Buenos Aires, Argentina: Buenos Aires is certainly a colorful city. Today as I walked along Calle Rodríguez Peña I saw three men break out into a huge fight.

One man parked his car and was getting out when a very reckless driver nearly hit him. The reckless driver screeched to a halt as if to apologize when the first man came around and attacked him through the open window with an aluminum bottle.

A passing motorcyclist then got off his bike and hit the first man with his heavy metal bike lock. I wasn’t sure if he knew the driver and wanted to help out or if he wanted to blow off steam because it’s so blasted hot.

Whatever the reason, they spilled onto the sidewalk and crashed into a store front. A few brave souls tried to intervene, but needless to say I did a hasty about face and retreated back the way I had come.

This particular episode of excitement aside, I have thoroughly enjoyed my time in Buenos Aires while all of my friends in the northeast shiver in the snow.

My visit to the city has been short, so perhaps it is stereotypically touristy.

El Teatro Colón lives up to its reputation as stunningly beautiful. My favorite part is the stain glass ceiling in the entrance hall.

The tour guide went into some detail about the recent restoration and proudly assured the group that the acoustics in the auditorium are still perfect.

The sound travels throughout the theater at 1.5 seconds and most performances have a full house, if not completely sold out.

Unfortunately the opera is on summer vacation so I was unable to test her statement.

When asked about how the restoration was funded the guide was vehemently clear that the theater is owned by city of Buenos Aires and not the national government and the money was raised by the city and several wealthy families. I’ll leave you to interpret her insistence as you will.

The Recoleta cemetery was quite lovely as well. All cultures have their ways of handling the dead, and the Argentines are not to be outdone.

The tombs range from garish and gaudy temples to understated and sweet memorials. Many former presidents are buried there, and of course Eva Perón is as well. After her body was recovered she was buried in her brother’s mausoleum, which is surprisingly simple:

I also had a parilla (pronounced pah-ri-jsha for those of you who did not learn Spanish in Argentina). A plate piled high with various cuts of steak and sausage: a cuisine after my own heart.

More pictures of the amazing Recoleta Cemetery: