos Aires has some very fine ones. Most have table
d'hôte service, which in Argentina is taken in preference to meals à la
carte, for most of the guests take their rooms _en pension_ unless they
intend to make a short stay only.
The Plaza Hotel, which is the best known and widest advertised, is
operated by the Ritz-Carlton Company. It was built by the banker
Ernesto Tornquist and leased to them. It is nine stories high, and cost
nine million pesos ($3,843,000.00). Its rates are excessive for the
service rendered. The rooms are small, its location is not central,
and there is nothing to it that gives it the tone of comfort to be
had at the other hotels, although the cuisine cannot be improved upon.
Imagine paying twenty-five dollars a day for a small room with bath and
vestibule, lunch and dinner, but not including breakfast. The Plaza is
in much demand for private balls and teas, and is also much patronized
by North American commercial travelers who wish to make a splurge,
and impress their prospective customers with their own importance, or
with the importance of the firm which they represent. An incident that
happened in connection with this hotel should be mentioned.
[Illustration: Calle Bartolome Mitré, Buenos Aires
Looking east from Calle Florida]
When Naón, the Argentine ex-ambassador to the United States, on a
recent trip home wrote to his family asking them to get suitable
apartments for him, his sister had a talk with the manager of the
Plaza Hotel. The latter, seeing a chance for a hold-up, told her that
Naón could have a certain apartment for five thousand pesos ($2135.00)
a month. This figures out $71.17 a day. Naón refused to consider the
matter and engaged a much better suite at the Hotel Majestic at a much
cheaper rate. A month or so afterwards, while attending a reception
at the Plaza extended to him by the American Universities Club, the
manager servilely approached him, and asked him where he was staying.
Upon Naón answering that he was stopping at the Majestic, the manager
spoke deprecatorily of the last-mentioned hostelry, and told him he
would do much better for him at a lesser price at the Plaza. Naón said
that he should have done so in the first place, but on account of his
trying to hold him up, he would not stop at the Plaza if he should put
the whole hotel at his disposal free of charge.
The two best hotels in Buenos Aires, to my notion, are the Majestic and
the Grand.
The Majestic is on the Avenida de Mayo, at the northwest corner
of Calle Santiago del Estero, which is but two blocks from the
Plaza Congreso. It was opened in 1910 at the time of the Argentine
Centennial. It was rented that year by the government to house the
foreign diplomats attending the celebration. The prices are reasonable;
the rooms all have baths, and most of them are suites with parlors.
The meals are table d'hôte and the food and service are excellent. The
building is seven stories high, has a roof garden, and a corner tower.
The parlors and writing room are on the third floor and are lighted
from a skylight at the top of the five-story courtyard of pillared
balconies. The Majestic is the residence of many foreign ministers and
their families; of people of wealth and culture; and of the commercial
representatives of the best European firms. It is no show place, but a
hotel of quiet refinement.
[Illustration: Fireman and Policeman, Buenos Aires]
The Grand Hotel, good but expensive, is on the main shopping street,
the narrow Calle Florida, one block north of the Avenida de Mayo in
a very noisy part of the city. The narrowness of the streets makes
the rooms dark. The Palace Hotel, a large establishment on the Calle
25 de Mayo, is well spoken of. It overlooks the Paseo de Julio and a
beautiful park at the river's edge, but the class of people and stores
always to be found in the neighborhood of the docks makes the location
poor. Among the older of the modern hotels which are also good are
the Paris, with a large restaurant and café, the Cecil, the Splendid,
and the Esclava. The España, patronized by Spaniards, is a lively and
excellent place with an à la carte dining room. It is a good place for
the single man to stop at; also the Galileo and the Colon are first
class, clean, and have good restaurants. The Colon is owned by the
Gontaretti brothers, who are likewise proprietors of the Hotel Regina
at Mar del Plata. It has in connection the best confectionery store in
Buenos Aires, that of Dos Chinos.
Of all the Buenos Aires hotels, the biggest fake is the Savoy, which
is owned by the da Rossi Company. It is on the southeast corner of the
streets Callao and Cangallo, but two blocks from the Plaza Congreso.
It was opened in 1913, at which time the current talk was that the
district in which it is situated was going to be the best in the city.
The prices are exorbitant, the food is poor, and the rooms are dirty.
As in all the large Buenos Aires hotels, the prices here are made
for the guest according to the financial judgment the scrutinizing
manager passes on him. The waiters in the Savoy are veritable robbers,
and there are two prices for drinks, and for the use of the billiard
table, the North Americans having the benefit in being obliged to pay
the highest of the two prices. They tried to "put one over" on "yours
truly" on the price of wet goods one day when the writer was playing
pool with some friends. The waiters had evidently forgotten that they
had sold me a couple of bottles of Guinness' stout the day previous at
a reduction of forty centavos (17 c.) a bottle under the price they now
anticipated that I would pay. An argument followed in which I won out,
but only after I had threatened them with a cessation of visits in case
they insisted on making me pay the excess tax that they had imposed
upon me.
The Bonaerense restaurants are usually connected with the hotels,
although there are many that are not. Among the best of the latter are
the Rotisserie Sportsman, Charpentier's, and the Petit Jardin. Aue's
Keller, the Kaiserhalle recently opened by the employees of Aue's
Keller, and the Bismarck are German restaurants and beer halls. There
are many Italian restaurants, that of Paccatini on Calle Moreno a few
doors east of Calle Piedras being quite popular.
[Illustration: Zoölogical Garden, Buenos Aires]
The cafés are excelled by none in the world either in size or in the
expense of their equipment. Life in them is not as animated as in those
of Vienna, Budapest, or Paris, and they close about 1.00 A.M. They are
not patronized much by women, nor do they display moving pictures on
their walls as in Rosario. They are solely rendezvous for people who
enter them to talk or drink; many have antiquated billiard tables.
Among the best are the cafés Paris, Colon, and Tortoni, all on the
Avenida de Mayo.
As the Argentinos are not as a rule solely addicted to the frequent
imbibing of strong drinks, soft drinks such as _refrescos_, lemonade,
beer, coffee, and tea play an important rôle in the dispensing of
liquid refreshment at cafés. The average Argentino suffers from
gastric, digestive, and intestinal ailments, not so much from
overeating alone as from his utter inability to use discretion in
drinking. For breakfast he will have coffee; before lunch he will
drink a couple of vermouths with bitters, which he designates as
an appetizer. (His favorite bitter is a sickening, sweetish syrupy
liquor of Buenos Aires manufacture named Aperital.) At lunch he will
either consume a pint of wine or a quart of beer, to be followed by a
postprandial cup of strong coffee and a liqueur. In the afternoon, he
will imbibe a bottle of mineral water and two cups of tea. The dinner
beverages, the same as at luncheon, consist of beer or wine, coffee and
cordial. After dinner, which is eaten at half-past seven or at eight
o'clock, he feels "filled up" on food and liquid and has no immediate
desire for alcoholic refreshment. He now prefers to sit in front of
a café and watch the crowd pass by, but he would look out of place
occupying a seat without paying for anything, so he orders a dish of
ice cream and a refresco. A refresco is a syrup either of currant,
strawberry, raspberry, or grenadine flavoring, covering an inch in the
bottom of a tall glass, to which is added either plain or soda water
and cracked ice. An hour after partaking of this, he orders a whiskey
and soda followed by a duplicate or a triplicate, unless he switches to
beer. He caps the whole mess off by a cup of strong coffee.
The Porteño (so is called the inhabitant of Buenos Aires, and which
means Resident of the Port) is also a heavy eater. For luncheon and
for dinner, he is apt to eat seven courses, four of which are meat
and fish, and it makes no difference to him if the fish comes after
the meat or before it. The dinner tables of the private houses have
white slates on which is written with a black lead pencil the names of
the dishes in the different courses as at a table d'hôte in a hotel.
In this way it leaves no surprise nor conjecture as to which the next
course will be. Maté is passed around in the afternoon. This vile tea,
brewed from yerba maté, an herb indigenous to Paraguay, the southern
states of Brazil, and the Argentine Territory of Misiones, is poured
into a gourd and is drunk through a metal tube with a spoonlike head,
closed and perforated with little round holes, named a _bombillo_.
But one person drinks maté at the same time. When he finishes this
"slop" the servant takes both gourd and bombillo away from him and
fills the former for the person sitting next to him. Two rounds of
it are generally partaken of. This maté drinking, although said to
be absolutely harmless, is such a habit with the native women of the
poorer classes that they prefer it to a husband. At Tucumán, while
I was there, three such wenches got into a fight and one had her
ear bitten off. While at the police station she started wailing; the
police thinking she was howling about the pain tried to soothe her. It
transpired that she was wailing because she left some maté boiling on
the stove at her home and nobody was left there to tend to it.
The Café Tortoni is on the north side of the Avenida de Mayo between
the streets Piedras and Tacuari. It extends back to Rivadavia. It
is the oldest café in Buenos Aires and is owned by a nonagenarian
Frenchman, Monsieur Curutchet, who is on the job morning and night
and is still active, although the management of the establishment
is in the hands of his son, M. Maurice Curutchet. It was in front of
this café that my acquaintances came at least twice a day, and from
a marble-topped iron table beneath the street awning we observed
Bonaerense life to great advantage as it paraded by. We soon became
so accustomed to the different passers-by, many of whom went by at the
same time each day, that we soon knew the vocations of many of the folk
that were but atoms in the large population of the great city.
There was a subway exit but a couple of rods from our table, and it
was astonishing to see how people when they had reached the top step
would stop and pant. It was not a deep subway, but so physically poor
is the average Porteño of the middle classes on account of abuse of
living that he soon becomes exhausted. He does not live long, and many
men of forty are like men at home of sixty. The crowd that continually
passes does so with quick step, neither looking to the left nor to the
right, but straight ahead, serious and never smiling. I noticed this
and remarked to an acquaintance about it.
"They are evidently thinking," said he, "of how they can swindle
somebody out of ten cents."
The Porteños appear to be a sad folk, and if one sees somebody smile
or hears a sound of laughter on a Buenos Aires street, you may be sure
that an Italian or a Spaniard is present. Latins from Europe that
come to Argentina soon become like natives, depressed, excitable,
and despondent. Many Argentinos of the cities wear black straw hats
instead of white ones, which still further enhances the funereal
appearance of the men. This is a sign of mourning, similar to the black
arm bands that were in fashion in the United States a decade ago.
I know a Philadelphia jackanapes who wanted to follow the custom of
Buenos Aires, and seeing the great number of men wearing black hats,
bought one not knowing that it was a token of respect for the departed
relatives. He returned to his country evidently never knowing his
mistake.
The beggars, street fakirs, and peddlers on the Avenida de Mayo are
terrible. No city in the world has so many. Neither Naples nor Las
Palmas can compare with Buenos Aires in proportion in this respect.
A man seated at a table in front of a café is never free a minute
from annoyance from this rabble. Children from five years old up to
octogenarians of both sexes systematically make multi-diurnal rounds
up to the different cafés. Some are insulting. A narrow shouldered
young man, a mixture of degenerate and of cigarette fiend, came to a
table where I was seated and offered some chewing gum for sale. Upon
my refusal to buy any, he backed up a few steps, started calling me
names, and then walked away. A few hours later I met him accidentally;
he wilted when he saw there was no escape. I grabbed him by the coat
collar and nearly shook the eye teeth out of him. I at least put the
fear of God into him.
The street urchins have a habit of making the rounds of the different
tables and if you are not watching, steal the cracked ice from the dish
in which it is kept in front of you to put into your glass of refresco,
according to your desire. I caught one such boy doing this trick to
me, and slung the contents of a water pitcher at him which caught him
squarely, giving him a drenching. Near by was seated a well-dressed
Argentino who took the boy's part, and started to call the police. As
a foreigner, especially a North American, has no rights in Argentina,
I thought it best to walk away.
There are milk depots stationed at various parts of the city and along
the Avenida where a person may enter and for ten centavos (.042) buy
a liter of milk either fresh or cooked. These belong to La Martona
and other companies. Two ragamuffins one night entered the milk depot
at the northeast corner of the Avenida de Mayo and Calle San José and
begged some cracked ice from the waiter behind the counter. Upon his
refusal to comply with his request one of the boys expectorated in
a gallon jar of fresh milk that stood at one end of the counter, and
which was for sale to prospective customers, and then ran out. Do you
think the man behind the counter threw the milk out? I should say not.
He merely took a large spoon, skimmed off the expectoration, and went
about his business as if nothing had happened. I sat in a chair and
watched three other customers, who came in later, be served from the
same jar.
The lottery ticket sellers are the greatest nuisance. They used to
annoy Mr. Lane something fierce. Packer, a man named Brown, and I
noticed it so we put up several jobs on him.
There was a legless man who made the rounds of the cafés, being wheeled
from place to place in a perambulator by an individual who might easily
as to appearance be associated with the Black Hand. The cripple who
was a middle aged, unkempt ruffian had a multitude of lottery tickets
for sale, and was so persistent that he would absolutely refuse to go
away until he had displayed all his wares. He seemed to take particular
delight in tormenting persons who were anxious to have him move on. A
few seconds before he was ready to be wheeled away, he would open up
a torrent of abuse upon the person who refused to buy from him, and in
this propaganda he was ably seconded by his comrade of Black Hand mien.
Mr. Lane was of a nervous disposition and I do not believe the Canadian
Club highballs he occasionally indulged in were any amelioration
to this condition. He therefore was considerably annoyed with this
particular persistent vagabond and his equally villainous confrère.
They "got on his nerves." We, noticing his odium for this duo, one
day when Mr. Lane was absent, hired the two vagabonds to come to him
every time they saw him seated in front of the Tortoni and refuse to
leave until ordered to do so by the police or the waiters. A few days
afterwards while walking along the Avenida, I saw Mr. Lane seated in
front of the Café Madrid, which is a block from the Tortoni.
"What are you doing over here?" I asked.
"The Tortoni is getting too much for me; I never saw so many vagabonds
in my life as there, so I changed places. The service and the goods
are no good here; I've tried this place three days and can't stand it.
I prefer the Tortoni but if that legless hobo ever tries to sell me a
lottery ticket again, I am going to tip him out of his perambulator
into the street even if I hang for it. I believe I shall hire the
waiters at the Tortoni to give all the street peddlers a thrashing."
Mr. Lane did so. The waiters cuffed up several of the human pests, and
the policemen arrested a few others, so for about a week everybody was
free from molestation by the riffraff. Then they gradually came back to
their usual haunts.
There was a woman who continually made the rounds soliciting alms by
showing the bare stump of an arm severed about six inches from the
shoulder. This harridan would take delight in walking between the
tables of the restaurants while people were at dinner and expose this
gruesome sight spoiling appetites.
Another nuisance was a woman about thirty-five years old who had once
been comely. She sold lottery tickets and was also terribly persistent.
She carried in her arms a baby while a young child clung to her
skirt. Although this woman was a nuisance, I never thought her to be
disagreeable, but for some reason Mr. Lane took an aversion for her
which could be classified in the same category as the detest he had
for the legless ruffian. One day while being pestered by this woman,
he made a grab at her tickets, crumpled them up and slung the whole
outfit in the street. He was sorry for it afterwards and gave her a
peso to ease her. The next day, while Mr. Lane was absent, one of our
associates called the woman aside and gave her two pesos if she would
continue to display her lottery tickets to Mr. Lane. She accepted the
proposition and did so much to his annoyance. This woman had for a
husband a whiskered Irish bum. He would come several times a day to
the subway entrance and make her hand over the proceeds of her sales
to him. He had a staff of women selling tickets and his sole occupation
was to make the rounds collecting money from them.
There are many Irish bums in Buenos Aires, men past middle life who
years ago became stranded in Argentina having deserted sailing vessels
and who have never had the price nor the desire to return to the Old
Country. They are strong, powerful men physically, unkempt with long
beards; their clothes are a mass of rags and teem with vermin. Their
daily occupation is to walk along the Avenida begging alms which
goes for strong drink. At night they sleep in the doorways and in the
gutter. One such man made his rounds on the Avenida about nine o'clock
every night. Every time he passed our table at the Tortoni, Mr. Packer
would give him some money, on one occasion the sum being a peso. As
the man had begged in Spanish, we did not know his nationality until
a certain incident happened. One particular night, Mr. Packer was
without funds when this hobo came around, and told him so. The bum
sarcastically imitated Packer and then broke out into such a tirade
of profane and obscene invectives and abuse in the English language,
but with a strong brogue, that I am afraid the apostles turned over in
their graves.
The policemen of Buenos Aires are efficient. They are mostly of Indian
descent and come from the far provinces. They seldom make an arrest
for misdemeanors for there are but few street quarrels when compared
to the cities of the United States. They occasionally disperse a bunch
of young beggars who return to their posts as soon as the "cop" has
vanished. At night they make the drunken bums vacate the street benches
whither they have repaired to sleep off the fumes of Geneva gin, which
in Spanish goes by the name of _ginevra_. Quite a few incidents happen
in the lives of the Bonaerense police, of which here are a couple:
On the Calle Peru there is an old policeman, beloved by nearly
everybody. The storekeepers in the neighborhood of which he is the
guardian of the peace hold him in such high esteem that at every
Christmas they take up a collection for him. For some unknown reason, a
North American named Woody, who represented the Case Implement Company
"had it in" for him. Mr. Woody was accustomed to partake of too much
John Barleycorn and when in his cups always abused this man in strong
profane English. After awhile the old policeman caught on that he
was being made the target of abuse which he could not understand, so
one day changed beats with a big native Argentino policeman who was
of Irish extraction. At evening Mr. Woody came along, as usual, much
under the influence of liquor. The fumes of alcohol having dimmed his
eyesight, he was oblivious of the shift that had been made. Seeing the
policeman, he opened up with his tirade. The Irishman let him continue
until Woody was weak from lack of breath and exhausted vocabulary.
"Have yez finished?" the cop then asked him.
Woody astounded at hearing the policeman thus address him, stammered an
affirmative.
"Then, by Jaysus, come with me!"
Mr. Woody spent the next eight days in jail until his friends learned
of his predicament and bailed him out.
The other incident is this:
One of my friends was seated one evening in front of the Tortoni
when a policeman approached him and asked him in Spanish if he spoke
English. My friend answered in the affirmative and the policeman told
him to wait there a minute and walked away. Presently the guardian of
the law reappeared with a young Englishman who could speak no word of
Spanish. He said he was a sailor from a boat that sailed that midnight
and becoming lost did not know how to get to it. He came on an electric
car to the Avenida de Mayo and all that he knew about the line was
that it bore a board on which was printed the name "Cinzano." Now this
is the name of a vermouth which is widely advertised in Argentina,
and he mistook the vermouth sign for the name of the street. After
considerable difficulty, his ship was located.
One afternoon, while walking down the Avenida with Mr. Atwood Benton of
Antofagasta, Chile, we saw a crowd collected and on passing by noticed
that a grown man was slapping a little girl and dragging her around
by the hair. Not a man in the crowd had made any attempt to prevent
this outrageous scene, but all stood by with smiles of mirth on their
faces. Mr. Benton made a rush through them and grabbing the man by
the nape of the neck gave him a sound beating and held him while I
called a policeman. When the rabble saw what Benton did, they raised
an earsplitting cheer of "bravo" for him, yet none of the cowardly
bunch dared interfere for fear of a poignard stab. A newspaper reporter
chanced by, shook Mr. Benton by the hand, congratulated him upon his
bravery, and asked him for his card as he wished to put it in his
newspaper next day. Mr. Benton put his hand in his pocket and extended
him a card which he thought was his own, but when the newspaper article
came out in the _La Nacion_ the next day, it happened that Benton
had made a mistake and had handed the reporter a card of Mr. Percival
O'Reilley of Concepcion, Chile.
With the exception of the policemen, one sees but comparatively few
mestizos or people of mixed white and Indian blood in Buenos Aires,
when compared to the inhabitants of other Argentine cities, yet
there are plenty, many being in the employ of the government. Dark
complexions are not as popular in Argentina as light ones; therefore
many of the _criollos_ or natives whose facial characteristics
are those of the original inhabitants of the land, beseech the
photographers to put chemicals on the plates so as to make their
visages come out light in the photograph. The descendants of Indians
are called Indios; negroes are called Negros and Chinamen, Chinos.
Many of the mestizos are nicknamed Chinos. All these words are terms of
approbation and it is funny to hear an enraged descendant of an Indian
call a white person an Indio or a Chino.
There is in Buenos Aires a fine opera house, the Colon, and there are
many other theaters, but the most patronized by the male public are
the burlesque shows, the Casino and the Royal. The attraction for the
men in those places are the "pick ups" that abound in the foyer, making
these music halls clearing houses for loose moral femininity. There is
no more vice in Buenos Aires than in any other large city, but there is
a peculiar system in vogue there which is original.
A woman passes down the Avenida with a basket of flowers on her arm.
She approaches the boulevardier seated at a table and offers to sell
him a flower. He buys one and as he stretches out his hand to pay her,
she slips him a card bearing the address of a brothel but refuses the
money. These women are the hirelings of the brothel proprietresses.
Often the _dueñas_ as these proprietresses are called do the florista
act (flower selling). One night, while seated in front of the Tortoni,
a famous dueña named Carmen came along and pinned a tuberose on an
army officer. A minute later, a rival dueña named Matilda passed by and
seeing the tuberose on him, knew who pinned it there. She tore it off,
and pinned on him a carnation. Carmen now returning from a neighboring
table saw the trick and a battle royal like between two enraged tigers
ensued. When the police put a stop to it, the two dueñas, scratched up,
and with dishevelled hair, were obliged to make for the subway, holding
up the remnants of their torn clothing by the middle lest they should
drop off.
Among the fine buildings of Buenos Aires are the custom house and the
Central Argentine Railway station at Retiro. This mammoth building,
not yet completed, is the largest and finest railroad station in South
America. This honor was formerly held by the Luz station in São Paulo,
Brazil; that of Mapocho in Santiago, Chile, being second. The new
Central of Córdoba Railway station is also fine.
There are in Buenos Aires but few skyscrapers in the North American
sense of the word, a fifteen-story building being the tallest. It is
the new arcade on Calle Florida and is the largest in America. It ranks
fourth in the world in ground-floor area; those of Milan, Naples, and
Genoa being greater. There is a thirteen-story apartment house; the
Otto Wulf Building is twelve stories high, and there are probably a
dozen other buildings that exceed in height ten stories. There are any
number of seven-, eight-, and nine-story buildings.
In Buenos Aires there are a great number of so-called Brazilian
coffeehouses where about five o'clock afternoons people repair for
coffee and ice cream. _Casata_ ice creams are a favorite. They are a
mixture of flavors, and these coffeehouses specialize in two flavors
of coffee ice cream in the same brick. The best known of these
establishments are those of Huicque and of Bibondo.
The zoölogical garden is the finest that I have ever had the pleasure
of visiting, as far as the collection of animals is concerned, but the
botanical garden is much inferior to that of Rio de Janeiro. Palermo
Park, the great corso for automobiles, is well kept up but does not
take my fancy on account of the light shades of green common to all
trees of the Argentina flatlands. The brilliant and variegated greens
of the trees of the province of Tucumán are lacking.
As to manufacturing, Buenos Aires is nil. There is but one brewery
within the city limits, that of Palermo, whose product is vile. There
was a so-called automobile factory which bought parts and assembled
them, but it had to go out of business. There is not much future
for manufacturing unless iron ore is found in paying quantities in
Argentina. Without iron and without coal in Argentina, but little
can be done although there are several large oil fields in Northern
Patagonia. Rosario is a better commercial city than Buenos Aires,
but the latter will always keep on growing and retain its lead as the
metropolis of South America.
An institution of learning worthy of mention, and which I visited while
in the Argentine metropolis is the Colegio Nacional Mariano Moreno. It
is located at 3755 Calle Rivadavia, and is one of the best institutions
of secondary learning extant. The course comprises six years, the first
year corresponding to the ninth grade in North American schools, and
the last year being the same as the sophomore year in our universities.
It is therefore more like a German gymnasium than a North American
high school, although it differs from both in the election of courses.
Here no Latin nor ancient languages are taught, but other subjects
such as fencing and drawing are substituted. A good rule of the
institution which is under the able management of the rector, Dr.
Manuel Derqui, grandson of a former president of Argentina, is that no
students under fourteen years are allowed to enter, no matter how their
preparatory attainments are. This tends to set a better standard to
the instruction, although a younger one sometimes manages to slip in.
Their age upon graduation is at least twenty. A diploma will give the
graduate entrance to any of the Argentine universities of which there
are four besides that of Buenos Aires, the others being in La Plata,
Córdoba, Sante Fé, and Tucumán.
What would seem strange to us is that the Mariano Moreno College is a
government institution, having no connection at all with the state of
municipality. The interior of the building, with its unprepossessing
façade of four stories belies its external appearance. Its depth is
the whole length of the block. It has a swimming tank and baths both
for the instructors and students. The whole place is kept remarkably
clean. The spirit of competition and advance is very strong among the
students. Some of their mechanical drawings, the best ones which are on
display on the walls are like the work of experts. A student invented
an adjustable and movable drawing board which has been adopted by the
drawing classes all through the republic. The department of physics is
a marvel, although the chemical laboratory falls short of that of some
private schools in the United States, namely that of Hackley School,
Tarrytown, N. Y. I was informed, however, that the Mariano Moreno
College does not specialize in that science, for those that desire to
get a knowledge of chemistry go to the technical schools. A feature of
the college is a recreation room for the professors and instructors in
the basement. Its walls are hung with pictures painted or drawn by the
professors. The enrollment of students is about 1500 exclusive of 700
who are taking a university extension course. The faculty consists of
about 150 members.
While speaking about Buenos Aires, a few words must be said about its
inhabitants and their habits. The Porteños of the higher classes differ
but little from those of the same social sphere the whole world over,
excepting that they are more effeminate than the inhabitants of our
country. Many of the men have perfumed handkerchiefs, and affect the
Italian style of moustache. The men of the middle classes, in attire
ape the aristocracy, but their habits are infinitely more dirty. With
them a bath is an event. When these Argentinos take a bath they splash
water around and make a great noise about it so that the people the
other side of the partitions can hear them at their ablutions. They
also spout and snort and make a great noise every time they wash their
faces, especially if anybody is looking. This also applies to certain
men who mingle in the highest social circles. I know a man of great
prominence in Buenos Aires who every time he took a bath would tell
everybody he chanced to meet about it. He met me one day on the street
as I was coming out of the Majestic Hotel.
"How are you?" I asked as a customary form of greeting.
"I'm feeling fine," he replied. "I just had a nice cold bath."
A few minutes later as we were walking down the Avenida we met another
acquaintance.
"Good morning, Señor ----," quoth the third party. "You are looking
fine to-day."
"No wonder," answered the first Argentino, "for I have just gotten out
of the bath tub."
"How strange, I also have just had a bath."
The habits of the middle and lower classes throughout Argentina are
very filthy. Clean toilets are unknown outside of a few of the best
hotels and cafés of Buenos Aires and a few of the other large cities.
In the Hotel Colon in Buenos Aires, two men were hired constantly just
to keep the toilet clean and they did this job well.
The men of the lower classes bathe more frequently than those of the
upper and middle classes and some are really fine swimmers. These are
mostly Italians, Spaniards, and natives who do the work and are the
backbone of the Argentine nation as they have not become affected by
contact with those of the middle classes.
There are in Buenos Aires many Jews of Galician origin. Their ghetto
is on the streets, named Junin, Ayacucho, and Ombú, but they are
likewise scattered all over the city. Many wear corkscrew sideburns,
which they smear with grease and fondle lovingly as they converse
with you. These vile Kikes are mostly in the lottery ticket and retail
tobacco business. They have native employees whom they send out on the
street to hawk lottery tickets on commission. This lottery business
is overdone. There are too many drawings. One takes place every week
and it is only occasionally that there is a drawing with high enough
premiums to make it worth while purchasing them. Lottery is a good
institution if properly regulated, but the annoyance that everybody is
subjected to in Buenos Aires by the peddlers of the tickets soon makes
a person wish that such an institution did not exist. Not only are the
tickets of the Benificencia Nacional sold about the streets, but also
those of the Province of Buenos Aires which has drawings at La Plata,
those of the Province of Tucumán, those of Córdoba, San Juan, and even
of Montevideo.
These Buenos Aires Jews are the lowest class of riffraff. Their nasty
children peddle strings of garlic from door to door. The adults are
always gesticulating and trying to cheat the stranger.
Regarding the morals, the average Porteño of the middle class cannot be
called immoral. He is unmoral because he never had any morals to begin
with. His conversation invariably takes a lascivious turn which shows
how his thoughts runs. Seduction, feminine figures, adultery, etc., are
his favorite themes of conversation.
Many of the women of Buenos Aires are beautiful. Nowhere have I seen
such fine-looking women, excepting in Santiago, Chile, and in Budapest.
They carry themselves well and also know how to dress. Their figures
and taste are such that they can make the poorest material look well
on them. Their average stature is that of our North American women;
most of the young Porteñas are neither fat nor slim, but medium. They
have wonderful black eyes and well developed busts. It is rare to
see a poor figure. It really is a treat to sit in front of a café on
the Avenida and watch them walk by. There was one beautiful girl that
took the fancy of every man that saw her. She worked in an office and
every day at noon she would pass the Tortoni; she would repeat this
again about five o'clock in the evening. This girl was about nineteen
years old and the dainty way she tripped along absolutely unconscious
of her grace made the men rave about her. One noon as she walked by
bound for home, I followed her a quarter of a block behind her. My
intentions were to find out where she lived and try to arrange to get
an introduction because she quite fascinated me. I found out that she
lived with her parents on Calle Montevideo. I had a friend who lived
in the block beyond her in Calle Rodriguez Peña, but unfortunately
when I called on him to arrange for an introduction, I found out that
he was on a business trip to northern Argentina and was not expected
back for a month. As I intended leaving in a few weeks, I was doomed to
disappointment and had to swallow my chagrin and content myself with
gazing at her from the table in front of the Tortoni when she passed
by.
The amusements of Buenos Aires are few. Of course there are some
very high-class dance halls with restaurants in connection such as
Armenonville, but the hours are too late when life begins there.
The race track of the Jockey Club is the best in the world, and
races are held every Thursday and Sunday, but one soon gets tired of
continually going to the races. The betting is by mutuals. There are
some baseball and cricket teams in Buenos Aires which hold matches
and games on Sunday afternoons. The players are English, American,
and Canadian residents of Buenos Aires who clerk in the banks and in
the great importing houses. The article of baseball they put out is
ludicrous, and they draw no attendance. A good primary school at home
could trim them.
[Illustration: Scene on the River at Tigre]
The pleasantest of all pastimes in and about Buenos Aires is boating
at Tigre. This little town, the Argentine Henley, is twenty-one miles
north of the capital and is reached by half-hourly service by the
Central Argentina Railway. Strange to say at this time of writing
(1917) no electric line has yet been built between the two places.
Tigre is on the Las Conchas River where it empties into the Lujan,
one of the tributaries of the La Plata. It is thronged on Sundays by
crowds from the city, who besides rowing and canoeing, also take in the
pageant from the awninged verandas of the Tigre Hotel.
Most Argentinos do not care much for North Americans although they are
invariably polite to them. It appears that there is a chord of jealousy
somewhere against our nation. Some of this gentry have the gall to
think that Argentina is the greatest nation on earth and these ideas
are taught them in school. I have known inhabitants of Buenos Aires who
believe that Argentina could whip the United States in a war, although
most of them have an unwholesome fear of Chile. The British nation
was not especially popular with Argentina because in 1833 it took
the Falkland Islands from them. In 1916 Great Britain seized a couple
of Argentine vessels which it claimed were taking contraband to the
Central Powers. An anti-British demonstration occurred on the streets
of Buenos Aires most of the participants in which were students.
Several were cut by sabers in the hands of the police but this affray
did not prevent roughnecks from yelling at Americans and calling them
names, mistaking them for Englishmen. I unfortunately was a victim of
these insults, as I was driving one night in the Plaza de Mayo. Even
though Great Britain was not popular, neither was Germany a favorite as
can be testified by the depredations on property of German ownership.
On the night of Saturday, April 14, 1917, a street mob attacked the
offices of two German newspapers, _La Union_ and _Deutsche La Plata
Zeitung_, and broke all the windows. This same mob also demolished the
delicatessen store of P. Warckmeister at 555 Calle Sarmiento. A few
months later, following Count Luxburg's iniquity, the mob wrecked the
Club Aleman, and tried to burn it.
Thirty miles south of Buenos Aires, is La Plata, the capital of the
Province of Buenos Aires and which has a population of about 120,000
inhabitants. Till 1880 the city of Buenos Aires was the capital of the
province of the same name, but in that year it detached itself from the
province and became the Federal Capital. The province, now lacking a
capital, decided to build one, and a site having been chosen and the
plans for the laying out of a city having been approved of, the city
of La Plata was formally founded and created capital of the Province
of Buenos Aires, November 29, 1882. In 1885 the population of the city
was 13,869. The census of 1909 gave it 95,126 inhabitants while that of
1916 gave it 111,401; the total for the commune being 136,026.
[Illustration: Station of the Southern Railway, La Plata]
La Plata is a dull, sleepy city of broad streets and low houses of
light brown and cream-colored hues, with little shade. The sun's hot
rays scorch the pedestrian as he walks over the sizzling pavement of
the ultra-quiet and tomblike town. I have known people who, however,
prefer La Plata to Buenos Aires, but I cannot comprehend how a person
can live there and not die of ennui. It is laid out much on the order
of Washington with broad angling avenues cutting off slices of square
and rectangular blocks.
[Illustration: Old Railway Station, La Plata]
The most artistic building in the city is the station of the Southern
Railway. It is an œuvre of M. Faure-Dujarric, the Frenchman who was the
architect for the grandstand of the Jockey Club at Palermo Park. It is
a long and narrow white edifice with an artistic façade surmounted by a
dome of bright green tiles. Its restaurant is said to be the best in La
Plata, although I cannot verify this statement. La Plata used to have
another railway station, even larger than the present one, and more
centrally located. Why it was abandoned I never knew, but it stands
downtown on one of the principal squares, absolutely deserted, its long
dun-colored façade an eyesore to passers-by.
[Illustration: Bank of the Argentine Nation, La Plata]
Some of the largest and costliest edifices in the republic are in
this capital of the Province of Buenos Aires, but nearly all are
weather-beaten and appear much better in photograph than they do in the
original. In many cases the stucco has fallen off in places, exposing
the rough red bricks of poor quality. Some of the façades are stained
and blackened by exposure but nothing has been done to remedy them. The
whole city is evidently laid out on too grand a scale, and something
was started that is hard to finish. The Capitol, the governor's
residence, the city hall, the Argentine theater, the courthouse, and
many other buildings are far too large for the present need of the
city, and by the time La Plata has grown to a size where such buildings
will be adequate (it is doubtful if it ever will) they will have long
been out of style and antique.
[Illustration: Bank of the Province of Buenos Aires, La Plata]
[Illustration: Allegorical Statue of La Plata]
Even the cathedral, if completed, would be too grandiose. It was
started years ago, but is at present in the unfinished state as is
shown in the accompanying photograph. The money gave out, and to-day it
stands on an important plaza, a hideous frame of cheap brick, bearing
no similarity to the elegant place of worship it was intended to be.
This tendency to start to erect a fine building, get it half up, and
then neglect it, is characteristic of all countries where Spanish rule
has once dominated. For instance, in the same way is the Matriz church
in Chillán, Chile, the Oratory of Lopez in Asuncion, the church of the
Encarnacion at Asuncion, a church in Posadas, one in San Luis, and the
most striking example of all, the church of the Sagrada Familia in
Barcelona, Spain. In the plaza in front of the unfinished cathedral
are some marble statues, the best of which is that representing the
great Argentine river system and named La Plata. It is an allegorical
female figure with a horn of plenty from which are spilling fruit and
vegetables, while beneath her are bundles of wheat.
[Illustration: Unfinished Cathedral, La Plata]
The diocese of La Plata, which comprises the Province of Buenos Aires
and the territory of the Pampa, is the richest in Argentina. It was
created in 1896, and has as a bishop, Dr. Juan N. Terreno, who has
held that office since 1900. This man is a great power in Argentine
politics.
There are numerous large banks in La Plata, the largest of which is
that of the Province of Buenos Aires. Regarding hotels, the best is the
Sportsman with good restaurant. The restaurant of the Hotel Argentina
is second class. The food is greasy and is sprinkled with flies which
become ensnared in the meshes of the oil in which the ragoûts and
filets literally float.
Outside of the Museum of Natural History which has an admirable
collection of fishes, the zoölogical garden, the wonderful eucalyptus
avenue, and a charming park, there is in La Plata nothing to interest
the stranger.
The city owes its importance to its port Ensenada, about five miles
distant and to which is dug a basin where ships laden with grain and
canned meats sail for North America and European ports. From here also
in order to avoid the congestion in the Darsenas and in the Riacheulo
at Buenos Aires, passenger ships sail, notably the Lamport & Holt Line,
which keeps up a direct passenger service between Buenos Aires and New
York. On this basin are two large beef-packing establishments, that of
Armour and that of Swift.