Fútbol

After a delightful week in Córdoba, I began my journey back toward the northern hemisphere by returning to Buenos Aires the day before I fly out and head to Mexico.

But what should I do with my one day back in the capital city? I have seen everything I really cared to see during my three weeks I already spent here... except one thing. A fútbol game. Since I am not much of a sports fan, I had never motivated to see a game while I was here, but I regretted that after leaving. I have heard that seeing a game here is quite an experience.

Soccer is deeply ingrained in the everyday life of Argentines. On days of games, you will pass one storefront after another with a television surrounded by patrons.. people on the sidewalk watching through the window outside.. people surrounding magazine stands, and parillas.. all fixated on every moment of the game. They don't just have a national team, or teams representing each city. They have a team for individual neighborhoods. I am not certain of the actual number, but I think Buenos Aires has about fifteen proper large fútbol arenas just in this city. The fans of each team are, true to the term, fanatics. The are extremely loyal and go to great lengths to show their support.

When I arrived early in the morning and checked into the hostel, I noticed they had a sign up sheet for that day. A guided trip to a game.. Boca vs. Vélez. Transportation, local guides to keep us from touristing ourselves into trouble, and a ticket. No excuse. I must go.

They took us to the arena quite early. Eventually I realized this is so that we get good seats. Although our tickets had assigned section and seat numbers, no one seemed to heed these. The bleachers began to fill up quickly just after we arrived and became tough to find many seats together. We got there early enough to get seats underneath the upper deck. Apparently people sometimes throw things from up there (or worse), so getting seats protected from the mayhem is part of the wisdom we paid the guides for.

At least an hour before the game started, the fan sections at either end of the stadium began to show impressive life. Little by little the fans spread out their colorful banners, handed out colored doohickies to wave around in the air non stop.. a marching band showed up on both sides.. colored smoke machines began to waft their colors into the air... and then the singing started.

Each team has a set of songs that are something like war chants only more melodic. They are loud, repetitive, and come with waving arms, hopping up and down in sync, and taunts to the other side. Occasionally, the chants from the super fan area would inspire the more relaxed areas of the stadium into the chants and waves. At these times we could really feel the emotion, and see it... and hear it. The intensity I could see in porteños in everyday life got turned up to eleven. Holy cow. The loud chants and songs did not stop. Ever. The fans were always loud, always hopping, always waving their arms for the entire duration of the game, not to mention the hour before the game. I was certain they would poop out eventually. They didn't. That's loyalty.

Soccer games, luckily, are fun to watch. I enjoy basketball back home, and these games have the same constant energy and team play, so I was fairly riveted. The game ended in a tie, 1 to 1. This was actually good for our personal safety, I was told. The fans exit the arena at different times. The visiting fans leave first. Only after they are completely gone, the remainder of the spectators may exit. This is to avoid the inevitable fights that will occur between opposing fans. Apparently, if the final score favors one team too much, the taunting afterword can make for some after game mayhem, even with the sequestering measures in place.

So after an adventurous night of sports, I returned with our group to the hostel. Since May 25th is Argenina's independence day, the hostel celebrated by providing a complementary locro dinner. Not bad.

So now I am heading back to the northern hemisphere. I will fly to Mexico and head to Sayulita beach to reunite with my lovely friends Shannon and Michael from back home.

But first I have one final errand. I must find a specific brand of dulce de leche to bring to Germany. I have been promised an apartment for a few days in Berlin belonging to a friend of a friend. The part-Argentine resident has a craving, and is willing to swap accommodations for sweets.

Onward!