San Telmo's Fire — Mostly Harmless

FEW MARKETS IN THE WORLD can compete with the Sunday Feria in San Telmo, a bristly neighborhood that seems held together by graffiti, in Buenos Aires, Argentina.

If you’re there to SHOP, intricately-carved matchsticks resembling microscopic sports legends, lush alpaca wool shawls, antique tea cups from around the globe, soft leather bags, dusty vintage magazine spreads, heavy hand-forged knobs, handles and spouts, and colorful siphons (sifones) line the cobblestone streets.

Stalls and shops are bloated with curious goods and an artisan’s coin carving stand one weekend may be a hippie selling alpargatas the next. No matter how many visits one has time to pull off, it would be quite unlikely to ever see it all, which makes multiple visits not only tempting, but wise.

Serious finds are real in San Telmo. On our last visit we stumbled across an original print from the 1930 World Cup in Uruguay.

If you’re there to EAT, empanada hawkers, fruit vendors, and corn pushers are perched on the sidewalks, and the local restaurants capitalize on the influx of visitors with appetizing specials and interesting eats. One of our favorites, El Desnivel, a cornerstone parrilla of the San Telmo neighborhood, opens its doors at noon to crank out its world-famous steaks, chorizo, and morcilla.

Mercado San Telmo, a Tuscan-style building conveniently located at the corner of Defensa and Carlos Calvo, is loud, bustling, and filled with hip food stalls and hungry patrons. Here you’ll find Coffee Town, a friendly coffee shop whose baristas are eager to give you that little jolt of caffeine you need to continue shopping.

If you’re there to BE ENTERTAINED, don’t miss the Carlos Gardel impersonators, the marionette shows, the tango breakouts, the ubiquitous live musicians and the inevitable peaceful protests.

It never fails…each year, as soon as we cross Plaza de Mayo, which marks the end of the market, I want back in like a moth drawn to a flame. The allure is palatable. The attraction is undeniable. And with the way those camel leather boots were calling my name, I’m pretty sure the feeling is mutual.