The mad ones

i heart bolivia

carlala73 — Sat, 14 Apr 2007 08:32:00 GMT

updates updates.... its becoming harder and harder for me to write these things, so many stories, overhwelming to try to write them all down. but heres a shot at it anyway... pass this on to anyone i may have missed

so.. im still in bolivia. my introductory bus tour didnt scare me away, i love this country. ive been in la paz for almost three weeks now. the first few days i went out with some girls from the hostel, and of course had a wonderful time, drinking and dancing. we went in search of an after hours bar when the club closed called fin del mundo. when we arrived at the corner where the bar was suppsed to be, we were told by a group of locals (and a woman who appeared to be homeless) that the bar was closed indefinitely, but that there was another bar a few blocks away she could take us to. we had to wait for a friend to meet us there before we decided what we wanted to do, and in the 10 minutes we were waiting, about 5 more cabfuls of people from the club that we knew from the hostel were getting dumped onto our corner, everyone in search of the neverending night of drinking and dancing. so at this point we were about 20 strong instead of four, and decided to follow the homeless woman to the bar. so we walk, turn the corner and she tells us we have arrived. we look around, confused, feeling like we were just part of a joke, because there diddnt appear to be a bar anywhere. no signs, no lights, just rowhomes all boarded up and locked, secured with what looked like metal garage doors.

she knocks loudly on one of the metal gates, and the bar appears, the drunken mass of us tickled with delight at the thought of more beer. the bar, as it turns out, is like someones basement turned brothel. mirrors, couches, cheap disco balls, a homemade bar, and someone sleeping on the couch with a dog. but we brought the party with us, and the owners went out to buy alcohol to serve us. about an hour later, the group had doubled in size, now with a throb of travelers from all over south america, and some kind of higher ups in the police force. we drank and danced for hours, and since we were in the basement i had no idea what time it was. but i was quickly snatched up and taught to dance the salsa to the incredible music they had playing. music from columbia, argentina... i was a bit drunk, im sure i looked like a fool... but at the time i thought i was the greatest dancer ever. my main instruction for learing these dances was to find el sabor! the flavor... and i think i found it.

i finally decided i was going to collapse if i didnt go to bed right then. i had gone on a 5 hour mountain biking ride earlier that day (actually it was the day before at this point) and was exhausted. so i left the bar with some friends from the hostel, greeted by the later morming sun. awake for more than 24 hours now, but feeling invigorated and content after such a wonderful night.

for the past couple of weeks i have been hanging out with a bunch of the south american travellers i met at the bar that night. a group of artesans, incredible people, all of them so happy, living for the day. my spanish is significantly improved, its actually been difficult to switch back to english, like jumping from one world to the next, because for the most part i am speaking only in english to write emails. i am learning to make jewelry, play the drums. i feel like i have gotten off the beaten path, and have experienced so much more of bolivia with this group. they took me to a youth center where we played soccer and painted with some of the local kids, went to museums i never would have known to look for.

i just got back from the jungle, i went with a friend from columbia to a little town called coroico about 3 hours away from la paz. away from the pollution, the fast-paced lifestyle, the noise. also away from accessible atms... we hung out in coroico for a couple of days, just walking around, talking, making jewelry in a room that was simply four walls and two beds. icy cold showers, tattered curtains, abotu a dollar a day to stay there. met up with a group of travelers, two guys from france, a girl from sweden and a girl from chile. semana santa was coming up, and we were told we couldnt stay in our hotel because the entire town was about to fill up for the celebration. there were no rooms available anywhere. so sadly, we thought we were destined for la paz once again. however the hotel owner suggested we go to a little town called tocana. about 6 or so houses, a church and a school. the only catch was it would cost a fortune to get there in a minibus. so we decided to trek the 4 hours down one mountain and up another to get there. so the six of us left our rucksacks at the hotel, taking only the essentials with us. (toothbrush, soap, mate, a book, insect repellent, drums, a guitar and a flute ). we started the trek, with instructions to follow the footpath down and then follow another one up. there are a million footpaths... we ran into 3 locals going our way, and they pointed us in the right direction. our attempts to follow them lasted all of 5 minutes, as they were practically running down the mountain, accustomed to the altitude and the long walks. so we got to a cross road... left or right. we could see the little town in the distance, but it was straight ahead. so we said... eh, lets go left, its downhill. so we walk downhill for about 40 minutes taking in the amazing scenery of the mountains laced with clouds, plucking oranges off the trees and eating them, walking through swarms of butterflies, small waterfalls and amazing flowers. we get to a house where a few men were cutting the tall jungle grass with machetes and asked about our whereabouts. turns out we were going the wrong way, which we should have seen coming since we chose the easy path. so we turn around and have to hike UPhill for an hour and a half, none of us in shape and all having been smoking cigarettes relentlessly. the new instructions, follow the footpath just after where they made a small garbage heap. ok, clear enough. so we did... but the footpath ending in a mass of trees and mosquitos, so we again turned around, this time encountering another path that led is almost vertically up a hill, through some ruins. (quite a feat to hike with giant drums and guitars strapped to our backs). but we eventually made it to the right path, and were on our way, after a good 2 hours of being lost on a mountainside. (i continually felt the urge to sing songs from the sound of music). we were lapped twice by tiny old men with machetes, hunched over from working in the field all day, racing down the mountain with ease.

at the bottom of the first mountain, we stòpped to eat the most delicious bag of horrible cookies i have ever had, and washed them down with some more oranges. just as we were about to start the uphill trek, we were blessed with a truck that would carry us to the top for 3 bolivianos each. (pennies). so we hop in with the locals, hanging onto the sides of the truck and fly up these tiny winding gravel roads. we are greeted by a couple, maxima and david, who offer us a place to stay for the next few days. they had seen us wandering around lost in the mountain and were rather amused... so, for about 10 bolivianos each, the six of us went around back to this small shed where there were 6 twin mattress, a very dim light, and a cockroach friend we would encounter the next day. but it was perfect, what all of us were looking for. out of the city, getting to know the culture. maxima cooked an amazing lunch for us, lentils, rice tomatoes and sardines, and we pulled out the instruments and beers and played until dark. the next day we helped david and maxima prepare for the easter celebration, carrying caseloads of beers to the village culture center (a small church with a patio), lining the trees with balloons, streamers and branches of flowers. david and maxima made us a traditional drink called tomba negro. grain alcohol, fresh orange juice, and clove. incredibly smooth, incredibly strong... really sneaks up on you (also aided in chasing away any lingering fears of speaking in spanish). we spent the rest of the day playing music and talking, playing cards, laughing.

the day of the easter celebration i broke a tree. i was trying to get at some fruit, and the whole trunk just broke under my weight... so i hid the tree in the jungle.

we went to the culture center, where there was a drum circle of about 8 or so people, along with some other instruments that i have no idea how to name, but produced incredible sounds. about ten of the local women of the village clad in a myriad of white flowing skirts, decorated with a rainbow of handmade threads danced in front of the drum circle, along with maxima and davids 2 year old daughter. people came from the neighboring villages, drank tomba negro and we danced all day. the traditional music was incredible, i wish i could have recorded it. the men singing and playing the drums, the women dancing gently, and then the men ceasing the singing and speeding the tempo of the drums for the woman to dance more fervently and sing more boldly. we all circled around inside the church and danced, pleasantly buzzed from the tomba negro, chewing coca leaves and taking in the sun. at nightfall we headed back to the house with about 15 locals and continued to drink and play music until the wee hours of the night. they played rythms and melodies ive never heard before, it was beautiful. jani (the girl from sweden) and i were offered marriage proposals all night, on account of our blue eyes and light skin, and eagerness to sit and talk, luagh and learn from everyone. i had wonderful conversations with the people from tocana about the culture, the daily life, the traditions, the work. i dont think i have ever met such a welcoming group of people. and i met a man from the states who moved to tocana 6 years ago to teach math and physics. we talked about the difference in culture, what he misses from the states and what he is glad to have left behind.

eventually the 6 of us retired to the shed, and when we woke at noon the next day, the locals were still awake and drinking, still playing music, laughing, singing. we came out of the shed and maxima was preparing lunch. you cant get any fresher than a chicken killed and defeathered that day...

after lunch we gathered our stuffand said our goodbyes. we were given tons of hugs and instructed to come back anytime, and to send more people like us their way. we hopped in a truck back to coroico where i was finally able to take a shower. and now i am back in la paz, with its internet cafes, auctioneer type background noise of the minibuses trying to entice people to get in. rapidly listing off every street in the city they will carry you for one boliviano. la paz with its enumerous hills, swarms of people, policemen directing traffice with a nearly constant stream of whistles, street markets, fresh juice and artesans.

so many more stories... but i have been sitting in an internet cafe far too long now. one of these days i will upload more pictures, but it takes so long... miss everyone

bolivia- three hour tour?

carlala73 — Thu, 22 Mar 2007 22:04:00 GMT

so, i am sitting in yet another internet cafe, waiting 4 hours to check into my hostel so that i can sleep, shower for the first time in days, and eat something other than crackers and cookies... at 6 am there´s no a whole lot to do here in la paz.

my welcome to bolivia began 6pm on tuesday, when i got onto my bus for la paz. in argentina there are different kinds of seats on the buses, standard, semicama and cama. they increase in the amount of leg room and how much you can recline. so for the 18 hour bus trip i had been hoping for cama, but alas i had to settle for semicama. as soon as i a got on the bus i realized that i was not in kansas anymore. in addition to comfortable seats, the argentine bus system generally provides you with air conditioning, food, and a bathroom. i got on the bus in bolivia to see that my so-called semicama was the equivalent of a seat you would have on a 2 or 3 hour ride. oh well, could be worse. i then noticed all the windows were open... so no AC, oh well, still could be worse. then i noticed the lack of bathroom. ok... this was going to be a really long ride.

the trip began quite comically. we shipped off and made it all of about a half mile when the bus screeched to a halt and off jumps the driver. he happened to see a good friend walking on the side of the road, and thought it was a good time to catch up. twenty minutes later, these two older men behind me are getting impatient and yelling vamos! nosvamos! (lets go, for those who didnt know). that didnt work, so they started banging on the windows and stomping their feet, everyone on the bus decided this was a really good idea and joined in the tantrum. i was cracking up. the driver paid no attention to the noise, and got back on the bus 15 minutes later when he felt like it. onward! they old men behind me start woohooing and cheering La Paz La Paz! here we come! carrying on like a couple of college kids on the way to spring break. we made it another half mile when one of the old guys ran to the front of the bus. we screech to halt again, and the old guy jumps to pee. onward! again! 15 minutes, same old guy jumps out again, and i realize that these two old guys are tanked out of their minds. im trying to be discreet while i am still cracking up.

we start the journey again, this time made it till sundown before the old guy had to pee again. i think this time it was a whole hour... when he got back on the bus, it was dark. so he starts yelling AMIGO! AMIGO! donde estas! donde estas! (where are you, again for those who dont know). to which he friend is yelling I´M HERE! COME HERE! IM RIGHT HERE! this went on for a good 3 minutes... the bus really isnt that big, but these two just couldnt seem to find each other.

so ´now i am dying im laughing so hard, tyring to be quiet because the very large man is snoring heavily next to me. one of the drivers comes back to scold the two old men and threatens to separate them if they keep up the antics. however, i realized the antics wouldnt last much longer when they both start frantically looking for their bebidas (drinks), ¨that were right here! where did they go! dios mio! they were right here! did we drink them? no! we couldnt have! they were here! where did you put them! i didnt put them anywhere!¨

so the logical explanation that they came to after this tirade, ¨someone took them!¨

the driver decides to put on some music. some bolivian music, which has a sound that i dont even know how to describe. i bought a CD though, so for those of you who want to hear i will try to figure out a way to put it online. but the first three cds they put on skipped. ewhen the got to the fourth we listened to the same song about 4 times, the whole time the old guys trying their damndest to sing along to this song, which was all about bolivian pride. youd think they would have figured out the words by the fourth go around, but i guess that what liquor will do to you.

everything quiets down, everything that is, expect the large man snoring next to me, who has also decided to lift the armrest and spread out a bit. so i am trying to make myself very small against the window, just waiting for him to start leaning on my shoulder. everyone is asleep on the bus, save me... in the tiny amount of space the large man has allocated me, i manage to pull one earplug out of my bag. slept a bit, but the occasional especially loud snore would wake me up. i was pretty horrified when the big man woke up and spit a big loogey into the aisle. at that point i was wide awake, and more aware of what could be rolling around on the floor, so now i had my bag on my lap, in my tiny space against the window.

finally, sleep. and then a giant bang and the sound of broken glass. then lots of people yelling in very rapid spanish. i looked out the window to see that our driver had rear ended another bus, taking out our ENTIRE windsheild. the road was only big enough for one bus to go by, so while the two drivers, and half the passengers from each bus were outside yelling about whose fault it was, two more buses pulled up, one in each direction. now there were 4 drivers, and half of 4 buses of people outside yelling. again i am laughing so hard i want to epee, but i cant cause theres no bathroom and i dont want to go outside in front of the 4 drivers and 2 busloads of people. so, they throw the glass to the side, deciding it really doesnt matter whos fault it is and we conituue on.

it´s now freezing, because theres a big gaping whole in the front of the bus, and we are FLYING down these dirt roads. im feeling more like im on a boat than a bus. (shocks? what are shocks?) we get to the next village, where the women with children are muttering about finding another car. no no, we´ll have none of that, the drivers and about 10 men from the village all come out to the bus with a giant sheet of plastic and some packing tape.

good as new! who needs a glass windshield anyway! and we´re off again. i finally fall asleep, with my one earplug, shivering by the window. when i woke up it was morning and we were in the middle of the desert, flying through towns that look like archeaolgical digs, and for a moment i am conviced that the towns are, in fact, abandoned, until i see the people milling about. we stop at a town to let some people off, and this guys jumps on our bus, asking for a few minutes of our time. starts going into this sales pitch about ¨maca¨, which is basically some kind fo grain fortified with vitamins. and of course, bolivia produces THE BEST maca. helps fight disease, improves overall health, etc. and for the low low price of just 20 bolivian pesos, you can get 3, count them 3 packets of maca. i declined the snake charmers offer, but half the bus was just throwing money at this guy. on to the next product, sore muscle rub. similar sales pitch, i again decline, and again half the bus throws more money at him. to end the pitch he tells some really really awful jokes. for example, what is man´s worst enemy? ... dramatic pause... his mother in law! hahahahaha. thanks for your attention ladies and gents, this random bush next to the alpaca is my stop, and off he goes, suitcase full of wares and bolivian pesos.

i start reading on the road, i must have jinxed us or something because all of a sudden the bus stops. again. we are just three hours from la paz! we look out the window to see a line of buses and trucks at a dead standstill up ahead. a mountain of them, both directions. so after a brief conference with the co-pilot, the driver decides that we´ll just take the other dirt road to the capitol. so off we go, four wheeling in the desert. snaking around, seemingly not really making any forward progress. we get to a fairly large stream, where several flatbed trucks carrying lots of cargo were waiting, the drivers scratching their heads deciding whether or not they should cross. my driver gets out to talk to them and then comes back and tells everyone to disembark. if the trucks wont try to cross it, that surely wont stop our driver! i mean, he has been driving for 12 hours with a giant piece of plastic for a windshield!

so we get off and wait on the other side of the stream for the bus. the trucks move out of the way, and the bus makes it across. bottoms-out pretty badly, but makes it. i dont now how we never got a flat. everyone back on, and we go flying up past the bottleneck. we get to a slightly paved road and jump on it, but there is a group of farmers who have blockaded the road with a pile of rocks, demanding that everyone on the bus pay to get by. the driver laughs and jerks the wheel to the right... we dont have to pay! we´ll just four wheel through the desert some more! i was pretty excited about my driver´s initiative, and am reading on the road again, i thought it appropriate because we were, in fact, on the road again. but alas, i must have jinxed us again. because we came around the corner to another standstill. miles long. we did some more four wheeling on the other side of the road, to no avail, and eventually the driver gave up and got into the line with everyone.

i am the only gringo on the bus, and i am REALLY glad i speak spanish at this point. this really nice woman takes me under her wing, explaining that apparently every town from there until la paz ( about 4 or so, but the ones we had already passed were also involved) had blockaded the roads demanding that people pay to pass. apparently this was a political demonstration, as the towns werent receiving proper supplies (water, electricity, etc). apparently there was also some alcochol involved, which didnt help the situation. i asked whether or not the police were involved, she said no, the president was also a farmer, so these people (savages, brutes, she called them) could basically do as they liked. i asked why we didnt just pay... she said the problem is that we would have to pay a huge sum, not once, but at every town. so, we would wait. everyone is off the buses, and i am really wishing i had packed some food. i dont trust the street meat, so for two days i ate crackers, cookies and some apple juice. it was a nice day, hot in the sun but nice in the shade of the trucks and buses, and i talked at length with the others on the bus about the political situation. at least i was getting to practice my spanish. we tried paying smaller cars to give us a ride to the next town, but they were all full.

twelve hours later, the stalemate continued. the press came, and apparently falsely reported that the blockades had ended almost as soon as they began, so the sale of bus tickets back in the terminals continued. at this point the sun was down, and we were going to have to sleep on the bus. though luckily, half the passengers had gotten off earlier, so i had two seats to myself! the large snoring man was no longer next to me. we started moving sometime in the night, the blockades had ended! onward, again, to la paz. which at this point was becoming in my mind like the promised land, an oasis in this god-awful desert. we get to the last town before la paz, about 40 minutes out... it was actually a town, not a village, with more modern conveniences. i guess because of this, this particular town decided they didnt mind continuing the blockade well into the night. so again, the driver decides to find his own way through the desert. this time it´s pitch black, the stars are absolutely beautiful outside my window. the other driver jumps out of the bus with a flashlight, hunts around for a road (and by road i mean tire tracks), points and the bus starts going. the man sprinting next to the bus, jumps in. we stop every 3 minutes or so because we´ve lost the road again, everytime the other driver jumping out, flagging the road with the flashlight, and then sprinting to jump back in. this goes on for an hour and a half. the whole time i see the town on our left, and im wondering if we will wind up just camping out in the desert.

we find a road. not a road, a highway. paved, yellow lines, and best of all, a street sign with an arrow that says LA PAZ. immediately i fall asleep. i wake up as we are entering the outskirts of the city, which were none too pretty and the streets were vacant. its 3 am now, and the driver pulls over at the first corner, wanting us all to get off so he can head back to the border. all the women on the bus jumped up and tore into him, there was no way we were getting off there, its 3 am, the worst part of town, we had babies and tons of luggage in tow, and it was stil anothe 10 minute drive to the city center, where we all needed to go. the driver yielded, and took us to the bus terminal. as we drove, i realized why the women got so angry, it was a LONG ways away. we got to the terminal, and we were in this bowl of lights and houses. the city center at the bottom of what looked like a giant stadium. it was an amazing sight. i got my backpack on, at which point the drivers told me no, we were all sleeping on the bus till the sun came up, it was too dangerous to travel through la paz (especially alone, white, and female) at night. this surprised me a little since 10 minutes earlier he want to kick us all out... but whatever, i went with the flow. the only cabs running were gypsy cabs, which are dangerous. so i took a 2 hour nap until the sun came up, the terminal opened, the police began to patrol and the liscensed taxis began to run. i joined up with a friend i had made on the bus, coni, a girl my age from columbia. i was glad to have her with me, its hard to speak spanish when you are exhausted. i realized that i didnt write down the address of the hostel, so i needed to wait till the internet cafe opened to look it up. so we waited together, she had decided to get a bed in my hostel as well. i saw some other backpackers carrying a guidebook, and found out the hostel was literally only two blocks away! oh well. so away we went, only to be told that we couldnt check in until 10:30, which brings me here, to the internet cafe at 6am. my 24 hour trip turned into 40... but it was quite the experience. however, i think next time i am taking the train.

along the andes up through argentina

carlala73 — Wed, 21 Mar 2007 06:07:00 GMT

i havent posted in awhile... so i´m going to skim through a bit. i left buenos aires a few weeks ago after spending a few days in uruguay. uruguay was ok... montevideo was a tranquil city compared to buens aires. It was a subtle version of the argentine capitol, smaller, quieter, though with just as much pollution and maybe, seemingly, a bit more poverty, a bit more dangerous. The nightlife was great, thuogh I think I felt more unsafe in montevideo than anywhere else in the continent so far. Though I found Montevideo a bit disappointing, I only spend one afternoone there, so I guess I didn´t give it a fair chance. The saving grace for the city was the hostel i stayed in, hostel red. i spent an afternoon reading in a hammock on a rooftop deck, admiring the south american sky- blue, blue, blue with brushes of white, behind the frame of rundown buildings.

from there i went with a friend i met in buenos aires, dave, to punta del diablo, a small beach town on the coast of uruguay. the busride was wonderful, we passed through a series of small villages, and through the vast countryside. Day-glo green grass and brush, and these strange tall skinny trees that seemed to be lumped together artificially, but after awhile of driving I realized that that´s just how nature intended them to be.

when we arrived in punta del diablo i ws shocked. everyone had said this was a ¨resort¨town, so i was expecting something very touristy and modern. dirt roads, stray dogs, crowds of people, minimal electricity, bugs, leaky roofs... i was thrilled, cultured shocked, but thrilled. the actual beach was beautiful (topless i might add - my friend dave was pretty happy), clear water, though the sand was layered with dead beetles... but hey, what can you do. the houses were pastel-colored villas, fairly run down, and scattered around the hills behind the dunes. a series of garden hoses ran through the town, providing running water.

from uruguay i began my way towards bariloche. i left the night before my birthday, on a 22-hour overnight bus ride, and awoke to the foothills of the andes. I awoke in the morning to see the foothills of the andes, semmingly endless, and framed by the mountains which lay hours away. passing through on a highway there were hardly any signs of life. the occasional patch of cows eating or sleeping peacefully. for as much beef as is consumed here, i was expecting to see more cows. the strange trees i saw in uruguay were in patagonia as well. the woman sitting next to me explained that the trees held up really well against the wind. i met a great group of people in bariloche (most of whom were also travelling alone), we went rafting and canyoning. I laughed for 5 days straight with these guys.

from bariloche, the 6 of us took a bus up to mendoza. did a wine tour, which mainly involved the comsumption of more wine than the tour intended. mendoza was also beautiful. the strets lined with trees and irrigation channels.

from mendoza we all went our separate ways. i decided to go to san juan, which is another town in the wine region 2 hours north of mendoza.

The first thing I noticed abut San Juan is that it is a distinctly different color than any other city I have been to. Much like Mendoza, it was lined with trees and irrigation channels. But the trees were a different color. In mendoza the trees were greener, fuller, the trunks darker. In San Juan the trees are whit and gray, the leaves sparse, making the tiled streets brighter in the almost-constant sun. Less cars, more bikes, loud buses and mopeds. This city is very tranquil, and hot. You can really feel the effect of the afternoon siestas here. The ENTIRE town shuts down after lunch, and re-opens when the sun goes down. No one works on Sundays. So far this has been my favorite city. I had to speak spanish the entire time i was there, which was great. (Been getting lots of compliments on it).

Since I arrived during a siesta and right before a Sunday, I wasn´t able to book any of the excursions I wanted to do. So I took a local bus to a winery just outside the city, call Gran Cavas. The bus ride was interesting. The driver was sharing a fernet and coke with one of the passengers, honking at the pretty women, and flying aruond corners. The winery itself is located inside a cave. Took a tour with some random people from Buenos Aires. I didn´t understand everything the guide was saying, but I could tell he spoke very eloquently.

After the tour I asked where to catch the bus back to the city. I was told to wait on the other side of the dirt highway, one should be by in about an hour. An hour! It was freaking hot! And to fin shade I would have had to wait away from the highway, where i wouldnt be able to hail the bus. (You have to hail the buses...there´s not always an actual stop).

So after 20 minutes in the blistering heat, my feet looking like leather and feeling like they had swollen to double the orginal size, I decided to hitch. There were tons of cars with families going by, so I was going to get a ride with one. However, my luck, the people I took the tour with flew by in a yellow open Jeep, told me to hop in. What a wonderful ride! Hair blowing, soaking in the sun, and sipping mate with four people frm Buenos Aires. Got to pactice my Spanish some more as well...

Back at the hostel, I hung out with the staff, who are the friendlist staff I have met so far. Since I wasnt able to book any excursions, I decided to hightail it to Bolivia to meet up with some friends from Buenos Aires, and come back through San Juan in May, this time planning a little better, since not all towns work as easily as Buenos Aires.

So Bolivia is currently where I hang my hat. Though I dont have a hat, so it´s where I gaurd my backpack. I am witing in a bus terminal for my next 18 hour bus. The buses have turned out to be kind of nice. I see some amazing scenery, and travel cross country usually for no more than 30 dollars US. I just bought my bus ticket from the Argentine border to La Paz for 10 dollars. From La Paz i will be doing some trekking in Peru, then making my way back down to Buenos Aires via the salt flats and northern Argentina.

La Boca

carlala73 — Sat, 3 Mar 2007 03:07:00 GMT

My first trip to La Boca was to walk the three blocks of ¨el caminito¨ that my travel guide suggested seeing. Outside of the three block radius the area is supposedly fairly dangerous. La boca is one of the many neighborhoods in Buenos Aires, it is one of the poorest areas, and their are signs all over the city in travel agency windows and hostel bulletin boards advertising tours of ¨the real Buenos Aires.¨ The cobblestone streets were lined vendors selling cheap Argentina souveneirs, all the same. The buildings are painted shades of pastel and there were people dancing the tango in the streets. I felt inappropiate walking around in my 80 dollar pants, passing by a large tour bus spewing people with cameras and bad hats, taking pictures of ¨how the poor live¨in Buenos Aires. The streets were lined with tourists, clutching there cameras and bags with white knuckles as they passed by the plentiful police who were standing on every corner. I walked casually with my friend Ian who I had met at the hostel. We tried to interpret the spraypainted walls, and noticed the way stray dogs looked at you with a sense of smugness.

We decided we wanted to see a soccer match that weekend. Buying tickets through the hostel would have been the easiest and safest (though insultingly overpriced) way to see the game. We decided instead to go with Ezekial, a friend of Ian´s from the city, to buy tickets on our own. We would save close to 100 pesos, and would be sitting in the section with the fanatics instead of the tourists and small children. It would be more exciting, more authentic, more likely to be trampled in a riot... So we went to La Boca a second time to meet Ezekial and trek to the stadium to buy our tickets. As we walked there, far from the flashing cameras and safe area listed in the guidebooks, there were piles of trash along the street, more stray dogs than I have ever seen, eating out of the garbage piles. People slept in doorways, unaffected by our passing. They hosed and swept the small patches of concrete in front of their houses. We didn´t bring cameras or maps, and had just enough money to buy our tickets. I felt safer here in the ¨bad¨part of La Boca than I did in the touristy caminito. I expressed this Ian and Ezekial, and Ezekial explained that there really isnt alot to be worried about there, because everyone is poor. There is no reason to rob someone who you know has nothing.

However, when we arrived at the stadium I was thrown quickly into the reality of where I was. This is, in fact, South America. I am wise to be cautious, and my sense of security was flattened when Ezekial looked at Ian and I and said, ¨dont´speak english here.¨ We had turned the corner of the stadium to see the incredulous line of people, probably close to a thousand, along the side of the stadium. Everyone watched us as we began to search for the end of the line. There were only a handful of women, and the line was sectioned with gates and police in riot gear, so that the crowd was segmented into groups of about a hundred or so. Though I didnt think the gates would do that much good if there was a riot. It was like trying to contain a river with sticks, knowing the whole time that there was a chance that it would all break free and come pouring out and drown everything in sight. There was an energy, a hum about this line. Although the game wasnt until the next day, everyone was on edge, anticipating, thirsty to react, for thrill.

As we walked, silently, I felt more and more uncomfortable. Ezekial told us that if we wanted the tickets we would have to wait in line for hours. I imagined myself, one of the lone women, gated in one of these segments, like being in the belly of a beast about to vomit, and said no. Ezekial agreed, relieved, that we should just buy the tickets from the hostel.

The Game:

The bus ride to the stadium the next day was uneventful. Upon arrival we had to wait in line for close to 2 hours to get into the stadium, passing by people selling street meat, bandanas, flags, shirts, hats, and shouting their mantras, their Argentine accent rippling through their words, making them sound almost italian. The lines of police didnt surprise me, I had gotten used to seeing them by now, especially in Boca. I didnt expect to see the full riot gear, the way they marched militantly or the stern expressions they wore. Once we were through the two security checkpoints everyone rushed towards the yellow chipped concrete bleachers. The away team fans were sitting in the tier above us, and we were told to stay under the shield of the 3rd level, away from the rapid fire of drinks, coin, spit and random objects that would be hurled at the Boca fans throughout the game.

Two hours before the game started the crowd was already alive. Everyone was singing, chanting songs I wish I had know the words to. Boca brought out a banner and laid it in the middle of the field¨: Cada dia somos mas. we sat in the second tier, behind the goal, fenced in with the tourists and small children. Across the field I was where we would have been sitting had we bought our own tickets. As game time drew closer, the side opposite us, the fanatics was swelling, swaying, screaming in unison. Flags were streen, banners the size of the entire tier were lowered andbrought back up over and over. The crowd was pulsing, a flash of white every other second as the fans had their right arms raised, thrusting their fists from the elbow in unison.

In our section people had started to climb. I noticed that the stands were gaurded by police, and also with barbed wire and wrought iron hooks to prevent people from spilling out onto the field. These deterrents didnt stop people from dangling of the fences the for the entire length of the game.

The game began and the crowd went insane. I didnt think the cheering could have gotten any louder, but it had. The entired stadium was filled, except for the top tier which held the limited number of seats for the rosario fans. Trash was thrown onto the field. I was awed by the crowd across from us, and while i was deep into my observation, Ian turned to me and said, ¨God i wish I was over there, in the botto, right behind the goal. Fucking lunatics right there.¨ When the game ended, tori and i got up to leave. A girl behind us told us we should just sit back down, because the Boca fans werent allowed to leave until after the away fans had gone. Apparently during the game we had all been locked into the stadium. I suddenly hear the sound of hundreds of fists banging on the metal dors which barracaded from attacking the away fans. Fists wanting to pummel the other team who had, in fact, thrown drinks, coins, spit on the crowd below. The only thing the Boca fans could do in retaliation was to look up and stare nastily. After the game we ate pizza and I slept like the dead.

Gallery: buenos aires

carlala73 — Sat, 3 Mar 2007 03:01:00 GMT