My first tourist trap, as it is with every city was the free
walking tour. It’s not always the best way to see a city, but it’s free and
gives you a good layout of the touristy areas. It also always includes a good
amount of information. And did I mention it’s free? Our group set out from one
of the sister hostels and, despite our guide being for 45 minutes late, took
off for La Boca. We spent most of our time in this old docklands section. It’s not
only what most people think of when Buenos Aires comes to mind, it’s also the
birthplace of Tango. From there we ended up in San Telmo, which, in contrast to
La Boca, was where the wealthy used to call home. At the end of our tour we
were left to fend for ourselves in the main plaza of San Telmo. It was there that a
few of us stopped to have lunch and a beer. Then a Tango show broke out.
On the tour I had bonded with two Brits, Alex and Kate, who
were wrapping up their travels in South America over the week. They were in the
mood for a quality steak. Because that’s what you do in Argentina. Eat steak.
There are two places in particular that have been recommended to me throughout
my travels. One of which was La Cabrera. Whoever told us to go there hit a home
run. That place is fantastic. For just under 60 dollars (that’s USD) each, we got two bottles of wine, three large appetizers and three massive steaks. I
don’t think I’ll ever feel the same about going into Morton’s ever again.
With a food coma, I went straight to bed. Only to be woken
up at one in the morning by the staff saying I wasn’t supposed to be in the room.
For some reason their registration system had me booked for the three nights
prior and the three nights following. But not that night. So the room was
overbooked. Standing in the middle of the lobby telling off the guy behind the
desk ain’t fun. I started off politely enough with the “let’s figure this out” attitude, but after 20 minutes of accomplishing nothing I finally gave in and yelled at him. Seriously though … “how on
earth am I in the room with a key if I’m not booked in it?” Eventually it got
sorted, but I won’t bore you with the details.
The next day Kate went on a Gaucho (you know, Argentinian
rancher) tour which neither Alex or I had any interest in.
Instead we bussed over to Recoleta to see the Evita museum and the giant metal
flower. After we’d had enough wandering around, Alex and I went back to the
hostel and met up with Mike for dinner. Mike is one crazy Dutch dude who has no
qualms with saying what on his mind. This usually ends up being something
sexual in front of someone who might find it either offensive or be embarrassed
by it. Whether he’s intentionally doing it or not didn’t matter.
It’s funny.
We again went out for steak (see a theme?). This time,
though, it was an all you can eat steak buffet (the other highly recommended place). For $25 USD, you get a bottle
of wine and all the steak and potatoes you can shove down your throat and cram
into your belly. So my fat ass had four plates full of steak, two plates of
sides, the entire bottle of wine, and dessert.
For a good three hours we gorged ourselves stupid and talked
about nothing but sex. What else are three guys at an all you can eat steak
buffet gonna do?
The next day was fucking
miserable. Alex, Kate and I took a day trip into Uruguay to see the old
port city of Colonia del Sacramento. That wasn’t what sucked. I felt like I
had a giant steak baby growing inside me. I was on the verge of hoping an alien
would burst from my stomach. It might have been less painful. I could tell Alex
felt just as bad because he slept the entire ferry ride over. I kinda wish I
had done the same. The wind had picked up over the river plate and this
boat was rockin’. The water was so chopy that the whole boat just kept swaying
back and forth and you could tell multiple people were vomiting in the toilet.
Good thing I don’t get seasick. For those of you that do…I
don’t envy you.
We got
on our tour bus to quickly see the new part of town (where all the rich Argentine’s have weekend
homes) before taking a walking tour of the old part. The tour was…well…a let
down. The buildings are really old and in fairly good condition considering their age, but it’s tiny.
We were done with everything within two hours. After lunch we just went down to
the water and killed time before our ferry ride back.
According to Lonely Planet, Colonia de Sacramento is the
number one thing to do in Uruguay. Fuck Lonely Planet. I’m sick of them being
so many backpackers’ travel bible. Do they have their place. Sure. For morons who can’t figure shit out
for themselves and need to be told what they “must see.” You
can find all the same information on the Internet. You want to know the best
way to figure out what to do? Start a conversation with someone.
Oh – and if anyone ever gets me a Lonely Planet book. I will
burn it.
Their photo competitions are cool though.
Okay I’m stepping off the soapbox.
The following day was my last in Buenos Aires and likely my
favorite. I spent the early part of the day in La Boca retaking photos from my
walking tour earlier in the week. It’s nearly impossible to take good photos
when someone’s constantly rushing you. But that’s not where the fun
begins. It was the evening that brought that around. Alex, Mike and I were
going to see a futbol match of Argentina’s best club, Boca Juniors.
On the bus ride over the three
of us hit it off with three girls from another hostel and hung out with them
the whole rest of the night. We had our pre-game drink and meal two blocks from
the stadium even though there’s a drinking ban within a ten block radius of the
stadium on gameday. Probably for the best. Argentinian futbol fans are insane.
Then there was the security. We walk up and get thoroughly patted
down. Then continue on through a metal detector and get patted down again. Then
go through the turnstyles with our ticket only to be patted down again. These
weren’t your usual American “I’m gonna just tap your pockets” pat downs. No,
these were closer in line with a fully clothed cavity search.
The actual game wasn’t mind blowing, but that atmosphere was fantastic. The
truly raucous section was on the other side, but I’d say we got a good taste
of what it’s all about. You don’t have seats. You have concrete steps. You
don’t sit. You stand. If you don’t sing you’re not a fan. And they don’t stop
singing.
And of course there are the drummers, who don’t stop
drumming for the whole 90-minute match.
At the end of the game our section sat for nearly
thirty minutes before we were allowed to leave. Apparently they let the
stadium out one section at a time. The first to leave are the visiting supporters.
Once they are completely out, the Boca supporters are allowed to leave. Once
again this is to curb any potential violence. It basically makes American
sports fans look like a bunch of pussies.
It being Friday we had to grab a drink. Fortunately our
hostel had a decent bar and nightclub below it, so it was easy to convince the
girls to come back and party with us. We spent the next four hours doing so.
During conversation we brought up the notion of crossing a futbol match in
South America off your bucket list. That easily transitioned into everyone
creating their own bucket list. Here's mine:
1. Climb
Mt. Kilamanjaro
2. Go
to outer space
3. Produce
a widely released movie
4. Travel
to all seven continents
5. Be
fluent in a second language
No comments:
Post a Comment