Boedo, Buenos Aires, Argentina

I live with my 24-year-old sister, Sofia, in a six-bedroom apartment on the first floor of an old building in Boedo, a neighborhood in the south of Buenos Aires.

For me, the disorientation of a new home—a new neighborhood and city—is coupled with the eerie understanding that in a few months, the potency of the unfamiliar will give way to the ordinary. Now, in early September, Boedo is fresh in a way that it will never be again, lacking the memories and attachments that will surely materialize over the next nine months. I have an awareness of the nostalgia to come, and I long for that feeling of connection and belonging, but I also have a certain appreciation for this moment, when the neighborhood is pure and untouched, foreign and unexplored. 

Sofia picked me up from the airport and we went straight to NYU to check-in. “This is not our neighborhood,” she warned. Her tone was clear: Recoleta epitomized the privilege, elitism, and tasteless luxury she loathed. As we dragged my suitcase onto bus 128 and began the thirty-minute journey to the corner of Carlos Calvo and Avenida Boedo, I found myself most surprised by her overt disdain for the north. Like many who live south of Avenida Rivadavia, her saints are drawn in street clothes. And although we share most political values, it felt a little unfair to have such a tainted introduction. My fresh eyes lacked a sense of geography, but they did not see without bias.

As we neared our stop, Boedo began to make itself clear. Various businesses proudly proclaimed the name: “Maquinarias Boedo,” “Las Delicias de Boedo." “Nuevo Boedo.” Boedo is even spray-painted on buildings and over traffic signs. There’s a quiet pride here—a certain “Boedo dignity” that I’m not quite sure how to place.

Perhaps it stems from the history and creative energy that flows through the neighborhood’s veins. Boedo takes its name from Dr. Joaquin Mariano Boedo, lawyer, independence activist, and early-nineteenth century president of Buenos Aires. At the turn of the century, a surge of immigrants, socialists, poets, and tangueros populated the area, creating a cultural diversity that allowed literary and artistic groups to rise. The corner of Avenida Boedo and San Ignacio was the home of El Grupo Boedo, a 1920s guild of leftist writers that promoted social action in a society overcome by injustice and inequality.

Boedo’s creative history lurks under the surface, though, still years from the touristic boiling point of San Telmo, the oldest neighborhood in the city. It’s a humble place, quietly bustling with people going about their lives, with old couples walking hunched, arm in arm, mothers and fathers with bundled toddlers, and dogs in all shapes and sizes. There are butchers and fruit vendors, chinos, lotterias, appliance stores, laundromats, cheap shoe stores, and those claustrophobic shops that seem to sell everything.

A new, gated plaza also opened in 2011, in a move to enhance green space in the confined, cement-clad neighborhood. (Some of the gate’s entrances have locks, but we can rest easy that, unlike many of the city’s parks, it’s open until at least 10 or 11, and someone is always passing a joint). It’s full of activity. Teenagers come to make out in the shade, runners sunbathe post-jog, dog owners let their dogs run and play freely. Kids rollerblade and skateboard, old men play chess, the carousel goes round and round.

And although Boedo may not be experiencing the same cultural rebirth (aka gentrification) that neighborhoods like San Telmo and Palermo underwent in recent years, it’s certainly embracing its bohemian charm. There’s a trendy restaurant across the street, an independent theater, and a café refurbished to appear old-school Argentine. And while more and more foreigners may be moving to Boedo in search of an “authentic porteño experience,” for now, Boedo is just “barrio” enough.