Buenos Aires. BA. Paris of the South. Call it what you will, this city of 13 million people is a complex and overwhelming place. After four days back in urban territory, I'm right back to being as wound up and impatient type-A as I ever was in Toronto. I need to get out of here before I completely lose my hard-won peace of mind!
That doesn't mean I haven't enjoyed it, though, because I have. It's just a little much to take in large doses, after time spent wandering around the largely empty land of Patagonia.
I got back on Saturday, May 1st, early in the morning, dropped my bags at the hostel (the same one I'd stayed at before -- can't beat the location!) and headed back out the door, determined to spend a day seeing the sight of Palermo, one of the trendiest neighbourhoods of BA. Well, I'd forgotten what May 1st means in Latin America -- it's the "Dia del Trabajo" (Labour Day) and nearly everything is shut. Including grocery stores, which meant no cooking myself dinner that night unless I wanted to eat only plain rice.
But it's a pretty, green, leafy neighbourhood with huge parks, so I wandered a while and breathed in the relatively fresh air. And I had a deliciously yummy burger in the park, so ticked off one of the 3 things you must do in BA (well, sort of - the 3 things are eat steak, tango and watch football. I'm counting a burger as #1, since I'm not a big fan of red meat except in this form.). To my surprise, the Museo de Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires (more easily referred to as MALBA) was open, so I went in and had a look around; it's kind of BA's answer to MOMA in New York, and has an impressive collection of mostly modern art by Latin American artists.
I got to #2 and #3 on the Buenos Aires "must do" list, too; #2 with a trek to San Telmo on Sunday to browse the famous Sunday market and have lunch at El Balcon, where I also saw a music-and-tango show. Donation tango shows were also on offer in the plaza; these are "free" outdoor performances to recorded or live music, with a hat passed around the crowd afterward to make a contribution. Delightful day -- San Telmo is just south of the center, and is a lovely old neighbourhood of cobblestoned streets and pastel colonial buildings.
#3 -- football -- came Sunday night. You may have already read my previous blog post about this; if not, go back and have a read! It's an experience quite unlike any other soccer game to see one in Argentina; the fans are legendary for their passion.
So I've done the "must do's" of Buenos Aires (if you'll allow me to count the burger) and am heading onwards with a sense of mission accomplished. Having earned a little break, I took yesterday to go to Colonia, Uruguay on the very convenient (but slow) ferry from BA's Puerto Madero neighbourhood (akin to London's Docklands). So nice to have a little breathing room, a break from the urban insanity of BA -- Colonia del Sacramento is a UNESCO World Heritage site for its historic centre that dates back to the late 17th century. At various times, it's been Spanish and Portuguese and back again, as the two colonial powers in this part of the world struggled for dominance over its key strategic location. Nowadays, though, it's a sleepy and peaceful little place; I ambled around the town for a while, and then found a spot to just sit and drink in the atmosphere, listening to a Uruguayan guitarist with a warm baritone voice serenade us.
For today, my last in BA (I leave at 8 pm tonight), I headed back to Palermo for the Museo Evita and the Museo Xul Solar. The first isn't so much a museum as it is a shrine to Saint Eva Peron; I left with the impression that she was sort of the Princess Di of her day, beloved by the nation and famous for her stylish wardrobe. A good chunk of the latter is preserved in the museum; she had very good taste in shoes, I'll give her that.
Xul Solar was an Argentine artist from the early part of the 20th century -- among other things, Argentine painter, sculptor, writer, inventor of imaginary languages, and student of astrology and the Kabbalah -- and the museum in his name houses a collection of his work. It's quirky and colourful and quite appealing -- I don't know quite what "style" you'd call it, but think Paul Klee, or Kandinsky.
And now I must start packing up and head back out to Retiro bus station, to try to find my bus to Mendoza in the bewildering array of 75 platforms. Wine country, here I come ... I promise to have a glass or two of Malbec for you when I'm in a vineyard somewhere.
Showing posts with label Buenos Aires. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Buenos Aires. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Monday, May 3, 2010
Bend It Like Beckham; or "Goooooooaaaaaallllllll!!!!!!!!"
You think you've watched soccer before. You might've actually gone to a game or two, to see Toronto's relatively new FC or some other team. But if you haven't seen soccer (make that "football") South American-style, you've had an entirely different experience.
Argentina's soccer fans -- and that category includes pretty much every male Argentino from the age of 6 upwards, and a fair number of las Argentinas, too -- are in a class of their own. They are completely, utterly, certifiably NUTS in their passion for this game. For a wide-eyed inncocent (a.k.a. tourist) attending a game, it's just as entertaining to watch the fans as it is to watch the field.
(The other really entertaining thing was the number of very beautiful men who play soccer. But that`s neither here nor there for the purposes of this story.)
I went to a game yesterday in Avellaneda, a southern suburb of Buenos Aires, to watch Independiente host their bitter rivals Boca Juniors for the third-to-last game in the Argentina’s Primera Division. This is the top level of Argentina’s football league, widely regarded as one of the strongest in the world. It was a do-or-die game for Independiente; five points behind the first-place team Estudiantes, they had only two games remaining after this one to make up the difference. With a win counting for 3 points, a tie for 1, and a loss zero, they stood virtually no chance of coming out on top if they lost this game.
I opted to go with a tour rather than try to arrange it myself; you pay well over the odds for your game ticket this way, but once I got there I was very glad I had. It was in a far-flung suburb that would have been a very expensive taxi ride away, and I don’t think I’d have even been able to find my seat on my own, much less track down a taxi once the game was over to get back to civilization. Seating seemed a little random; our tickets all had row and seat numbers, but our guide waved his hand vaguely at a couple of rows of seats and said, “We’re somewhere around here ... I think.”
With neither rows nor seats labelled, it was difficult to tell, so there was a bit of shuffling around before the game started as football fans came to claim some of the seats we were originally in.
It was quickly clear once we’d sat down that we were cheering for Independiente that evening; to do otherwise would’ve quickly gotten us thrown out of the stadium (at best) or lynched (at worst). We were surrounded by a sea of red (Independiente’s colour – they are also nicknamed “El Rojo”) and Boca’s fans in blue and yellow (see right) were congregated in one end of the stadium behind fences, surrounded by police in riot gear. Fans set off fireworks in the stands, and threw so much stuff onto the field that men with leaf blowers came out to clear off the pitch.
Obviously this wasn’t going to be your average North American soccer game.
Argentina's soccer fans -- and that category includes pretty much every male Argentino from the age of 6 upwards, and a fair number of las Argentinas, too -- are in a class of their own. They are completely, utterly, certifiably NUTS in their passion for this game. For a wide-eyed inncocent (a.k.a. tourist) attending a game, it's just as entertaining to watch the fans as it is to watch the field.
(The other really entertaining thing was the number of very beautiful men who play soccer. But that`s neither here nor there for the purposes of this story.)
I went to a game yesterday in Avellaneda, a southern suburb of Buenos Aires, to watch Independiente host their bitter rivals Boca Juniors for the third-to-last game in the Argentina’s Primera Division. This is the top level of Argentina’s football league, widely regarded as one of the strongest in the world. It was a do-or-die game for Independiente; five points behind the first-place team Estudiantes, they had only two games remaining after this one to make up the difference. With a win counting for 3 points, a tie for 1, and a loss zero, they stood virtually no chance of coming out on top if they lost this game.
I opted to go with a tour rather than try to arrange it myself; you pay well over the odds for your game ticket this way, but once I got there I was very glad I had. It was in a far-flung suburb that would have been a very expensive taxi ride away, and I don’t think I’d have even been able to find my seat on my own, much less track down a taxi once the game was over to get back to civilization. Seating seemed a little random; our tickets all had row and seat numbers, but our guide waved his hand vaguely at a couple of rows of seats and said, “We’re somewhere around here ... I think.”
With neither rows nor seats labelled, it was difficult to tell, so there was a bit of shuffling around before the game started as football fans came to claim some of the seats we were originally in.
 |
| Riot police separating the Boca fans |
Obviously this wasn’t going to be your average North American soccer game.
There was a preliminary game with some of the young players from both sides; fans cheered for their teams but didn’t seem too worked up. But once the main action started, I saw the true colours of the Argentine soccer fans: they started jumping up and down in unison, chanting and singing their team’s fight songs, waving flags and T-shirts and anything else in their team’s colours, and tossing plastic stadium seats in the direction of the opposing team’s fans. And they didn’t stop, once, throughout the game; they got as good a workout as anyone on the field.
The stadium, an aging concrete structure visibly in need of repair, juddered and quaked with the force of their enthusiasm. We, the tourist contingent, looked at each other a little askance; just how solid was this building, and how much shaking could it take until it collapsed under the weight of all those feet pounding the concrete? (Needless to say, since I am writing here, it didn’t choose that night to crumble. But I don’t think it’s beyond the bounds of possibility!)
It didn’t take a lot of Spanish, either, to guess what was being yelled at the referees for bad calls, or at the opposing team if they scored a goal. (“Hijo de una puta” came up a lot.) Every fan took it very, very personally if things didn’t go well for their team; a man in front of me was sobbing so hard into his hands that his shoulders heaved, after the referee missed a particularly blatant penalty by an opposing player.
In the end, Independiente lost, 3-1. The sea of red collapsed, overwrought, and was silent for the first time all night as they watched their team file off the field. Boca’s fans, on the other hand, were jubilant, and the sound of those thousands of voices raised in song probably carried back to the centre of Buenos Aires.
Riot police, fully kitted out with helmets and shields, took up positions on the field at the end of the game, and gates were kept closed in most sections (keeping the Independiente fans inside) until after all the Boca fans had departed. From the mood of that game, I think that was wise; while it would make for a good story afterwards, I have no desire to ever end up in the middle of a football riot!
Whew. It’s quite the spectacle to watch, almost primal in its intensity. I don’t know how the fans keep that up, game after game. I’m exhausted just writing about it. So I'll take a little break and fill you in on the rest of the past few days later.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Don't Cry for Me, Argentina
You knew it was inevitable. I had to start singing Evita at some point, being in Argentina. I’ve been walking around humming since yesterday. Occasionally I actually break into song before I realize it, but people look at me strangely when I do.
But there’s a particular reason why I’m singing it now – I spent yesterday wandering around the Buenos Aires neighbourhood of Recoleta, where the rich and famous live, love, laugh and are buried. María Eva Duarte de Perón is one of those; she is, of course, more commonly known (to North Americans at least) as Evita. She died very young in 1952 (aged only 33) and is still beloved by Argentinos – her grave is easy to find, as it’s the one covered in flowers and surrounded by people with cameras.
I spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around Recoleta, and I understand better now why the “Paris of the South” image of Buenos Aires exists. Some of the buildings did look like they belonged on the other side of the Atlantic – take a look here:
The day before, I’d met up with a friend from Toronto and headed to the little town of Tigre by train. Sharon is now retired (and it obviously agrees with her!) but she and I worked together when I first started my job at Education; she had the equivalent job for the Ministry of Training, Colleges and Universities that I had for Education.
Tigre is just over an hour outside Buenos Aires, and it’s an interesting blend of grand Venetian canals, Muskoka cottage country and Louisiana bayou. In its heyday in the 1930’s, it was the playground for Buenos Aires’ beautiful people, and you can still see elements of its faded glory in the magnificent former social club (now converted to an art museum). We took a boat ride around the canals for an hour or so, and there are innumerable little side canals and streams leading away from the main waterways; I’d love to go back some day and spend some time kayaking to explore all those lost little channels.
It was refreshing to spend some time with someone from home; while you can meet lots of interesting people on the road, you do tend to have the same conversation over and over: “So where are you from? How long are you travelling for? Where did you come from/where are you going next?” It can get lonely, at times, with fleeting and superficial friendships for only a day or two while you’re both in the same town. So it was a very nice change to talk to someone I already knew! I was very happy too to see that she’s doing well – and, of course, very jealous that she (unlike me) doesn’t have to go back to work eventually, but I’m trying my best to forget that at some point I’ll have to start earning a living again.
Well, I’m off to Iguazú Falls tonight on another night bus, and have the day to wander around BA so I think I’ll sign off and get back out there. By noon tomorrow, I’ll be in the tropics! I’ll come back to BA again after Iguazú, as there’s no other really logical way to get to Montevideo or over to Mendoza other than to come back through BA anyway. So I’ll spend a bit longer next time and learn a little more about the city – but I like what I’ve seen so far.
But there’s a particular reason why I’m singing it now – I spent yesterday wandering around the Buenos Aires neighbourhood of Recoleta, where the rich and famous live, love, laugh and are buried. María Eva Duarte de Perón is one of those; she is, of course, more commonly known (to North Americans at least) as Evita. She died very young in 1952 (aged only 33) and is still beloved by Argentinos – her grave is easy to find, as it’s the one covered in flowers and surrounded by people with cameras.
The cementary in Recoleta is fascinating, even apart from the famous Evita; it’s like a miniature city with pathways, a plaza and mausoleums that look like churches or temples or scaled-down mansions. Apparently even after death, Buenos Aires’ elite want to reside in style. Some of the mausoleums had ‘basements’, so perhaps that’s where the black sheep of the family are relegated. The resident cats in the graveyard have little reverence for the famous dead and lounge around in the sunshine, or stroll around making friends with the tourists.
 |
| Recoleta neighbourhood, Buenos Aires |
I spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around Recoleta, and I understand better now why the “Paris of the South” image of Buenos Aires exists. Some of the buildings did look like they belonged on the other side of the Atlantic – take a look here:
There’s an intriguing fountain in the neighbourhood, donated by an Argentine artist to the city of Buenos Aires. It’s a massive steel flower called “Floralis Genérica”, and its enormous petals open in the morning and close at night as if it were really alive. And there´s a lovely art museum filled with the likes of Picasso, Rodin, Monet, Rothko, Henry Moore and a lot of apparently famous South American artists of whom I´ve never heard (my art history education was very Euro-centric, it seems).
But perhaps my favourite part of the neighbourhood was the bookstore El Ateneo, housed in a converted movie theatre – one of those grand old theatres with elaborate decorations and balconies, and filled to the rafters with enough literature to keep a bookworm happy for years (well, a Spanish-speaking bookworm, anyway).
But perhaps my favourite part of the neighbourhood was the bookstore El Ateneo, housed in a converted movie theatre – one of those grand old theatres with elaborate decorations and balconies, and filled to the rafters with enough literature to keep a bookworm happy for years (well, a Spanish-speaking bookworm, anyway).
The day before, I’d met up with a friend from Toronto and headed to the little town of Tigre by train. Sharon is now retired (and it obviously agrees with her!) but she and I worked together when I first started my job at Education; she had the equivalent job for the Ministry of Training, Colleges and Universities that I had for Education.
Tigre is just over an hour outside Buenos Aires, and it’s an interesting blend of grand Venetian canals, Muskoka cottage country and Louisiana bayou. In its heyday in the 1930’s, it was the playground for Buenos Aires’ beautiful people, and you can still see elements of its faded glory in the magnificent former social club (now converted to an art museum). We took a boat ride around the canals for an hour or so, and there are innumerable little side canals and streams leading away from the main waterways; I’d love to go back some day and spend some time kayaking to explore all those lost little channels.
It was refreshing to spend some time with someone from home; while you can meet lots of interesting people on the road, you do tend to have the same conversation over and over: “So where are you from? How long are you travelling for? Where did you come from/where are you going next?” It can get lonely, at times, with fleeting and superficial friendships for only a day or two while you’re both in the same town. So it was a very nice change to talk to someone I already knew! I was very happy too to see that she’s doing well – and, of course, very jealous that she (unlike me) doesn’t have to go back to work eventually, but I’m trying my best to forget that at some point I’ll have to start earning a living again.
Well, I’m off to Iguazú Falls tonight on another night bus, and have the day to wander around BA so I think I’ll sign off and get back out there. By noon tomorrow, I’ll be in the tropics! I’ll come back to BA again after Iguazú, as there’s no other really logical way to get to Montevideo or over to Mendoza other than to come back through BA anyway. So I’ll spend a bit longer next time and learn a little more about the city – but I like what I’ve seen so far.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Not Nearly Stylish Enough for the Porteños
They dress well, these people of Buenos Aires. Just walking down the street I saw more pairs of designer footwear than the shoe department at Holt's. Perhaps it's not just the architecture that gives Buenos Aires its nickname of "Paris of South America"; las Porteñas (female residents of BA) could give Parisiennes a run for their haute-couture money.
If I go out here one night, I have a feelling I'll be the scruffiest person in the crowd. Pity, really, when I have all the style I could desire (in footwear at least) packed up in my closet back home. But it would've been difficult travelling with a pair of Jimmy Choos, so perhaps I`ll just arrange to go out with other backpackers who are even more scruffy than me. It`s all about who you compare yourself too.
I got to BA today about 1:30 in the afternoon, after an 18-hour bus ride from Puerto Madryn. Bus travel is another thing Argentinos do in style, and comfort: if you`re North American and reading this, forget about anything you think you know about bus travel based on your experiences there. This is a whole different ball game.
I wasn`t as comfortable the few times I`ve flown business class as I was on the bus last night. Huge, plush, comfy seat; dinner, breafast and lunch served at my seat; flat screen TV on which to watch movies (and an attendant who kindly put on the English subtitles for me); ever-changing landscape to gaze at through my window on the top deck of the bus. This beats flying any day.
And there`s no way I`d ever get behind the wheel of a car here, because Argentine drivers are a little bit -- no, make that a LOT -- nuts. Crossing streets in Buenos Aires is a little intimidating, with 8 lanes of traffic waiting for the light to change -- at which point drivers will gun their engines and leap forward, heedless of any pedestrians who haven`t quite made it to the other side. Fortunately, that hasn`t been me (I walk fast), but I`ve seen a few people leaping frantically for the curb.
But I think I might like it here, crazy drivers or not. I was a little apprehensive coming here, having heard a few horror stories about people being mugged in broad daylight, but those reports appear to have been greatly exaggerated. I went for a walk around in the afternoon after checking to my hostel, and I didn`t feel any less safe than any other big city I`ve been too, and considerably safer than I did in a few (Guatemala City, or Tegucigalpa, say).
It`s a big of a shock to the system, though, to be back in a city this size; there are about 13 million people in Buenos Aires, and the biggest place I`ve been before that was Bariloche, at about 100,000 residents. From somewhere not even as big as my little hometown of Barrie ... to a metropolitan centre the size of London. I can do this -- I`ve spent most of my adult life in big cities -- but I`ll need a bit of time to acclimatize.
I did manage to get myself from the bus station to the hostel on the subway, though -- for the grand price of 1.10 pesos (about 30 cents) you can get anywhere in the city on the subte (short for subterraneo). It was so easy that I couldn't figure out why I was the only backpacker on there -- why take a cab when this is so simple and cheap?
I don`t think I`m going to stay more than a couple of days this stop, as I`ll have to pass back through here on my way back from Montevideo in Uruguay and Iguazu Falls in northern Argentina (unless I feel like going through Paraguay, which I don`t). So I might head up to Iguazu on Sunday night or Monday, then spend more time in BA after I`ve chilled out at the falls for a few days. We`ll see -- that`s what I love about having all this time, I get to make things up as I go along and don`t have to have it all planned out ahead of time!
I`m meeting up with a friend from Toronto tomorrow, who`s in Argentina on vacation and happens to be in BA at the same time as me. So we`re probably going to Tigre for the day, a riverfront suburb of BA that`s quite affluent and is suppoed to be very beautiful. Nearly two months after I leave home to wander at will through South America, with no set plan or agenda, and I end up in the same city at the same time as someone who lives just the other side of downtown Toronto in Parkdale - small world, isn`t it?
All right, practical stuff is waiting to be done -- making dinner, washing clothes and other exciting things -- so I must dash. Anyone who invents travel clothes that do not need to be washed will make an absolute fortune -- I love travelling light (especially since I am carrying it all around on my back), but I get tired of laundry.
Maybe I`ll just change my standards of cleanliness instead ... until someone invents those self-cleaning clothes.
If I go out here one night, I have a feelling I'll be the scruffiest person in the crowd. Pity, really, when I have all the style I could desire (in footwear at least) packed up in my closet back home. But it would've been difficult travelling with a pair of Jimmy Choos, so perhaps I`ll just arrange to go out with other backpackers who are even more scruffy than me. It`s all about who you compare yourself too.
I got to BA today about 1:30 in the afternoon, after an 18-hour bus ride from Puerto Madryn. Bus travel is another thing Argentinos do in style, and comfort: if you`re North American and reading this, forget about anything you think you know about bus travel based on your experiences there. This is a whole different ball game.
I wasn`t as comfortable the few times I`ve flown business class as I was on the bus last night. Huge, plush, comfy seat; dinner, breafast and lunch served at my seat; flat screen TV on which to watch movies (and an attendant who kindly put on the English subtitles for me); ever-changing landscape to gaze at through my window on the top deck of the bus. This beats flying any day.
And there`s no way I`d ever get behind the wheel of a car here, because Argentine drivers are a little bit -- no, make that a LOT -- nuts. Crossing streets in Buenos Aires is a little intimidating, with 8 lanes of traffic waiting for the light to change -- at which point drivers will gun their engines and leap forward, heedless of any pedestrians who haven`t quite made it to the other side. Fortunately, that hasn`t been me (I walk fast), but I`ve seen a few people leaping frantically for the curb.
But I think I might like it here, crazy drivers or not. I was a little apprehensive coming here, having heard a few horror stories about people being mugged in broad daylight, but those reports appear to have been greatly exaggerated. I went for a walk around in the afternoon after checking to my hostel, and I didn`t feel any less safe than any other big city I`ve been too, and considerably safer than I did in a few (Guatemala City, or Tegucigalpa, say).
It`s a big of a shock to the system, though, to be back in a city this size; there are about 13 million people in Buenos Aires, and the biggest place I`ve been before that was Bariloche, at about 100,000 residents. From somewhere not even as big as my little hometown of Barrie ... to a metropolitan centre the size of London. I can do this -- I`ve spent most of my adult life in big cities -- but I`ll need a bit of time to acclimatize.
I did manage to get myself from the bus station to the hostel on the subway, though -- for the grand price of 1.10 pesos (about 30 cents) you can get anywhere in the city on the subte (short for subterraneo). It was so easy that I couldn't figure out why I was the only backpacker on there -- why take a cab when this is so simple and cheap?
I don`t think I`m going to stay more than a couple of days this stop, as I`ll have to pass back through here on my way back from Montevideo in Uruguay and Iguazu Falls in northern Argentina (unless I feel like going through Paraguay, which I don`t). So I might head up to Iguazu on Sunday night or Monday, then spend more time in BA after I`ve chilled out at the falls for a few days. We`ll see -- that`s what I love about having all this time, I get to make things up as I go along and don`t have to have it all planned out ahead of time!
I`m meeting up with a friend from Toronto tomorrow, who`s in Argentina on vacation and happens to be in BA at the same time as me. So we`re probably going to Tigre for the day, a riverfront suburb of BA that`s quite affluent and is suppoed to be very beautiful. Nearly two months after I leave home to wander at will through South America, with no set plan or agenda, and I end up in the same city at the same time as someone who lives just the other side of downtown Toronto in Parkdale - small world, isn`t it?
All right, practical stuff is waiting to be done -- making dinner, washing clothes and other exciting things -- so I must dash. Anyone who invents travel clothes that do not need to be washed will make an absolute fortune -- I love travelling light (especially since I am carrying it all around on my back), but I get tired of laundry.
Maybe I`ll just change my standards of cleanliness instead ... until someone invents those self-cleaning clothes.
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