Argentina

Buenos Aires

The plane slowly lifted, and outside the window lay a sea of lights. Where the light met the darkness was the coastline.

Buenos Aires — like Beijing, Mexico City, Paris, and London — is one of those great international metropolises, embracing and blending every race and culture. Here, the rich can be extraordinarily wealthy, and the poor can be desperately poor. Gilded opera houses and cardboard shelters built by the homeless exist side by side. An enormous, teeming city.

This kind of city feels so familiar and dear to me. I grew up in cities like this. Buenos Aires always reminds me of Beijing. European old buildings and modern skyscrapers stand intertwined. The century-old trees lining both sides of the streets have finally reached across and clasped hands in midair, their lush green canopies forming a cool bower above. The street-facing storefronts are all shops — cafés, restaurants, small appliances, clothing, anything you could imagine. If you're missing something, you grab a basket, go downstairs, and buy it right there. Not like Americans, always driving to a big supermarket.

Just eight days ago, after enduring flight delays and an overnight stay at the airport, I finally arrived at Buenos Aires International Airport — forty-eight hours after setting out. The entire journey took place at night, except for the last two hours, when the sun rose in a streak of pink along the horizon. The plane flew over the towering Andes, so close to the snow-capped peaks that they seemed within reach.

Coming out of the airport, heat hit me in the face. When I had departed, Denver was already in winter, with two snowstorms; but in the Southern Hemisphere, Buenos Aires was in full spring bloom. The taxi drove into the city through a sea of purple. Jacaranda trees exploded in color on every corner, their fragrance filling the air. Jacaranda is the symbol of spring in Buenos Aires. Against the backdrop of white European architecture, it was like a graceful Parisian woman — utterly enchanting. I had never imagined a city could be so romantic, so gentle, so feminine.

I dropped my bags at the hotel and rushed out to explore. The location was perfect — turn right out the door, two blocks, and there was the Plaza de Mayo. The famous Plaza de Mayo is simply a small square, with an independence monument at its center and an enormous Argentine flag billowing in the wind. Surrounding it are the pink Casa Rosada — where Evita once gave speeches from the balcony — the Metropolitan Cathedral, and government buildings. Compared to Tiananmen Square, it is decidedly modest.

Despite the exhaustion, I hailed a taxi straight to La Boca. La Boca is where local artists live. The entire neighborhood blazes with color — walls covered in vivid murals, figurines leaning from the balconies: Maradona, Evita, Messi, even the Pope. Creaking narrow staircases led up to lofts packed with handmade artworks. Street performers played accordion and danced tango.

The famous Boca Juniors stadium is in this neighborhood. To me it was a simple, somewhat rough football ground; to countless young Argentine football fans, it is a place of pilgrimage.

San Telmo is an old district where everything seems preserved as it once was. The weathered European buildings tell the story of this city's history. Plaza Dorrego always has open-air tango performances — though it is street dancing, the skill is no less than a tango show in a theater. Pull up a chair, order a drink, and while away half a day, immersed in tango's fierce world of love and longing.

Buenos Aires is the birthplace of tango, which perfectly expresses the passionate, uninhibited, love-fiercely-hate-fiercely character of Latin Americans. Tango is sensual and passionate — dancers in glamorous, revealing costumes advance and retreat, entangle and disentangle, in music that is lilting and faintly melancholic. All love is a rose with thorns which hurts.

Buenos Aires is a vast city — but unlike Istanbul, Paris, London, Beijing, or New York, cities that were or are at their peak, where everything inspires awe, the sights here may disappoint travelers who have visited those world-class cities. Teatro Colón cannot match the grandeur of Paris's Palais Garnier; the celebrities in Recoleta Cemetery are not as famous as Chopin, Molière, Balzac, and Bizet in Père Lachaise; the Casa Rosada hardly compares to the Forbidden City or Versailles. But none of this diminishes Argentina's charm. Argentina is a recreation of Spain at its height in an overseas colony — combining Europe's rich artistic spirit with Latin America's passionate warmth. Before Spanish and Portuguese colonization, Mexico had the Maya and Aztec civilizations, Brazil had the Amazon, Peru had the Inca. Argentina had no comparably powerful indigenous civilization, so the colonization here was more thorough, without the friction between colonizers and strong local cultures. As a result, Argentines are relatively friendlier and more easygoing. The people here fully embrace life — savoring the sun, savoring good food.

In Argentina, beauty and art permeate every detail of daily life. Young women on the street are sensual and beautiful, their style effortlessly reflecting a refined aesthetic. Even white-haired elderly women dress with great care. Compared to Parisian women, the beauties here are more direct, more openly sensual. A crumbling, grimy old building has a balcony with pots of flowers in full bloom. Beauty is an indispensable part of their lives.

People who love beauty almost always love good food. Argentina is no exception. Cafés and restaurants along the street — walk into any one at random and you are rarely disappointed. A simple salad is made colorful and artful. Steak and Malbec are essential to Argentine cuisine — eating meat in generous mouthfuls and drinking wine freely is the heart of food culture here. The grilled meats are extraordinary: egg-shaped cement ovens produce steaks with a perfect char, cooked to ideal doneness, in portions twice the size of an American serving. T-bone, rib-eye — you tell them exactly which cut you want. Beautifully seared on the outside and tender within, paired with a rich, full-bodied Malbec — pure happiness. We visited the legendary steakhouse La Brigada, where the waiter cuts the beef with a spoon to prove how tender it is.

In Buenos Aires, people immerse themselves in life's small pleasures — a glass of wine, a dish of food — savoring each moment with passion and artistry.

Iguazu Falls

Iguazu Falls is a paradise of water. Here, water leaps and bounds with joy, showing off every form it can take. The ladies glide quietly down lush green rocky walls; the mischievous boys hurl themselves off high cliffs, sending white foam flying; a few furious elders roar and rage as if trying to shatter the world, and the shattered spray flies in all directions, mist rising everywhere. The park's trail system is brilliantly designed — Devil's Throat, Lower Falls, Upper Falls — with iron mesh bridges over the water connecting each viewpoint, allowing visitors to get up close and experience the falls from every angle. At the Lower Falls, you look up from below as the water crashes down the rocks, turning itself to white powder with a thunderous roar. At the Upper Falls, you look down from above. The river flows peacefully and cheerfully — then suddenly the riverbed vanishes, replaced by a cliff tens of meters high. The water plunges over without hesitation, without choice — whether in excitement or terror, no one can say. Moments before it flowed gently and happily; then in an instant it erupts in fury, crashes down, sending up clouds of white foam. Did the river know its fate before it leapt from the cliff?

The second day, we boarded a small boat to see the falls up close. The boat moved beneath the falls — the roar was thunderous, white water crashing down so you couldn't open your eyes or catch your breath. Waves of spray surged into the boat. Everyone was soaked to the bone. From a distance it is a beautiful sight; up close, it is overwhelming. Tourists shouted with delight: "One more time! One more time!" The captain turned the boat around and plunged back into the falls. What a thrill!

Iguazu is actually a system of 213 waterfalls — large and small, furious and quiet, each with its own character, endlessly captivating.

In this paradise of water, I lingered and could not bring myself to leave.

Mendoza

A good trip requires thorough research. Nowhere did I feel this more keenly than Mendoza. Too busy with work, I set off without much preparation. Only on arrival did I discover that wine tastings require advance reservations — especially at famous estates like Catena, where without booking one or two months ahead, you simply cannot get in. Some wineries only open half a day on Saturdays, close on Sundays, and others are closed on Mondays.

Despite the lack of research, I was lucky — the young man at the hotel front desk managed to book lunch and a tour at the renowned Salentein.

Mendoza's wineries are spread across three regions: Luján de Cuyo is the cradle of the wine industry, where Catena is located; Valle de Uco is the newer region, the farthest from Mendoza at about an hour and a half by car, but with the most beautiful scenery — this is where Salentein is found; and Maipú is the closest to the city and the oldest zone.

Driving out of the city, the roadsides were blanketed in vineyards, lush green stretching into a sea. In the distance, the snow-capped Andes rose and fell in an epic, breathtaking panorama. We drove on in wonder, and before we knew it, arrived at Salentein.

For lunch, I ordered their finest Malbec. It truly lived up to its reputation — silky smooth on the palate, a delicate floral sweetness blooming in the mouth, and upon swallowing, the rich, full depth characteristic of Malbec. I love Malbec for its body and velvetiness, without the sharp acidity of most grapes. Substantial and honest. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, beneath the majestic Andes, vineyards stretched to the horizon.

After lunch, we toured the winery. Approaching the cellar, the rich scent of wine enveloped us, rows of oak barrels filling the space. Looking closely, there were barrels made in France and some from Napa. To preserve the wine's quality, each oak barrel is used only three times. At the heart of the cellar is an underground plaza with a grand piano at its center. The guide told us that concerts and tango shows have been held here.

After tasting, pleasantly tipsy, I half-reclined on the sofa outside the restaurant. In front me are verdant vineyards, bright red roses, the mighty Andes, white snow, blue sky, brilliant sunshine. I was lost in it and did not want to leave. The winery staff didn't hurry us along either — once they had tidied up, they simply left. Latin culture is about enjoying life and genuine human warmth, without America's rules and formalities. You came to the winery to enjoy yourself; if you haven't enjoyed enough, why rush you out? I'll go back to my home, and you enjoy your view.

Leaving the winery, we drove on through the countryside, hoping to find more along the way. By chance, we wandered into a small mountain village. At dusk, villagers led or rode their horses home, their figures traced in gold by the setting sun. In the village, a roadside table ringed by a few patrons made up an open-air restaurant; nearby, a family crouched by the river, eating their dinner. Here was pastoral life itself — smoke curling from chimneys, the day winding down. Whether the luxury wineries just down the road touched these lives in any way, I couldn't say.

The second day, with an evening flight to catch, we visited two wineries in the nearby Maipú area: Los Toneles and Familia Zuccardi. Compared to Salentein, these two have long histories. Los Toneles in particular has endured the ages — with nearly a century behind it. The wine here ferments in egg-shaped cement vats.

Beyond wine, the small town of Mendoza itself has great character. Dense trees shield against the intense sun, carving out cool, shaded streets. Small plazas are tucked throughout the town, where people come to rest. Running along both sides of the streets are channels about a meter deep — an irrigation system built by the Huarpe people over five hundred years ago. Mendoza's climate is arid; the channels carry snowmelt from the Andes into the town.

During our weekend in Mendoza, we happened to be there for a match between River and Boca — two long-rival Argentine clubs. The locals call it the clash of the century. Boca is the team Maradona once played for. Crazed River fans threw rocks and sprayed pepper at Boca players, causing the match to be delayed again and again. It speaks to the Argentines' absolute passion for football. Maradona and Messi have deep roots in the hearts of the people.