Top 5 Nostalgic Nights

What does midnight look like in the Paris of South America? For those of us cursed with a golden-age mentality, Buenos Aires can be a reprieve from all the baggage that comes with modern reality.

This city is captivated by nostalgia, and even if a venue wasn’t born decades ago, many owners pay close attention to details in the hope of capturing a little of the magic of bygone eras. The bar at the Sofitel hotel transports customers to Montmarte with themed evenings every Thursday, whilst Sunday strolls in San Telmo’s markets act as a gateway to the past.

But once all of yesteryear’s magic gets into your system, where does one go when the lights go down? And just where, prey tell, do you plan to wear that poodle skirt?

From the city’s shadowy jazz bars to sultry milonga halls to lively penas folkloricas, this week’s Top 5 brings you our pick of places to live out your dream era.

Legend has it that the 80s stunted the growth of Club 74. Born in 1958, the club progressed with the ages until deciding to remain in a disco time capsule a few decades ago. The white stucco walls match the white stucco couches, giving the whole place an igloo-like feel.

The Saturday night fever is still burning every weekend, with a DJ who pretends he’s never heard of Lady Gaga. A surprisingly mixed crowd boogies on the dance floor – some dancing to remember, and some channeling moves they’ve surely only seen on TV.

The club has a celebratory atmosphere – there are usually several birthday parties going on – and it’s a refreshing escape from the moody indie-rock scene of today.

Saturday is definitely the night to go, as it’s the only night of the week when the dance-floor lights up, in true retro fashion like a flashing Rubix cube. And really, what good are revolving mirror balls without the neon lights?

There’s more than one way to swing in Buenos Aires, and if you choose the kind on offer at San Nicolas’s quirky Teatro Mandril, cameras are even allowed.

A little alcohol helps to loosen up limbs as the crowd make eyes at each other around a dimly-lit, college fundraiser-style bar. Every brand of hipster seems to be gathered there on a Friday night; the retro hipster, the punk hipster, the popular girl-turned hipster, even the odd Dad hipster.

Around midnight everyone starts to gather in the back room, near the stage and dance floor. Drinks are abandoned and tables shuffled against walls to allow for the gyrations of 200 or so guests.

Guys and girls are split and line up facing each other as a male and female instructor teach the sexes their corresponding steps. After a few minutes of learning basic steps the couples grab a partner and the room transforms into a fire inspector’s nightmare. Patrons spill into every spare corner and the dance floor becomes a mere suggestion of where you should be. After about 10 minutes of practice, the sea of men and women splits again to learn more complex moves.