Fútbol

Once when I was in Texas I heard someone say, “Texans love family, God and football, but not necessarily in that order.”  If you replace football with fútbol the same holds true in Argentina. Soccer is a way of life down here, especially with the World Cup. All big cities in Argentina have at least one if not two teams in addition to the national team. In Buenos Aires the rivals are La Boca and River. Both are notorious for having insane popular sections where all of the hardcore fans spend the game cheering, singing, jumping, chanting, drinking, smoking, cursing and screaming the most outrageously complicated and complex insults you’ve ever heard. You can imagine how excited I was to be part of this.

The first soccer game I went to was an Estudiantes game. My friend, Julia, met two Argentine brothers whose mom is from Canada, but who now live with their dad in Buenos Aires. This meant their English was great and they knew their way around the city. Five other ISA students and I met them at the train station to head to the stadium. Honestly I have no idea where we were by the time we got off. I just knew it looked like a part of town I didn’t want to get lost in. We walked towards the stadium with a pack of Argentines who didn’t look like they were going anywhere in particular. When we got closer to the stadium guys started pulling soccer jerseys, shirts and hats out of their back pockets and backpacks. One of the Argentines told us that you don’t wear your colors on the street or you’ll end up in a fight. Once at the stadium I went through five different security check points each time getting my purse checked and patted down. The security to go into the soccer game was stricter than the security when Obama spoke at graduation last year.

When we finally made our way in, we entered into a huge row of cement bleachers with fans waiting for the game to begin. Lining the fence to the field where almost an equal number of riot police. One of the brothers told us that they hadn’t sold many tickets to the game because they didn’t want it to get out of control, so the popular section stayed fairly empty until the second half when more fans started streaming in. The crowd was mostly men with the exception of our group of five girls. Although they had been singing the entire game as the sunset the fans started to get louder, the jumping and movement more pronounced, people climbed the fences to tie on red and white streamers and then ran them up the bleachers. The second half of the game had the high energy I was expecting.

Estudiantes won which meant lots of post-game celebration. It was short lived as the police started to push us out of the stadium. Since we were the visiting team we customarily got to leave the stadium first. You never come in contact with anyone from the other team at an Argentine soccer game. Each has its own entrance and the home team isn’t allowed to leave the stadium until the visiting fans have left.

After a great experience at the Estudiantes game I was excited to go to a larger La Boca game. I had heard stories of insanity about their popular section and wanted to see it for myself. We managed to score tickets for the last game of the season, which was guaranteed to be packed. The security wasn’t as strict and the energy was higher on the streets. People live and die for La Boca.

As soon as we entered la cancha (stadium) I was overwhelmed with such a foul smell. I started dodging puddles on the way up of where men had relieved themselves in the middle of the stairwell. After a few flights of stairs and a lot of close calls we made it to one of the popular sections. I was sad to see that everyone was sitting and watching the game. No crazy diehard fans wreaking havoc.

When I looked across the stadium I saw where I wanted to be: behind the other goal. The crowd was moving as one cohesive unit, streamers were everywhere; there were even blue and yellow umbrellas. Looked like a good time. I asked the hotdog vendor how I got to the section, but he wouldn’t tell me. I asked a police officer, but he wouldn’t tell me either. Finally an expat heard me ask and told me, “You don’t want to go over there.” I tried to convince him that I really did, but he was insistent that I didn’t. I never did find out go to get the other section.

At the end of the game we all waited patiently for the visiting team to leave. Twenty minutes later the masses started moving towards the exit. It was then I realized something was leaking down from the ceiling. The visiting team had been sitting in the bleachers above us and I didn’t want to the think about what could possibly being raining down. But that was the least my worries. The puddles on the way up had expanded to cover the entire floor. As I looked down I realized I was the only person wearing flip flops. There was no way to avoid it. As soon as we got out of the stadium I immediately went home and washed my feet.

And now the Mundial has begun. If this doesn't make you excited for the World Cup, I don't know what will...

Punta del Este

My program began at the end of peak tourist season in South America. Although Buenos Aires was ridiculously hot and humid, it was a great time to go to the beach, mountains, or Patagonia. Unfortunately it took me a while to figure out where I wanted to travel so all of my trips have been during the off season.

My first weekend trip was to Punta del Este, Uruguay. Punta del Este is to Buenos Aires what the Hamptons are to New York City. During the summer hoards of city dwellers make their way to weekend and party in this popular beach town. I planned my trip with a couple of friends the same weekend as Spring Break in the States after most of the crowds had left.

Through my travels I’ve learned that sometimes things just don’t work out; they should be easy, but they’re not. This is how the trip began. Natalie and I had tickets to leave after our friends because she had a late Thursday class. We were supposed to take a midnight boat to Montevideo and from there a bus to Punta del Este. When we went to check-in I was incredibly surprised to find out I had bought our non-refundable tickets for the following day, which would leave us only one full day at the beach. I bought us new tickets for the boat that was leaving that night. Instead of a direct route we had a three hour boat to Colonia, three hour bus to Montevideo, where we had to purchase tickets to transfer to Punta del Este, which was another three hours journey.

This trip was made all the more interesting by my friend Steve. He’s one of those people who has the best of intentions but never manages to get it right. I called Steve as soon as we went through customs to tell him to make sure he filled out the exit paperwork for Argentina before getting his passport stamped. His response: “Passport? We’re supposed to bring our passports?” Yes, Steve. You have to bring your passport to go to a different country. Mind you Steve has been robbed twice in the last three months. After convincing him that there was no way he could talk his way or sneak onto the boat without a passport he agreed to change his ticket to the next day.

By the time we got in the following morning we were exhausted. Our friends, who had arrived the evening before, warned us that our hostel, El Viajero, had two locations and to go to the one close to the bus terminal. After finding an ATM we got a taxi and explained where we needed to go. Something was clearly lost in translation as we arrived thirty minutes later to a secluded hostel out of town. Turns out the hostels did have different names and our friends had given us the wrong one. After an easy bus ride back we finally found our way to the correct hostel.

Chivito

The first day of rain and clouds quickly changed to blue skies and sunshine. Days were spent sleeping in the sun, playing in the Atlantic, and eating chivitos (Uruguayan steak sandwiches). At night everyone in our hostel would play guitar, drink wine, or pile onto the couch for movies. The rest of the weekend passed as a lazy weekend at the beach should. Good hostel, good food, good people.