Tour with Boxie-boo´s Family, Argentina
06/06/10
I woke up thinking I was wearing my Hammer pants and nobody could touch me. Opps. My mindset changed when I tried to climb a fence back into Teresa´s yard for you, my stalker friend, as I realized I forgot my notebook. My Hammer pants failed me. My attempt to jump the fence resulted in me hanging, mid-air, from the metal spear tip of the fence through the tongue of my left shoe, with my right hand bleeding. Juan didn’t offer me a hand up. He used both of his hands to applaud. Instead, he quickly taught me the Spanish words for fool and moron: tonto and imbecile. I felt about as smart as I did when I learned that pickles were actually cucumbers and there was no pickle plant. That was in college.
It was one of those moments that if I had the gene for embarassment, I would have been stop sign red. Instead, I focused on not pulling my groin, laughing as it amused me to be hanging in air while being insulted in Spanish. When Boxie-boo pulled off my shoe, I fell onto my soltry bootae on to the lawn, content that I did not land in dog poop…though, that would have made for a better post entry. Don’t worry, dear reader, I did not injure my nipples, though I never felt more unable to breastfeed than I did in that moment.
While Juan and I laughed in his truck at my bandaged hand and torn shoe, he and his wonderful family were so kind as to take us on our tour of Buenos Aires - a strange town, indeed, which felt oddly familiar having resemblance to places the world over: European cities with gourmet cuisine and espresso shops, African-like slums, North American-style malls and wealthy suburbs. It was a place of bold contradictions, from the slick and fancy, to the often faded and old, making some areas appear to be reinhabited ghost towns.
“Africa,” Juan said, pointing to slums on the right side of the truck. “Europe,” he added, pointing left to old colonial-style buildings. Then he said, “Tonto”, again, pointing to my right hand as we both laughed. He was beginning to remind me of my soccer buddies back home, who, had anyone on our team had low self-esteem, would probably cry themselves in a ball to sleep from the constant teasing. Juan was awesome - always happy, welcoming and had a great sense of humour.
In between downtrodden areas, where garbage and dog poop were the main roadside attractions, we pulled over to a flirtatious place, laced with old-world decor, music and the seductive rhythm of the tango. We had arrived in La Boca - an area of glowing decay and faded splendour, where raw energy was fused with warm-hearted people greeting foreigners in front of boxed buildings rainbow in colours. This neighbourhood wash ome to their soccer team, Maradona religious-like photos spray-painted on walls, cracked pavement to cobble stone roads.
My favourite part of La Boca was a colourful tourist centre called La Caminito (above), which was named after a popular tango song that was not sung by 2pac. Italian immigrants were the first settlers of La Boca and their working class neighbourhood was near the city’s first port. It had the feel of a place once bombed and restored with colour, while the older buildings remained nearby, almost dilapidated, some with walls missing showing open-side staircases towards the closed doors of bedrooms. It was bold faced with shabby apartments, stringed amongst washboard-shaped walls of coloured paint and clothes hanging to dry on roof tops. I loved walking around the areas dusty blend of backstreet markets, jigsawing our way through vendors and locals offering us menus, souvenirs and photos with tango dancers.
Yes, I suppose, it was in many ways the definition of a tourist trap. However, there were some tourist traps I loved on this trip - Bangkok´s Khao San Road, for example - as it had its own feel, a strong European flavour different and uniquely Argentinian, bright buildings with dim lit tables, accordion music swaying in light dresses of beautiful women, held close by handsome men in top hats. While there were untold numbers of tacky t-shirts, useless souvenirs and some aggressive sales people, it was one of my highlights of the city - a chance to hear the rhythm of the country with a visit to its history.
That´s all for now.
Thank you for visiting Page59.com.
