By Esther Njue.
I boarded my flight to Buenos Aires knowing almost nothing about the city. I did not want a Google search or other people’s expectations to shape my perceptions. I wanted the surprise! I actively avoided any suggestions from family and friends, who, oddly enough, seemed more excited than I was. I thought arriving with no expectations would make the experience feel more special. I had no plans, no research and no guidebooks.
Even with no expectations, I did hope for one thing: that I might meet Lionel Messi. I am not a football fan, but he is legendary; everyone knows him, and I thought it would be a great story to share with my friends and family back home. One overenthusiastic friend even told me that I could bump into him on the streets, maybe even become neighbours, and we would chat over balconies and become best friends. I took this in good humour; I did not expect it to happen, but the hope added a little extra excitement.
Touching down in Buenos Aires felt like a different world; the air, the light and the energy felt new. The airport staff were friendly, though not in an overt way, more of a quiet attentiveness as if they could sense that I was unfamiliar and ready to help if they needed to. To my relief, one or two people spoke English, so I did not feel entirely lost without any Spanish knowledge. Passport control went smoothly, though I admit I had a fleeting moment of panic, and I muttered to myself, ‘ What if eloquence in Spanish was required for entry?’ I pictured myself being turned away, changing the name of this piece to ‘20 minutes in Buenos Aires’. Then came the final, slightly absurd hurdle: my carefully packed ‘ugali’ flour meant for my cherished Kenyan Ugali. The authorities inspected it, making sure it was not something illegal. I stood nervously, hoping that I would not be denied my treasured possession. The officials were polite, and soon enough I was free to start exploring!
That Sunday morning, Professor Santiago Legarre and his family kindly drove me around, showing me slices of the city as we went. Spring had just touched the city, but it was still a bit gloomy, the streets were still a bit damp from rain from the previous day, and the cold bit in ways that made me appreciate how different the weather was in Kenya. Some streets of the city were quiet, almost empty except for cafés and ice cream shops, with windows glowing warmly.
Buenos Aires is a fascinating mix. Some streets, like ‘ Calle Santa Fe’, felt and looked like Paris, while some looked like home or streets I may have seen anywhere around the world. Some buildings, like Teatro Colón and the Palacio de Justicia, were impressive in ways that words cannot fully capture. On the sidewalks, people moved quietly, absorbed in their own rhythm. Some had headphones on, bouncing slightly to the music. Life carried on here, in its own easy, lively way.
By early afternoon, it was time for lunch, and we headed to El Imparcial, the oldest restaurant in Buenos Aires, a place that somehow managed to feel both timeless and alive. Sunlight streamed through the glass walls, while paintings and vintage notices adorned the walls, each with its own quiet story. One notice in particular caught my eye: conversations about politics, religion, and money were strictly forbidden. I found it fascinating! Here, it seemed, people chose to protect the table from topics that could divide, instead embracing warmth, laughter and connection at the table.
I ordered pork ribs with chips. The flavours were simple, but I appreciated the care in the preparation. The food was paired with excellent conversation, which is a reminder that the heart of a meal is rarely just what is on the plate. Just then, as if the evening needed a final touch, a couple started dancing tango. They moved between the tables with quiet confidence, nothing rushed or exaggerated, just smooth steps that drew everyone in. People stopped eating to watch, clapping and slipping them tips with a smile. There was something so effortless about it. In that moment, I felt a small rush. This was Buenos Aires: warm, bold, and somehow both dramatic and welcoming at the same time
In the evening, we attended Mass at the Parish of Our Lady of Loreto, a local church. The courtyard was alive with activity; vendors sold snacks, small sculptures, and rosaries, all in support of the parish’s work. Families moved in and out, chatting, laughing, and enjoying the Sunday rhythm. The air carried a sense of community, a mix of devotion and everyday life happening side by side. When I went inside, I felt the eyes of the congregation on me. Perhaps it was because it was my first time there, or my appearance was unfamiliar in that space, but the stares were not unkind; they were rather curious, careful, almost shy.
The Mass itself was short but complete, and every ritual was performed with reverence. When the sign of peace arrived, I witnessed a warmth that stayed with me: handshakes, hugs, gentle kisses, all these gestures of genuine affection among people who clearly knew each other well. It was family, not just in name but in spirit, and I left with a quiet sense of belonging, even as a newcomer.
As the night approached, we attended a local musical play. Outside the small theatre, families and fans gathered in clusters, braving the lingering cold to support their own. There was chatter, laughter, and the occasional excited shout as relatives spotted each other in the crowd. Once the doors opened, we entered a modest auditorium, its walls warm with the colours of vibrant light. The air was filled with anticipation.
The play began, and though I did not understand every word of Spanish, the energy and emotion were unmissable. The actors commanded the stage with confidence, their expressions and movements telling a story that needed no translation. Applause erupted at every scene, and by the final bow, the cast was swept up in jubilation, hugged and cheered by family members. Watching it, I felt the same excitement that filled the room — a shared love for art, culture, and community that transcended language.
Around 10 pm, we began the drive back home. The streets of Buenos Aires were quieter now, but far from lifeless. Soft lights glimmered along avenues, and the occasional late-night café or shop added small pockets of warmth to the calm. There was a sense of safety, of order, and a quiet beauty in the city’s evening rhythm that contrasted with the bustle of the day.
Sitting in the car, I felt a sense of satisfaction. The city had revealed itself in fragments: its architecture, its food, its music, and most importantly, its people. Buenos Aires felt alive yet serene, vibrant yet unhurried. In those quiet streets, I realised that I had experienced more than sightseeing; I had glimpsed the heartbeat of the city.
By the time my 24 hours in Buenos Aires came to an end, I had not met Messi, but that was hardly the point. In a single day, I had wandered streets, tasted history on my plate at El Imparcial, felt the rhythm of tango sweep through a restaurant, shared a quiet warmth with strangers in a church, and witnessed the passion of a local theatre. Buenos Aires had surprised me, welcomed me, and reminded me that travel is never about ticking off sights, but about feeling a city in its smallest gestures and grandest moments.
Esther Njue
Lawyer | Strathmore Law School Alumnus
sedcontra.com.ar 