Being in Buenos Aires is like stepping back in time—similar to what I would imagine of Paris, if Paris were in the south of France in the 1960s or ’70s. There is an ambient whimsy and spookiness to it, and more vegetation than I have seen in any city—parks and lovely trees at every turn and balconies swathing the apartment buildings. The architecture varies from the grandeur of the French Belle Epoque, with embassy buildings to trump any I’ve seen, to Bauhaus-era high-rises with sleek marble lobbies and awnings reminiscent of the Riviera.

The Recoleta Cemetery is a mesmeric place in which to get lost for hours, where mini mausoleums and marble façades abound. In fact, Buenos Aires is a city of exquisite marble, elegantly dressed men, beat-up cars from the ’70s, vegetal luxuriance, and culinary experiences that would impress even the most persnickety epicure.

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