The unofficial anthem of Buenos Aires is a classic tango from 1935, “Volver.” The name of the song means “to return,” and in it Carlos Gardel anticipates the mixed emotions of revisiting the city after many years. “To feel…that life is a puff of wind,” he croons, “that 20 years is nothing.” For me, it had been nearly 30 years since my last visit to Buenos Aires, a city to which I'd bought a one-way ticket as a young man with a wild dream of setting myself up as a foreign correspondent. By some miracle I established myself as a stringer for an array of international newspapers and was soon sharing a cheap apartment in the bohemian barrio of San Telmo with an NPR reporter. I became immersed in its half-European, half-Latin world, learning Spanish with the distinctive Argentine accent and lunfardo, the local slang; living on steak with chimichurri sauce; and attending raucous late-night avant-garde events at the legendary underground club Parakultural. Argentine democracy was still emerging from the long shadow of the military dictatorship that ruled in the late 1970s and early '80s, whose “dirty war” resulted in an estimated 30,000 desaparecidos—“the disappeared.” BA could sometimes feel melancholy, claustrophobic, and conformist (every restaurant seemed to have the same beef and pasta menu), but it was rich with character and atmosphere. With its charming wood-paneled cafés and dapper, formal citizens, much of it felt like it had not changed since the 1930s.