Here are some glimpses from our first few days in Buenos Aires that we didn´t have the time to get online earlier..


"La Bombonera" - Estadio Alberto J. Armando - Home of Club Atlético Boca Juniors
Considerably smaller than River Plate´s stadium, but word is because of this the atmosphere is much more intense/better. Might have to see for myself as Boca Juniors (sitting 11th in the table) plays Independiente (6th) this weekend.




No shortage of time pieces in the Plaza de Mayo. Quite the panoramic from the water fountain in the plaza center.




The "Casa Rosada" or "Pink House" which connects the east end of Avenida de Mayo with the west end and the Congreso de la Nación Argentina.


Congreso de la Nación Argentina


Some pretty stellar graffiti outside the art school on the corner of Maipú and Lavalle..


..a closer look.


Unfortunately, this facility (totalling about five courts, all underneath a freeway) is part of a local high school. No gringos allowed - actually the courts are open one day a week, but not the right day for me!

From Devil´s Point

We have been here in Punta del Diablo for four days now.

The five hour bus ride east from Montevideo has provided a perspective that has been much needed since I began. Though it seems there is no such thing as a deserted sandy paradise in Uruguay (which in retrospect makes sense because of the countries location between travelers from the population centers of Buenos Aires in Argentina and Rio in Brazil) - we have stumbled upon this cabaña riddled little village in the off season - which might as well make it Mars.

Our cabaña is probably a half mile from the focal point of the village (a cove where the fishing boats dock), but less than a five minute walk from a mini-market that has a decent supply of produce and honey flavored snacks that we have become very fond of (best when combined with fig jam).

I am not quite disillusioned, on the contrary, my eyes have been opened. Punta del Diablo makes no excuses for what it is. The locals spend the day mysteriously buzzing back and forth across town on their scooters - sometimes with propane tanks, sometimes with a liter of Fanta in hand, most always with their maté gourd and a thermos. They are mostly a dishevled, but happy community. Despite all the pontificating and surmising - they have shown me who they are. Our first day here we happened upon a group of about twenty (mostly) young men playing soccer on the beach. I spotted who I correctly assumed was the best player and asked him, "Puedo jugar?" - "Can I play?" - the result was an almost esoteric experience that I will one day spend a good bit of time dictating. However, the spackled structure that functions as an internet cafe (but looks more like a post industrial garage) will be closing shortly and I have a pizza to make tonight.

For now, a list of developments.

My "cold" appears to have actually been allergies.
We have booked our return to Buenos Aires for this Wednesday.
We will stay there for a week so I can participate in some Spanish tutoring (for about $50 US).
Then we will finally head south.

Best.

We have arrived in Uruguay!

It was a lot easier to leave the hostel in Buenos Aires than I was anticipating. I had begun to feel rather comfortable with the staff, as well as the city itself. However, with our bags packed - the mobile spirit returned.

We spent most of the morning in a café on de Mayo. Marvelling at the porteño obsession with media lunas (croissants) as well as the general activity of the city center on a Monday. We stayed for some time, reading and writing, relishing the custom that you pay when you are ready to leave.

Back at the hostel we scheduled a taxi ride to the ferry and then waited about thirty minutes. Getting into the cab I was hit with that exhilirating sense of the unknown that had more or less faded after our second day in Buenos Aires. Yet again, we were at the mercy of strangers..

The taxi ride was fairly uneventful - as was the check-in for the ferry (though I was more reluctant this time to hand over my backpack). We had our passports stamped while still in Buenos Aires with a thirty minute wait for the bags to be loaded and everyone to be boarded.

During that wait we encountered only our second and third Americans of the trip (the first being a sixty year old California man named Terry {whom we met only two nights ago} who has spent the last five months driving with his son from Sacramento - through Mexico and Central America - through Colombia, Ecuador, Chile, up through the Patagonia, and is now on the last leg of the journey in Buenos Aires - truly impressive!). These other Americans though, were disappointing. They talked boistrously about their unwillingness to partake in the custom of sharing a mate because they are "germophobes" and "it tastes like dirt anyway."

It was a bit of a reality check. Everyone we had encountered previously had been so open-minded and excited to learn about new things, that I think I had constructed this happy little "The World is One" bubble around myself.

Fortunately, once we made it to Colonia (a harrowing hour on a ferry that was driven more like a speedboat) - these young gentlemen made their way towards the tourist trap/destination town - while we boarded the bus for Montevideo.

It was as the bus was pulling away from the harbor that I remembered again what we were doing. I had not seen so much green vegetation since our taxi ride from the airport nearly two weeks prior. It was pretty amazing how the verdant landscape lifted me and though I was in need of a nap - I kept my eyes on the molehill farmland, the cows, the tiny little sheep, the tidy little modern bungalows that lined the highway, the locals out for an afternoon joyride on their scooters or motorcycles (sometimes a family of three on one modest Yamaha dirt bike), just to see people in the sun again was nice - rather than watching them scramble across busy intersections.

Eventually, we approached the outskirts of Montevideo. As we made our way through about a mile or two of thoroughly distressed shanty towns we began to see these flags everywhere:




My initial suspicion was that these flags were in support of one of Uruguay´s two biggest futbol clubs who have the same colors, Club Nacional de Football. However, some Google research has turned up "Frente Amplio" - a "left wing" party with ties to trade unions and a cooperative housing movement (according to Wiki). Of course, it is very possible that there is a correlation between the two as futbol and politics are never too far removed, especially in SA (the socialist/anarchist songs at River Plate come to mind). Perhaps conversation with locals will shed more light on any relationship..

Ultimately, we arrived at the bus depot, received some very good information from the tourism representative there (who even knew where South Carolina is and the capital of Colorado!). Before leaving the depot we purchased our 7am bus ticket for Punta del Diablo and took out about 2,000 Uruguayo pesos (about $100 US). Just when we were starting to feel comfortable with the exchange rate in Argentina..everything gets thrown out the window.

From there we caught the city bus which lucky us had three attendants to help make sure we did not miss our stop. One to drive the bus, one to doll out tickets and change (a machine did this in BA), and one gentleman who went around checking ticket stubs to make sure we all paid - a pretty impressive display of beaurocracy if you ask me.

That brought us to the streets of Montevideo´s Palermo barrio. A neighborhood that we wished to have found in Buenos Aires. Not as scary as La Boca, but still possessing that gritty flavor. There are two other reasons why I am already looking at this city with more fondness than Buenos Aires - people were playing futbol everywhere here, in private and public parks, and in the streets (that´s more like it!) and the ocean. Montevideo sticks out into the ocean (whereas BA is situated within the delta of the Rio de la Plata) - the water is visible from our hostel door..and from the incredibly comfortable terrace on the roof (complete with hammocks and a grill).

I am feeling well rested (despite still being rather congested) and am more than ready for a hard day of walking down the ocean front boulevard and then up through the old city.

We are able to access the USB port on the computers here, so it is likely that I will be able to upload some pictures from our excursion today.

We are considering spending a week or two somewhere (either here or Buenos Aires) before we head south so that I can get some tutoring in the language. Before we left BA I was pretty set on returning, but now I would be very interested to find a school here so I can enjoy the sea breeze while I toil. Hard life!

More later..and hopefully pictures!

Today is our last day in Buenos Aires - for now.

Tomorrow we leave for Montevideo - Uruguay.

The plan is to rent a cabaña in Punta del Diablo, which is supposed to be a slow little surfer town. I´m hoping the reports are accurate. I came down with a bit of a head cold two days ago. Though I am feeling better, the crowded hostel is hampering my much needed rest and at half speed exploration of the city becomes a chore.

On a brighter note.. Kaitlin and I continue to find people to enjoy our time with. We are fortunate to maintain a steady supply of well balanced and earnest day trip companions. However, now it is our turn to leave..

Sergio to Mar del Plata.
Rik to Cordoba.
Mikk back to Vancouver.
James off to Mar del Plata.
Jessica to Montevideo.

..and now we too are off to Montevideo and ultimately the "end of the devil."

I am not sure what sort of internet access we will have in Uruguay. I am willing to bet the hostel in Montevideo will be equipt, but there is no telling how much contact we will have access to during our week at the beach.

Till then..

The "Special American"

The last few days have been rather slow (compared to the ridiculous pace we set upon arrival).

Yesterday Kaitlin and I ventured out to the Museo de Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires, but everyone just says, MALBA. Right now the MALBA is featuring an Andy Warhol collection entitled, "Mr. America" - which I find strange considering the sentiment out there that people from the USA should not refer to themselves as "Americans" due to the fact that there are many nations and two continents consisting of "Americans." Still, I have heard no plausible alternative - though when people ask where I am from, I just say, "The States" or "Estados Unidos."

Anyway, I much enjoyed the MALBA - in particular, I found Fabian Burgos to be quite accessible. Of course there were some other artists that stretched the boundaries a bit more - which I quite enjoyed {insert artists}. Of course, it being modern art, I felt there were also some rather repetitious pieces with little substance..but they did "look cool."

The evening consisted of what was supposed to be a "dub" show at this venue "La Cigale" on Ave. Cordoba. The first group "La Golden Acapulco" was pretty rad - bonafide dub. The next group (not even sure of their name) sounded more like a ska-punk band (and not a good one) rather than dub.

What I really wanted to take a moment to talk about is something that happened this morning..as a result of yesterday.

Yesterday was a big day for world football. The last five spots for the World Cup were being played for between France-Ireland, Portugal-Bosnia, Russia-Slovenia, Greece-Ukraine, and Uruguay-Costa Rica. Suffice it to say, much of yesterday was spent watching these matches with a crowd of fans from all over the world (Australia, Spain, Scotland, Morocco, England, Israel, etc...).
Over the course of the day, I had some opportunities to talk about football and ultimately the USA. The specifics of the conversations are not too important, but it is safe to say most were surprised that my knowledge of the modern game rivaled their own and that my political sentiments did not lie completely to the left or right.
This morning, I asked the Spainard and Israeli who have family in Uruguay for their advice about where to go and what to do once we get there. They gave me some pointers on Punta del Diablo and what to do in Montevideo and I shared with them what I knew of the cemetery in Recoleta and the markets of San Telmo. Eventually they left, never having exchanged names or much personal information, but as he was walking out the door the Israeli said, "Bye, special American."

It really struck me, for many reasons. Staying in the hostel, we have been surrounded by such incredible diversity. An Irish Scottsman with Italian heritage. A Jewish Spainard of Uruguayan decent. And so on..

I wonder why that guy chose to say "special" - because of my soccer knowledge, because I recognized they spoke Hebrew and could say good-bye in their language, was it something about me that is truly special compared to my fellow Americans (United Staters!) or was it something about him..
My experiences in football here have led me to believe that we(humans) are less and less and one thing in particular, aside from just that - human. Cultural constructions can be overcome..language, recreation, cuisine, they are easily maliable. The hardest thing to bend and change is our mind - but I feel it happening everyday - in myself and in those I meet.

I am less and less self-conscious about how I am being perceived and more and more excited to just be with people. If anything, I hope this is what my Israeli friend took from his experience with me. That he goes home and takes a second glance at someone he has a preconceived notion about. That he allows himself to be pleasantly surprised.

PHOTOS - FINALLY!

..just a few highlights to hit so that you all know I´m not just making this stuff up.


Reading on the roof..
The roof of the Lime House hostel on 11 Lima in Buenos Aires served as a refuge in what could be a rather active hostel. After the first few days, construction began on expansion of the terrace to cover nearly half of the roof and add more green to a city/skyline that could really use it.


One of the numerous demonstrations..
Nearly half our time in Buenos Aires there was a demonstration of some sort. Only one that I would call "massive" - though there were two others that stopped traffic. On the whole, they are peaceful, well organized, and rather redundant.


View of the Paraiso and Avenue de Nueva Julio from the hostel lobby´s balcony..


You are now on Boca´s turf..

Which is not a problem, as long as there is respect..


The softer side of La Boca (with Rik from Holland)..


And so mom knows I´m eating well. This meal cost the equivalent of around $15 US for pasta, steak, and wine..

Cheers..

River Plate vs Tucuman

I am becoming increasingly concerned that I may run out of goals for my time in South America. Already I feel as though I have accomplished so much.

Surely, the biggest goal (to speak Spanish comfortably) remains a daunting task, but I feel as though I am growing in the language (both in my oral skills and in my ability to differentiate the Argentine dialect).

Most importantly I have added, "¿Donde esta la cancha por aqui?"

Meaning: Where is the soccer field around here?

Not only does this sentence roll off the tongue without much work - it is an essential phrase for my intentions over the next five months.

In fact, it would have come in mighty handy when Mikk and I were trying desperately to find a pick-up soccer match. Speaking of which...

Yesterday, I accomplished two of my main goals for this trip.

1) To play with Argentines (I did this in La Boca the other day, but only for a few minutes and they were but teenagers)
2) To attend a professional soccer match

Early in the day Mikk and I left for Palermo to purchase tickets for the River Plate / Tucuman match. It took about an hour to ride the subte to the end of the line and then walk the 7-10 blocks to River´s stadium.

With tickets purchased (thirty pesos/about $8 for a killer seat) the goal now was for Mikk and I to find a pick-up match. It was surprisingly difficult as we found out that most people in Palermo belong to clubs which have private fields.

Though after an hour of frustrating attempts in broken spanish to find anywhere to play - we found a caged in astroturf field where teams were playing. Again, we attempted to ask to play and eventually found out that one team was short two players and that we could substitute for them.

I could write an entire entry about the experience of playing TWO competitive matches with those guys. Suffice it to say, we held our own (we both scored) and represented our respective countries well - perhaps improving the reputation of the US and Canada as memebers of the global football community. That is just my humble dream.

After playing two matches in a row - we realized it was time to get back to the hostel so we could disperse the tickets we had bought, take showers, and then get back on the subte so we could make it to the match in time.

Despite some lagging Aussies, we made it to the stadium with about twenty minutes to spare. Enough time to catch the fanaticos pre-game concert on the balcony outside the top tier. Blocks away from the stadium you can hear the deep thud of the drums, but that only hightens your senses...only to be blown away when you step through the gate and see the thousands of men jumping, swaying, singing in full voice, one arm pumping the air with the rhythm, bleary borrachos, all clad in white with red stripes.

It is hard to distinguish between the game on the field and the game in the stands. Each group of supporters takes turns attacking each other with their voices and drums..meanwhile each team takes turns creating a breathtaking run that gets the regular fans off their feet with arms in the air - meanwhile the fanaticos only intensify their rage.

As for the game itself, Tucuman scored in the third minute after the referee allowed play to continue - although there were legit cries for a penalty. The goal consisted of a precise cross just outside of the six yard box to find Emanuel Gigliotti´s head for a reaction flick into the far side. Despite the early goal, River had numerous clear cut chances and were unlucky to be ruled offsides on multiple occasions.

The second half was a completely different story. The River supporters somehow found the reserve energy to gradually increase their intensity - meanwhile the team on the field came ever closer to an equalizer - producing several efforts that were well saved by the Tucuman keeper.

Sure enough, in the 69th minute Marcelo Gallardo leveled the match sending the stands into absolute pandamonium. Never have I witnessed such a correlation between the efforts of the fans and the efforts of the players. The goal, of course, only incensed the fans even more and sent the atmosphere into levels of hysteria that made me feel - as a foreigner in a see of locals - that I too, could will the team to victory by the mere fact of my presence and enthusiasm.

And that is exactly what happened... five minutes later Diego Buonanotte slotted home the game winner - followed shortly by substitute Daniel Villalbe to put the match beyond doubt in the seventy-sixth minute.

What more can I say... it was incredible - the first of many if I have any say in it.

That is all for now... I feel as though I am inundating this blog with posts, but I am very much so taken by this city. I will perhaps become more concise as the weeks wear on, but for now I am revelling in each new experience.