Where Conversation Is Always Astir : The English have their pubs, Argentines their cafes. They are the essence of life.

BUENOS AIRES —  I arrived in Argentina in July, 1990, amid the whoops and horn-blowing of World Cup madness, a state of frenzy in which it seemed all the inhabitants of Buenos Aires were engulfed. Although it was winter, fans were pouring into the rain-drizzled streets to celebrate their team’s semifinal victory over Italy.

Thousands jammed the downtown Plaza Republica, waving flags, pounding drums, singing, clambering up street lights and ridiculing the Italians who the locals believed had behaved abominably as hosts of the tournament. “Where are they now? Where are they now,” one chant went, “those who whistled through our national anthem?”

Retreating from the festivities, I found my way back to the Hotel Sportsman, an airy and comfortably worn pension. There I was drawn into the conversation between a distinguished-looking Argentine of about 50 wearing a pin-stripe suit and a young, curly-haired Chilean about the goings-on in the street. He had spotted a few kids breaking the windows of a liquor store.

“That’s a nice combination, eh?” he said, half-horrified, half-amused. “Booze and charged-up muchachos .”

Then he appraised his two listeners and said with a sigh, “Well, shall we have a coffee?”

Up the street, a small crowded cafe bustled with waiters carrying steaming trays of cappuccinos, the air electrified by a soccer match 6,000 miles away. Our trio found a corner table and for three hours we talked of boxing and travel. Paying our bill, the Argentine said he was a banker. The Chilean said he was a student. Only on the way out did we exchange names.

In the succeeding two months that I spent crisscrossing the vast country, I developed only one firm rule: Never turn down an invitation for coffee. For the cafe, I discovered, is the essence of Argentina.

Like the Parisian, the Argentine spends an important part of his life in the cafe, or confiteria . Amid the swirling, rich aromas of roasted java, he gossips and flirts, resolves personal problems, celebrate triumphs, ridicules politicians and proffers generous opinions on just about everything. Perpetually primed for a verbal tussle, he savors ideas and eloquence, with the notion of being right only of secondary importance. Want to say Shakespeare was overrated? Splendid. The point is to have a point, to be forceful and to be articulate and persuasive enough to sow doubts.

While many who visit Argentina miss this essential--even sacred--experience, diverted, perhaps, by such myths as polo and tango dancing, which touch few workaday lives, it is not enough to simply sip to quench one’s thirst. Having a coffee is never a brief encounter, as it is in neighboring Chile, where the cafe is as inviting as a fast-food dinner dispensary. Expect to settle in. I once spent five intense hours in the Cafe Piazza, teaching a bright and lovely student some rudimentary English. She practiced by telling me what she thought of President Carlos Saul Menem, which wasn’t much, but when, late in the conversation, I remarked that we’d spent an extraordinary length of time together, she shrugged it off.

“That’s normal,” she said. “If someone didn’t stop us, we’d go on forever. Here we have an expression, ‘Basta!’ Enough is enough. It is like we cannot accept the end of anything.”

The long cafe hours provide an escape from the harsh realities of a crumpled economy and the anguish of a brutish military past. Television offers little escape beyond soccer and a few exceedingly mushy soap operas. But the Argentine can fly away to the cafe--free of class and generational differences--for fun, to entertain compadres , to flatter a lover, to hash out theories.

I spent one amusing afternoon in cafe debate with a graduate student and aspiring entrepreneur who delighted in demonstrating his encyclopedic knowledge of American sports, which included all sorts of baseball pitching statistics even ardent U.S. fans wouldn’t know. He offered a scheme for launching an indoor soccer league in Argentina. Later he said that traditional matrimony was obsolete and suggested marriages ought to be same-sex simply because men get along better with men, women with women.

In addition to being meccas for discussion, the cafes are typically Argentine, which is to say they are simmering with paradox. They may be grandiose and faded, decorous and romantic or, perhaps, formal but welcoming. The cafe that at lunch is as stuffy as a gentlemen’s club may by midnight metamorphose into a chic magnet for the trendy that is liberally lined with leggy beauties and their tan-faced admirers. Also a study in contrasts, many of the older cafes, housed in buildings copied from European structures that seem almost ridiculously grand by today’s standards--bombastic visions that include towering mirrors, gilt-edged balustrades and fleur-de-lis--have been eroded by what the Argentines call la situacion : the economic crunch that’s put a halt to renovations, as well as new construction.

Buenos Aires’ best cafes are in the center of town. Confiteria del Molino, where prominent politicians congregate, offers a palatial ambience with its enormous ceiling, sweeping staircase and huge glass cases from which patrons select pastries or chocolate sweets. The grand, Continental flourishes of Del Molino--built during a period when his philosophies in fashion reflected the immense vision of D.F. Sarmiento, a 19th-Century president who wrote in his “Civilization and Barbarism” that what Argentina needed most was to absorb Europe’s values, replicate its culture, attract its emigrants and link up with its economy. (Tellingly, the towering bronze statue of Christopher Columbus behind the nearby presidential Casa Rosada faces east, toward the Old World.)

A more modern alternative can be found in the Piazza cafe, a clean, well-lighted place on the eastern end of the Plaza del Congreso, where the confections are exceptionally tasty. Cafe Ideal and Gran Cafe Tortoni provide a quieter, dark-oak pleasure, perfect for retreating with a friend or good book.

Those with an interest in history might investigate La Perla, on the corner of Jujuy and Rivadavia. That’s where Jorge Luis Borges, Argentina’s master of the mystical, would take his cares. Dressed in muted tweeds and sipping his copita de cana , a sweet liqueur made from sugar cane, Borges would lose himself in courtly debate with fellow writers Macedonio Fernandez and Ramon Gomez de la Serna, no doubt talking out dark philosphies.

Down the street on Rivadavia, Cafe de los Angelitos acquired a spicy reputation during the 1930s and ‘40s as the cafe of choice for impassioned Socialists such as Alfredo Palacios and Nicolas Repetto.

Catty-cornered to the city’s famed Recoleta cemetery, where Eva Peron lies buried, is Cafe la Biela, a favorite among men and women of means. It’s an ironic juxtaposition. On one side the famous dead are interred in opulent tombs. On the other, the young and gorgeous of Buenos Aires flock awash in Gianni Versace designs, to revel in the joys of the beau monde. Relentlessly fashionable, thoroughly self-conscious, the well-groomed snob class of el capital take their coffee in quiet, sun-burnished confidence, shadowed only by the most extravagant mausoleums on earth.

Worthy of note is that psychology ranks high as a concern and diversion in Argentine cafes. It is said that there are three times as many therapists in Buenos Aires as in New York, and joining the cafe society often means being asked to provide details from your dreams, which will be zealously analyzed. But no matter what the topic, Argentines are remarkably good listeners and expect you to be engaging. There are those who would say that their pride in conversational dexterity typically reflects the egoism so often associated with Argentina. But in the end, the warmth of their friendly intellectualizing overrides all thoughts of vanity.

The cafe experience is not without its simple customs. As I learned from the night of celebration with the Argentine banker and Chilean student, it is more important to reveal what you think than what you do or how much you make. Names and occupations are among the last facts to be revealed. Criticize anything you like, but be prepared to defend your views.

And, oh yes, the coffee: Itself a source of pleasure, it is offered at virtually every public place, from downtown office buildings where it is delivered by waiters in tuxedos to downtown streets, where it is lugged in metal containers by vendors and sold in plastic cups. And the brew is never weak. Argentine coffee is strong and aromatic and sometimes as thick as bean stew.

The coffee comes in many variations. The basic cafe (also called cafe italiano , cafe chico and cafecito ) is usually a hearty espresso served in a demitasse. If you order a cafe con leche , the waiter pours milk with a request to Diga or “say when.” The submarino is a hot chocolate, and cafe doble is a double shot of espresso served in a regular mug. These selections are often served with a cookie and small glass of soda water to clear the palate. In the morning, they are sipped with media lunas or sweet croissants.

Like the rest of Argentina, you, too, could be seduced by the cafe and its intoxicating vapors. Without much difficulty you can pass a refined yet relaxing vacation going nowhere but out for coffee. You might just find yourself one day pushing back from a table and announcing to your friends in a firm and steady voice, “Basta!”

GUIDEBOOK

Cafes of Buenos Aires

There are cafes on almost every block of Buenos Aires, and if you spend any time in the capital, you will come to rely on one or two favorites. Still, a handful of landmark cafes merit at least one visit. You might even become a regular.

Piazza cafe (Rivadavia 1400). Modern, clean and comfortable. Excellent selection of coffee and sweets.

Confiteria del Molino (Rivadavia and Callao). Old and elegant gathering place for politicians because 1906 Congress building is just across the street. Huge assortment of confections. Tables in the rear. Antique accouterments, such as gilded pillars and a large winding staircase.

Cafe Ideal (Corrientes and Suipacha). Somber and traditional; English-club ambience.

Gran Cafe Tortoni (Avenida de May 829). Elegant retreat built in last century, patronized by artists. Sometimes there are performances of music and poetry.

Cafe la Biela (600 Avenida Quintana). Tables outside and in for its trendy clientele. Eva Peron’s tomb across the street.

Cafe de la Ciudad (Corrientes and Avenida 9 de Julio). Small and fashionable space with two floors. A good corner perch for watching action along what is considered the world’s widest avenue.

Florida Gardens (899 Calle Florida). In the center of Buenos Aires’ main, pedestrian-only shopping district. You’ll have to push your way through a crowd, but submarinos (hot chocolate) is best in the city.

La Paz (Montevideo and Corrientes). Casual and comfortable. Frequented by students as it stays open until 3 a.m. Also a popular hangout with young poets.