Here is the English Rowing Club...
As you can see, the Rowing Clubs are still very much in use, though I understand they are far more democratic in their membership policies these days and there's no ethnic limitation anymore.
Here's a picture I took inside the English Rowing Club. It may not be the greatest photo, but I love the way it shows the long tradition of rowing in Tigre.
Wealthy Argentines of this period (as well as today) were extremely cosmopolitan, and frequently had a pied-a-tierre in Paris, in addition to their home in Buenos Aires and their estancia (the source of their wealth) in the Argentine countryside. In fact, from time to time these families actually moved to Paris for a couple of years: with Argentina going through its economic boom ("explosion" would be a better word?), it was actually cheaper for them to simply live in Paris than in their own country. Borges, the Argentine literary giant who only died in the 1980s, was uprooted in that way when he was a child.
Anyway, a museum in Tigre had a quote from Victoria Ocampo, an Argentine intellectual of the 1930s who was born into one of these ruling families of Argentina and participated in this international social circuit. I wish I had the exact words, but she said approximately that the Argentines of her generation & social class were neither fully at home in Europe nor in their own country - they were neither of one place, nor of the other. Glamor, but glamor tinged with sadness. I think that gives an interesting context for viewing the palatial buildings and fabulous wealth in Tigre.
Let me digress and mention my own glancing contact with Argentine haute society: one day I was strolling around Buenos Aires and I wanted some help with directions. I was in quite a glam neighborhood, so it was not surprising that the couple who happened to be walking toward me was elegantly dressed and coiffed; in fact, the husband was wearing a double-breasted navy suit coat with gold buttons and a crest, as if ready for yachting. In my imperfect Spanish, I asked for directions, but the wife, in a kindly but worldweary voice, cut me off, asking in English: "Which language?" When I sheepishly replied that I spoke English, she gave me directions in flawless British English. I suppose if I had specified French, she could have answered in that language equally well!
Back to Tigre - here is another lovely rowing club, but the foreground of the picture is also interesting. The man who's standing up is a modern-day gaucho (they still exist!), and the man sitting down is drinking Mate.
There's so much to be said about Mate, which is a hot, mildly caffeinated drink brewed from native herbs and leaves, much as Tea is. The early European settlers adopted the natives' love of this drink, and it is now one of the most characteristic symbols of Southern Cone culture. Though Mate can be ordered in restaurants and cafes, it is a humble drink that's almost always served at home and among friends. There is a very specific paraphrenalia for drinking mate: it's always served in a small, hollowed-out gourd and drunk through a silver straw. Since the drink is served boiling hot, the metal straw gets boiling hot too, and apparently it's a real art to drink mate without burning your lips.
Though Mate is a daily ritual throughout the Southern Cone, as you go north in Argentina and approach Uruguay, it becomes an all-out obsession. Even mate-drinking Argentines speak with awe about how much mate their neighbors to the north consume. I saw this myself when I was in Uruguay last weekend. When ordinary Uruguayans run their daily errands, they find a way to always carry with them a mate gourd and a thermos with hot water for refills - juggling these expertly with the other, ordinary paraphrenalia of daily life (purses, grocery bags, children in arms). That way, they can maintain a constant supply of mate without having to go home to "re-load." The next 2 pictures are ordinary street scenes showing mate-drinkers who needed to bring their stash with them...
Here is one more opulent palace I wanted to show you in Tigre: it's the former Casino, which has now been transformed into their Fine Arts Museum. As you'll notice, it has a grand promenade or deck that extends all the way to edge of the river, so gamblers in the 1910s or 20s could take a break and stroll out for a view and (probably) a smoke...
View from the terrace, looking back at the casino.
On the terrace, looking toward the river...
I feel mildly guilty about the next photos. Pictures are prohibited in the museum, even without flash, so I took these clandestinely. I don't see what the harm could possibly be (sans flash) - but I guess I have a little lingering guilt. Anyway, look how spectacular this place is.
Continuing down the river, there are some gorgeous old homes that are simply abandoned and falling into disrepair. Pierre & I have a strong 'rescue instinct' for buildings like this, so - honey - here's one of the places we need to buy (ha!).
And to close - it's a mystery why Tigre is called "tiger" since big cats are not native to the area. Anyway, the tiger is now the symbol of the city and these posters are everywhere. I think they are fun...
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