‘All happy mornings resemble one another’ – Here I am, Jonathan Safran Foer
We woke up at Hub Porteño with a discreet and innocent jolliness, which even the passing rain drumming on the veranda could not disperse. The wall garden at our back, we sat on the striped sofa and sipped coffee in decorated china, while waiting for our daily medialunas to come out of the oven, stately and fragrant. The historical neighbourhood families resumed their classic routine while the sun dried the smaller puddles. In our spare time, we exercised our idea of luxury: we idled on the roof terrace, a private Eden among building tops, lingered in the big marble bathtub and, when snack time came, treated ourselves to a portion of homemade cake and a mate, while resuming that book about enchanted estancias.
In Italian, the Spanish word ‘recoleto’ (cosy) translates as the polysemous ‘raccolto’, which in Recoleta loses its many-sidedness and focuses on the meaning of intimacy, discretion and quiet, as in the origins of the neighbourhood’s name: the convent of the Fathers Recoletos was founded here at the beginning of the eighteenth century. Also the shady neighbourhood streets are ‘recoletas’, as well as the charming and never mincing confiterías, and the rooms of Hub Porteño, which has few features of a classic hotel and recalls a domestic nest in the motherly art of looking after you.