Buenos Aires (Argentina)
21-22 August 2012
There's an entertaining article that I read recently which aptly, and
kind of amusingly taps into the inherent traits of certain cultural
groups when they head out into grand beyond on their backpacking
escapades. I've included the link to the article if you feel so
inclined to check it out,(10 backpacker stereotypes) .The thing is with stereotypes is that
they are what they are for the fact that commonly the truisms regarding characteristics, attributes or idiosyncrasies
assigned to a group to identify actions in a generic, 'vanilla' type of way, do so relatively well.
In my mind Australian backpackers are as the article succinctly
outlined, friendly, laconic, adventurous knock-abouts that know how to
hit it hard on a night out, but what really brought the instructive
snippet home to me was the line that said that Australians '...will
often find a relative/friend/acquaintance at every stop'. It's a little
surreal as to how closely that line rings true to the reality of 'life
on the road'. That certainly appears to be the modus when you're
passing through foreign lands, stepping off a local bus say in the
middle of the Bolivian Amazon and suddenly hear a voice that slices
through the arcane jungle like a sharpened machete, bringing that
instant feeling of nausea and pounding to your head like an annoyingly
familiar Justin Beiber song. As you've probably figured out I had an
instance a couple of years ago when I 'thought' I was in the middle of
nowhere, stepping of a bus in the Bolivian Amazon, only to hear this;
'Hey mate, howsit goin'?'
It's in those acutely penetrating moments, when you're dumbstruck by the incredulity of the situation,that you feel the fury and rage welling in your being and believe it just might overwhelm you, resulting in justifiable homicide. I'll admit it, and I'll do it out aloud, I hate broad and thick Australian accents, they annoy every fibre of my being! I could find towns full of clones of this man in places like Mt.Isa or Dubbo or Kalgoorlie, but strike me rotten rone if out of all the Amazonian jungle in all of South America this dero didn't have to end up welcoming me to the back of Bourke in his inimitable style, and incidentally, to any of you readers from overseas that didn't understand most of the last two sentences, don't worry yourself, it's not that important. In Estonia ,(of all places), they had a commonly known line that went 'Germans are everywhere and Australians are anywhere!'. Whilst you contemplate that thought keep it circulating in your mind for a while as I'll be referring to it later.
'Hey mate, howsit goin'?'
It's in those acutely penetrating moments, when you're dumbstruck by the incredulity of the situation,that you feel the fury and rage welling in your being and believe it just might overwhelm you, resulting in justifiable homicide. I'll admit it, and I'll do it out aloud, I hate broad and thick Australian accents, they annoy every fibre of my being! I could find towns full of clones of this man in places like Mt.Isa or Dubbo or Kalgoorlie, but strike me rotten rone if out of all the Amazonian jungle in all of South America this dero didn't have to end up welcoming me to the back of Bourke in his inimitable style, and incidentally, to any of you readers from overseas that didn't understand most of the last two sentences, don't worry yourself, it's not that important. In Estonia ,(of all places), they had a commonly known line that went 'Germans are everywhere and Australians are anywhere!'. Whilst you contemplate that thought keep it circulating in your mind for a while as I'll be referring to it later.
Avenida 9 de Julio - Buenos Aires - Argentina
Street art - Buenos Aires - Argentina
Avenida de Mayo stop on the Subte - Buenos Aires - Argentina
Streetscape - Buenos Aires - Argentina
Buenos Aires has a heavy
European influence and no place represents its feel better than the old
world style and charm within walls of the very well known and hometown
favourite, Cafe Tortoni. Founded in 1858 this place is the oldest coffee
house in the country, noted for the famous clientele it would draw and
its equally alluring make up, this place oozes tradition and charm. They
say that tourists arriving at Tortoni are able to experience the whole
of the city in its defined space, that being with access to the past as
displayed on its walls; the present, as it plays out in the
conversations that occur around you and the future, in the people that
work there for the sake of its posterity and preservation. And you know
what? I can see it! I see it in its high ceilings and in the deep, dark
smell of the wooden tables and chairs that fill its space, the scent of
which becomes almost tangible, as if the wood has had the chance to
soak up the years of history within its fibres and now was wearing it
like a cloak of nobility. I also see it within it's proud and thickly
moustached cammereros. I also understand however the fact that
Tortoni these days is more kitsch than sophisticated, more emblematic
than functional, pandering to the pesos brought in by tourists such as
myself who are looking for an 'authentic' experience,but,it's also a place
that I imagine would struggle to be replicated in say a place like
Sydney. This type of 'old school' can only be earned and that's
something that you just can't fake no matter how hard you try!
Cafe Tortoni - Buenos Aires - Argentina
Cafe Tortoni - Buenos Aires - Argentina
Cafe Tortoni - Buenos Aires - Argentina
Obelisc de Buenos Aires - Buenos Aires - Argentina
After
Tortoni I made my way to the Panamericano, a place that stringently
safeguards access to one of 'the' views of Buenos Aires, keeping its
Lvl 23 vista over the famous Avenida 9 de Julio only within the grasp of
those staying at the hotel, and of course, yours truly. On this day I
took the express shuttle up to 23 and somehow timed my run to the exact
moment that the gatekeeper to this wondrous view decided to leave his
post. I have a tendency of getting lucky with things like that, but
Argentina! Come on man! Embrace the capitalist edifice! Do you know what
you could do with a vista like that rather than keeping it as a half
arsed bastion of exclusivity!?
View from the Panamericano - Buenos Aires - Argentina
View from the Panamericano - Buenos Aires - Argentina
View from the Panamericano - Buenos Aires - Argentina
View from the Panamericano - Buenos Aires - Argentina
Avenida 9 de Julio - Buenos Aires - Argentina
Walking up Avenida Sante Fe after my Panamericano photo shoot I headed through Barrio Norte with the intention of meandering up to Palermo via a few cocktail stops.It was a good 90min walk, my first choice bar of Million somehow being closed and and in the end I fell short of making the full distance jumping the Subte for a ride through last few stations.
Now Palermo is known as the hip and happening BA barrio. Chic, stylish, good looking, good for looking at, it's the equivalent of your Prahran in Melbourne or Double Bay in Sydney, but for the fact that it's in BA and far cooler and much more unpretentious than those places could ever be. If truth be told my real intention for making it to the northern sector of BA was to spend s little time a a place that is considered by many to be one the best parillas in BA, La Cabrera. And indeed that was where I settled in for a late afternoon morcilla, bife de tire, and the ubiquitous king of Argentinian reds, the glorious Malbec! I mean it's obligatory to do that sort of thing, right!? In those glorious afternoon hours I made sense of how it's been that this place has developed its reputation, but for me personally, as pleasing as it was I found it to be overpriced and not living up to the character of many of the grill houses in San Telmo.
Palermo Soho - Buenos Aires - Argentina
Parilla La Cabrera - Palermo - Buenos Aires - Argentina
Parilla La Cabrera - Palermo - Buenos Aires - Argentina
Post food and wine coma my inane wandering
somehow guided me back to Plaza Italia and the Subte, I took a ride via
the D line back to the Tribunales stop and walked down to the
Panamericano for some evening shots over the city, which didn't
eventuate as the fun police stopped my progress at the front gates. I
did try to outwit the gatekeeper by posing as a hotel guest, I even had
my hotel room number of 2129 ready to roll but I didn't have the surname
prepared, Ahh, such a rookie mistake and one that could have been
alleviated with a little bit of incisive research.
...in a land far, far away
La Bombenera
22 August 2012
So, do you even remember where this blog write up commenced all those paragraphs ago? I was discussing backpacking stereotypes and specifically how Australians seem to pop out off the shrubs anywhere in the world! We have somehow evolved into an easy going crew of professional global nomads. In fact in the most recent UNWTO World Tourism Barometer data (from June 2011) our little country of 22million was ranked # 1 in per capita expenditure on travel with Germany coming in second. This of course lends a little credence to the Estonian saying of Germans being everywhere and Australians being anywhere huh!? So stick with me on this thought for a little while whilst my story catches up with my train of thought in the following paragraphs.
I woke up early in the morning on this day and inherently knew that somehow I was going to find the keys that would block the door to me acquiring tickets to the Boca Juniors v.Independientes match at La Bombenera that evening. I'd like to add now that it was my dogged determination, steely resolve and inane travelers luck that directed those tickets of footballing mayhem into my hands, but alas, it was much more simple than that. With unbelievable simplicity in fact I 'Googled' an agent that was less than 5 mins walk from the hostel and in about the same amount of time I was at their tourist desk and locked and loaded for the 'Chocolate box' that evening.
So, do you even remember where this blog write up commenced all those paragraphs ago? I was discussing backpacking stereotypes and specifically how Australians seem to pop out off the shrubs anywhere in the world! We have somehow evolved into an easy going crew of professional global nomads. In fact in the most recent UNWTO World Tourism Barometer data (from June 2011) our little country of 22million was ranked # 1 in per capita expenditure on travel with Germany coming in second. This of course lends a little credence to the Estonian saying of Germans being everywhere and Australians being anywhere huh!? So stick with me on this thought for a little while whilst my story catches up with my train of thought in the following paragraphs.
I woke up early in the morning on this day and inherently knew that somehow I was going to find the keys that would block the door to me acquiring tickets to the Boca Juniors v.Independientes match at La Bombenera that evening. I'd like to add now that it was my dogged determination, steely resolve and inane travelers luck that directed those tickets of footballing mayhem into my hands, but alas, it was much more simple than that. With unbelievable simplicity in fact I 'Googled' an agent that was less than 5 mins walk from the hostel and in about the same amount of time I was at their tourist desk and locked and loaded for the 'Chocolate box' that evening.
La Bombonera from the outside - La Boca - Buenos Aires - Argentina
Riot squad prior to kick-off
Fast forward to 5:30pm and
my return to the same offices for a pick up and transfer to the stadium.
Whilst I'm waiting a man walks through the office doors, early twenties
or so, dressed in shorts, Boca cap and wind-cheater - 'Aha, this
obviously was going to be our guide for the evening'. The lady at the
counter introduces the man as such and advises that his name is
'Glenn'.....oh hang on a second, you said what now?Did I just hear her
right? It's not Xavier, Juan or Alessandro but 'Glenn? ....Glenn from
Buenos Aires huh?'. I sit there for a moment and feel the onset of that
overwhelming sense of deja vu, like I've already lived the inevitable
conversation that will happen between us and I know that the wave of
disappointment is just about to hit me like the proverbial tsunami
Our group makes its way to the van parked just outside the agency. I'm watching good 'ole Glenn like a hawk, analyzing his idiosyncrasies, waiting for the tell-tale signs of being tied to the Great Southern Land, just a hint of an ockerism will give him away. As I do this Glenn commences his journey down the middle aisle of the van speaking Spanish to the first couple that he meets, albeit with a slight accent. I sit back and force myself to believe that I've judged incorrectly and this kid could be from anywhere....anywhere else....it didn't really matter.
There's a couple sitting in front of me, they're English. This will be the litmus test, this is where my exotic night of footballing mania could potentially unravel. Glenn nods at them in advance of his approach, the English couple fire the first shot over his bow and say 'Hello', and then it comes;
'How are ya's, alright!?'
OH COME ON NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It was a precision strike, right through the petitioned part of the cerebral cortex that dared to dream this would be some type of authentic experience! I looked skyward but only saw the ceiling of the van, so I looked out onto the traffic riddled streets of Buenos Aires tracing lines back to similar instances in Bolivia, Estonia, Mexico, Laos, virtually anywhere that has land. As I'm running through those golden times in my mind Glenn stops in front of me and says 'Hola, como estas?', I respond in kind but I know the jig is up, 'Muy bien, y tu?', 'Oh, you're English?'.......and the rest of the conversation goes something like this;
'No, I'm Australian actually, from Sydney'
'Oh yeah, me too, I'm from Liverpool'
...of course you are I think to myself....'Yeah, I'm from Blacktown'
'Oh wow'
...yes Glenn, 'Oh wow'
Our group makes its way to the van parked just outside the agency. I'm watching good 'ole Glenn like a hawk, analyzing his idiosyncrasies, waiting for the tell-tale signs of being tied to the Great Southern Land, just a hint of an ockerism will give him away. As I do this Glenn commences his journey down the middle aisle of the van speaking Spanish to the first couple that he meets, albeit with a slight accent. I sit back and force myself to believe that I've judged incorrectly and this kid could be from anywhere....anywhere else....it didn't really matter.
There's a couple sitting in front of me, they're English. This will be the litmus test, this is where my exotic night of footballing mania could potentially unravel. Glenn nods at them in advance of his approach, the English couple fire the first shot over his bow and say 'Hello', and then it comes;
'How are ya's, alright!?'
OH COME ON NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It was a precision strike, right through the petitioned part of the cerebral cortex that dared to dream this would be some type of authentic experience! I looked skyward but only saw the ceiling of the van, so I looked out onto the traffic riddled streets of Buenos Aires tracing lines back to similar instances in Bolivia, Estonia, Mexico, Laos, virtually anywhere that has land. As I'm running through those golden times in my mind Glenn stops in front of me and says 'Hola, como estas?', I respond in kind but I know the jig is up, 'Muy bien, y tu?', 'Oh, you're English?'.......and the rest of the conversation goes something like this;
'No, I'm Australian actually, from Sydney'
'Oh yeah, me too, I'm from Liverpool'
...of course you are I think to myself....'Yeah, I'm from Blacktown'
'Oh wow'
...yes Glenn, 'Oh wow'
View over La Boca from La Bombonera - La Boca - Buenos Aires - Argentina
La Bombonera prior to kick-off
Of course I discover Glenn to be a nice guy. His parents are Argentinian and he made the decision to move from Australia back the city of his parents, around three years ago as he wanted to experience the culture and connect with that part of him that isn't Australian. He's also a fanatical Boca supporter and proudly shows off the Boca tattoo that he had inked earlier that day. The conversation goes on for a little while longer and he immediately invites me to his birthday festivities on the upcoming Saturday night ( of course he does, again, it's just what Australians do, it's damn obligatory isn't it?)
Glenn hands out a leaflet providing some facts and figures on Boca Juniors and La Bombonera. I'm surprised to find that the ground, the (Estadio Alberto J.Armando), was designed by Viktor Sulćić, a Yugoslav, or perhaps more correctly, a Slovenian architect that ended up making his home in Buenos Aires (...and I certainly understand why he did that!!)....interesting indeed, but enough of the detail lets get to the actual game.
The Copa Sudamericana is the second most prestigious tournament in South America after the Copa Libertadores and tonight Boca were playing BA rivals Independientes, although 'they', Boca, consider them to be the outskirt hicks of the capital ,kind of in the same manner that playing Penrith is not really like playing a team from Sydney but rather like playing a bunch of country mutants that somehow crawled down from the mountains and managed yo make their home under the Sydney metropolitan banner.
The stadium itself was an absolute picture, the stands so steeply terraced that from wherever you were sitting or standing it would feel that you were virtually on top of the action. By the time kick-off rolled around at 7:30 the Boca faithful were well and truly in full voice, the ground being filled with the voices and song of supporters from both sides. It was exactly the type of atmosphere that I had always imagined that would exist in the renowned Bombanera cauldron and something that I had always wanted to experience since I was a little kid kicking his ball around in the backyard and scoring imaginary World Cup winners for Australia!
Terraced seating at the ground
Boca supporters at 'their end' of the ground
Boca supporters in full voice and colour
It was an intriguing game, entertaining, skillful, dynamic and attractive. Not as fast as an English game but you don't expect that from the Argentinian style of play. It tends to be more structured and less physical in an athletic sense, but more brutal and demanding in a 'I'm going to chop your legs with these studs' sense.About 15 mins into the first half Boca scored a beautiful, if somewhat opportunistic goal and the crowd just lost their bundle. When the dial gets switched to 'scizo' in a place like this then you don't only experience the emotion in a visual sense but you feel it in your chest! TV just does not do their insanity and passion justice! Rushing to the security fences rom the bottom terraces the faithful jumped on them liked escaped lunatics from a Boca supporters asylum, it was such a sight to see. As the Boca chants started up after the initial jubilant release from the first goal it acted as a trigger to fire up the faithful even more, their already boisterous voices shaking the ground with their communal song.
La Bombonera - La Boca - Buenos Aires - Argentina
As 'lucky' seems to find me on occasions such as these I managed to lock myself into what became a pulsating game. Independientes got back into the match with a goal that was well crafted and full of artistry. The away fans lost their minds and the southern end of the ground, filled with Independientes supporters answered all challenges that the Boca crowd threw at them. An insane strike from outside the box right on the of halftime had the score at 2-1 setting the game up for an epic second 45min.
Into the second half, with Independiente pressing Boca, the Boca 12th man on the terraces tried to lift the team but somehow through some dynamic movement and build up play Independiente got an equalizer to have the match back on even level terms and set it up for an exhilarating finish.
With 20 mins left to go the referee did himself, or his family for that matter, no favours at all by making a rather bold call and giving a straight red card to a Boca player for a foul sending them off the park and to an early shower. You know i always wondered why players did that? Why the hell would they not sit and watch the rest of the game after being sent off? Why did you need to automatically go and have a shower? Are you cleansing yourself from your footballing sins? If the home team were going to win the match from here then it was going to be with 10 men, a task that seemed like an impossibility considered the nature of the game thus far.
Panoramic shot from inside the ground
Somehow
though, with the home team support Boca rallied and got themselves a
free kick from outside the box with just on 10 mins to go on the
rocketship clock. Glenn, remember that guy? He was in the process of
having a heart attack along with 30,000 other supporters. Standing high
above the ground on the steep terraces, good 'ole Glenn from Fairfield
was motionless, watching his beloved Boca fight with a man down,
there he stood repeating out aloud, over and over,'please,
please,please, please' like a mantra. Now in my head I know that goals
from free kicks are rarity but it just felt like it was one of those
moments when you kind of knew that the script had called for something
magical to happen , and of course, what a strike! A left footed curler
that got up and over the wall and beat the keeper on his left side. Boca
were mow up 3-2 with under 10 mins to play and the crowd were going
MENTAL!!!
3-2 up with 10 mins to play - Boca crowd going nuts!!
With 10 mins left Independiente pressed with their man advantage, pushing Boca back into their half and forcing them to defend from well within their half! Independiente manufactured a shot from inside the box that hit the bar and that point you just had the feeling that Boca had somehow done a deal with the football Gods to get this game over the line for this evening,but, the out of town ers kept pushing forward relentlessly and in the 43rd min the elastic band had stretched enough and it finally snapped. Somehow with God on their side Boca had failed to take care of the one person that could really have an impact, and that was the referee.The call that he made guaranteed that he would never have safe passage through La Boca again! A penalty was awarded against the 10 man Boca side with the finish line in sight.
Independiente stepped up and comfortably put away the penalty, but then something extraordinary happened, the referee blew his whistle and called that an Independiente player at entered the box before the strike, asking therefore that the penalty be retaken (man, now this was footballing theatre at its best, perhaps the referee had received the telegram after all. I was just about to witness a hometown miracle). Standing high about the northern end of the ground I was thinking in my own mind that if the keeper were to go the same way as the initial strike then he would go a long way to getting a glove on it the next kick. Of course the ball did go in that direction but the keeper with his own rationale went the other way. The score now stood at 3-3 with virtually no time left on the clock...
....and unfortunately for Boca that's how it
ended, no fairy tail win this evening but it was one hell of a contest!
Wild, electric, passionate, sometimes even verging on the intimidating,
it was an unforgettable experience and I'm so thankful that I had the
opportunity to get on the Boca carnival ride even if it was only for 90
mins!
