Caz had been most excited out of us all to get here. Her infamous WGSN report on the city had got her worked in to a social nirvana. She knew where all the best bars and restaurants where. One district in particular had caught her attention.
Palermo... It didn't take longer than an hour to realize how awesome Palermo was. The old colonial buildings blended elegantly with the street art (not graffiti), a plethora of street cafes and funky boutique shops. It was shaping into everything we had hoped for.
Then the bubble burst. Our first hostel had been way down the ratings list on hostel bookers but because of demand, all the top hostels were fully booked. We assumed this was just due to it being a capital city and getting closer to the southern hemisphere's summer time. We'd managed to get 7 nights sorted in two nice hostels but our very first night was in Hostel +1. -10 would be more appropriate. They informed us that hostel bookers had not sent any reservations through to them. Of course our confirmation email from hostel bookers carried no weight if they didn't receive anything and our argument fell on deaf ears.
We believe that they gave our booking away to a stranded previous occupant.
Whilst Nikki and Rich scoured the area for alternative cheap accommodation and I got back on my beloved iPad. Both of us were unsuccessful in finding anywhere with vacancies. Nikki had come across an unassuming boutique hotel but the mentioned price was way out of our price league so we continued searching. It got to 5pm and it wasnt looking good. In our pending homeless crises we thought it was time for a drink. We found a bar and united in our injustice managed to enjoy a cold beer and strawberry Daquires in the searing heat of the afternoon while
the -10 manager tried to find us an alternative.
Maybe it was the heat or perhaps the alcohol but we contemplated the expensive abode that Nikki had found earlier, but to our surprise upon returning to +1 we now had an alternative hostel. We checked the hostels professional pictures against trip advisors travelers pictures. The new hostel was disgusting, even the hapless manager acknowledge how bad it was. We thanked him for nothing and decided to indulge ourselves.
"Just when we thought we were out...." Herman the hotel manager greeted us in to Francis Ford Coppolas Buenos Aires house. That's right! The unassuming boutique hotel turned out to be the Godfather directors' BA retreat. The appeal to stay here was heightened immeasueably - $285 per night ... Yeah no problem. We actually managed to get him down to $200 per couple per night as I think Herman took quite a shine to us. There was just the small matter of divvying up the rooms. Although both exceptionally nice, one was larger than the other. The coin gods shone in our favor so Caz and I happily moved in to large room with the balcony.
The rooms oozed class. The cotton sheets were nicer than anything I've had before never mind compared to the past 8 weeks of hosteling. TV could have been a bit bigger and flatter but we weren't there to watch Spanish soap operas. We unanimously decided it would be a shame to not take advantage of luxury so after a very nice Thai meal and frozen yoghurt desert, we retired to our repective rooms and crashed..the best night sleep yet!
No man can resist a pan au chocolat however masculine they may posture and especially if for the past 6 weeks you have made do with Dolce de Leche (basically caramel spread) on bread every morning. But wait, what about strawberry, kiwi, mango and apple fruit salad. Perhaps some ham and cheese which was waiting for us. Cereal perhaps instead? We were in breakfast heaven. Hands down the best breakfast in months. As we scoffed and consumed lots of coffee (and finally tea again for Caz) Herman got his map out and told us the parts of the city to see.
He may have started to regret his hospitality when we encamped in the spanish styled courtyard sipping coffee and skyping home well into the afternoon. But we eventually said our good byes and checked in to Che Lulu which was also in the Palermo district. It was Sunday and we had been told of the San Telmo market that wasn't to be missed. It was packed not only with people and tango dancers but also with vintage tat. Swords, pocket watches, monocles anything you could think of. It was an endless shopping trip and it DID count as girly shopping time, yet it was Rich who ended up buying anything.
The next morning we felt that a run would benefit us all. Rich and Nikki had the full running regallier on where as Caz and I had to make do with our Converse trainers. Big mistake blisters soon set in. We ventured out that afternoon and went our separate ways (shock horror). Nikki needed to get her Swatch watch fixed so went off on the hunt for a Swatch store, while Caz was desperate to do some shopping in Palermo.
A few weeks before in Salta, Damien our friend from hostel Prisamata told me in broken English about an orchestra were the conductor used finger signals to direct the percussion band. Over lunch Caz and I looked up the name online and found they were playing that night. The write up got us very excited and we sought out tickets immediately. When Nikki and Rich caught up with us that night we told the, of the plans and had half and hour to drink some beers and head out the Konex building in San Telmo.
What a night.. The place was packed and on stage was a 17 piece percussion band. Bongos, bass drums, miraccas, shakers all fused together with the rise and fall of the conductors pinkey. Well a little more than that but the Africa/samba rhythms got hold of us and we were soon sipping litre glasses of beer and sex on the beach for Nikki in the outdoor venue. We really felt part of something special and yet it was a typical Monday night for the BA faithful. We noticed there was a special 5 year anniversary gig the coming Saturday. We knew were we'd be! This night wasn't over though and we headed to the after show party at a nearby club with some new friends Luckas and Esquel...
The next morning wasn't particularly productive but we managed a walk around the shops in Palermo. You'd have thought we hadn't seen a clothing shop in years. Later in the afternoon we had to move to our new home which was America del Sur in San Telmo district. This hostel was rated the best in BA and top three in South America. We were still completely shattered from the previous night so we decided we'd go to the local cinema.
On Thursday we went on a city tour with our hostel guide who set off around San Telmo pointing out the old colonial houses, national cartoon figures and then gave us our first taste of not only the busses but the infamous Boca district. Boca catered for tourists but only in a very specific area. Literally two blocks was the area we were permitted to venture safely. But what a great two blocks. Such colorful houses. A little touristy but we were really glad we got to see it with a guide. However we suspect this was were Caroline's second bubble burst. Feeling adventurous we thought we'd try some cows instine off a BBQ. The initial taste was scrumptious. But then a few crunches in to the mouthful and out oozed something from within it. We weren't sure if this was left over filling or purposely stuffed instine. We suspect the former and Caz had most of the scarcely eaten dish.
Our hostel offered many tours and one that caught Rich's eye was a graffetti tour around our beloved Palermo district. It should be distinguished that what we saw wasn't really graffetti but street art. We learnt about all the political influence behind most of what we just thought was cool looking graphics. One scuber diver that we saw everywhere was based an old anti government character from the 50's and 60's and even though the fictional tales involved extra terrestrials, it was widely known that this was a euphemism for the oppressive dictatorship in power during this time. What was even more interesting was that a favored president from the 80's amongst Argentinians had his face replace the original characters face in an ironic twist of the graphic.
Our tour guide was obviously passionate about the street art we saw and a few hours in to the trip she chanced a studio stop at a major BA artist called Ever. Not only was he here creating a new canvas but we were permitted to go in and talk to some of the other artists all milling around the studio. We felt very privileged to get so close to the artists and be allowed in to their private domains after seeing there street works. The tour ended at a funky floor to ceiling graffiti art bar where we stayed for the rest of the night.
The next day Caroline was struck down. I won't go in to details but she couldn't be more than 10 meters from a bathroom and she wasn't being sick. Nikki and Rich ventured out for another city tour where as I stayed with Caz at the hostel and watched really girly rom coms.. Urgh! That's all I can really contribute about that day but it was a very frustrating one at that.
We wondered if she could brave a walk the next day but having made it to street corner she turned and ran right back. It really wasn't nice to see her get upset. She had been so excited about Buenos Aires and now she was confinded to the hostel tv room (and bathrooms). I was told not to waste my day again and so I went with Rich and Nikki to see the really old subway carriages still in use on the A line. We passed an Italian day festival which celebrated the large Italian community that arrived in then 20's similar but not as well known as the mass influx to NYC during the same period. Apparently there was a pink palace in my clear view but some how managed to completely miss it to Nikki's amazement later that night.
We had a mission to get Saturday's La Bomba de Tiempo tickets too so we headed back to the Konex via another subway line. We were optimistic the Caz would be able to come so we bought her one in case she improved enough in her condition. Having managed to get in contact with her we arranged to meet up with Caz at the Recoleta cemetery were Evita was buried. The graveyard was rammed full of massive morseliums each more impressive than the last. Evita's was rather subdued compared to some in there. Rich and Nikki then went back to Boca to go to a gallery where Ever and other street artists were displaying their new work including what we saw him creating the day before.
We shared our opptimism with Caz about the state of her health but her mind had been made up. She wasnt right still and she had a date with the Vampires at the cinema. Tonight's la bomba started at 12am and went on to 6am so we caught a power nap before heading back to the Konex. Tonight's show had been moved in to the old warehouse were as last time it had been outdoors. We assumed it would be to appease the neighbors since tonight's show was going on to the early hours. The show was spilt on to three parts with three different conductors. This added a new element to the show. The 2nd conductor was much more upbeat and involved the crowd with call and response rythms between the band and ourselves. They also introduced new artists such as a female singer and then a keyboard player and lastly a bass player. It was somehow even better this the first time. This was partly due to being moved indoors as opposed to the sounds escaping in to the open air. Before we knew it, it was 5:30am so we got in a cab and scuttled back to the hostel and crashed.
The next morning was a complete write off. I didn't get up until gone 1pm and so the day wasn't particularly eventful... Yet -- The whole time we had been in BA we had wanted to get tickets to the notorious Boca Juniors game (football). We had earmarked the day and even extended our stay to accommodate their next home game. But the game had so much importance on it, for one it was against neighbors Racing but if Boca won or drew then they effectively won the championship. Due to hooliganism and safety concerns, tickets had been withdrawn from the general public and only opened to Boca members only. So we contemplated watching it in a bar if only to absorb the intensity surrounding the game.
As I entered the lift in the hostel to go back upstairs, a hand stopped the closing door and the receptionist, whom had tried to get us tickets earlier in the week, asked me if we still wanted to go but they only had two tickets available and we would be picked up in 10 minutes. I agreed immediately and soon Rich and I were bundled on to a gringo bus by an energetic female Boca tour guide who didn't speak hardly any English. As the bus cut through the busy traffic around then stadium and we listen to the cautious does and don'ts of attending this game, we felt like we were being briefed on combat and heading to the front line with the other new recruits. We gathered we'd be sitting with the Racing fans and we were not to sing any Boca songs. Don't celebrate if Boca score, no makeup, deoderant or alcohol allowed in the stadium and ciggrette lighters should be stuffed in your socks ... and generally don't look anyone in the eye.
We were not sure what to expect and to be fair, we were bricking it. If the Boca ultras ambushed us with the Racing fans, would we be spared as tourists or get an extra kicking for being a gringo?! As it happens, security was tight outside the stadium. After a speedy few beers in a bar with police presence outside we were herded through the Boca neighborhood we had seen the other day and after 2 police check points with random alcohol breath testing we got to the stadium. We were an hour and a half early and the reserves were playing to a quarter full stadium. We managed to squeeze past some locals and found some "seats" or concrete blocks, since it was all terraces in most of the stadium. Seats would have been rather useless anyhow since nobody was seated throughout the entire match.
Before long the stadium was packed and the Racing fans were trading pleasantries with the nearest Boca fans through the iron fence and across the police divide. It didnt take long to realize that the word Puta wasn't a friendly "good evening" to your neighbor gesture. Another strange gesture with the thumb slapping the opposite palm didn't look friendly either never mind the 50+ old man energetically poking his index in and out of his circled thumb and index. How juvenile!
Then the noise really started. The Racing fans were in full voice first. Presumably since they had been shepherded in to the ground first. The chants were ferocious and coupled with the pounding bass drum it felt like a medieval battle was about to ensue. The Boca fans across the opposite section was where they housed their crazy fans went. It was emmense to see the sea of people jump and make a human ripple effect. It ws living up to the must see BA attraction. By now our view had been impaired by the Racing youth who in a desperate attempt for a better view had scaled the iron fences and taken a rather uncomfortable position hanging from the sides for the whole game. We could still see 3/4 of the pitch though and neither Rich nor I were in any mood to ask them to get down.
The game was really tight with not many chances on goal. There were plenty of cries of injustice to the referee who I felt was actually a little bias to Boca. Time for the flares. I hope the Boca fan beneath us in the stadium were wearing hats because the Racing fans began throwing them over the edge still lit and the netting did little to prevent it. At times I hoped the old stadium had regular structural analysis testing because I didn't know concrete could sway that much without cracking. We rocked back and forth for most of the match under the weight of the ecstatic fans. A goal might have sent us over the edge. Unfortunately there wasn't a goal to witness any extra carnage but we were still enthralled with the atmosphere. Hands down the most passionately attended event I have ever seen.
The next morning was time to say goodbye to Argentina which had hosted us for nearly a month. BA had been a true highlight stop for everyone except poor Caz who was feeling a little better but still not ready for food. We boarded the ferry to Colonia in Uruguay and soon the city disappeared beyond the horizon.
Ciao for now...
-Mike et al
