All this comes from a place of tough love for a country I know and adore. As a journalist who covered Argentina on and off for three decades, including five years spent living there, I have long compared it to my first – and last – Alfa Romeo. Just like that Alfa, Argentina’s glossy surface is a thing of classic beauty. Buenos Aires is a Potemkin village of a capital, replete with Belle Epoque buildings, elegant wrought-iron balconies and chic cafes. But also like that Alfa, Argentina keeps breaking down because when you lift the hood, its insides just do not work.