Buenos Aires is in the midst of regional elections, and grafiti is everywhere. One slogan that seems to be just about everywhere is something that reads "Que la crisis la paguen las capitalistas", which basically translates to "so that the crisis is paid for by the capitalists." Nice. This isn't my opinion blog, so I won't go too nuts here explaining why I have no sympathy for this cause, but let's just say that this is a type of red that might not even find an audience in France or Sweden. We saw a lot of this in La Boca.
La Boca ("the Mouth") is a neighborhood that gets its name from the mouth of the Parana River, the giant body of water which will take us hours to cross later by Ferry. The neighborhood also receives its name from the area's function as a mouth of the city, taking in the many immigrants who came to Buenos Aires around the turn of the last century. We went here looking for rows of brightly painted houses and perhaps an idea of the historical, dockland culture which helped produce cultural staples such as the Tango and the obsession with soccer.
Boca Juniors, one of the city's major football clubs, is an excellent example of this neighborhood's attitude. Started by Italian immigrants and taking its name from a tradition started by British railway workers, the clubs is seen widely as the working class team of the city. Although the team has won as many international titles as AC Milan, it operates out of a play-dough colored, fairly ramshackle stadium that looks like it could be the setting of some post-Colonial tale featuring fiery Catholic monks, Mexican banditos, or Nacho Libre. I can't help to compare it against Real Madrid's Bernabeu stadium, with its floodlights and Death Star-like dominance over one of that city's main streets. Boca's stadium, on the other hand, emerges like a humble blue and yellow neighbor out of the cobbled streets, crumbling houses, and abandoned train tracks of the barrio. In order to emphasize the solidarity with the workers of the city, huge murals of comrades charging with righteous, proletariat rage in the team colors dominate the sides of buildings.
With any working class neighborhood, the rich feel a little bit uneasy. Since we are without a doubt considered rich here, we felt antsy. I insisted that we take the bus there, and the bus driver (knowing that we wanted to go to this neighborhood) dropped us off way too early, assuring us that we just had to walk three blocks to get to the stadium. While this seemed technically possible, it turned out to be practically infeasible. Alex and Josh were by no means pleased with me when I suggested we follow the drivers directions by going through a street filled with garbage roadblocks, roving dogs, kids listing aimlessly on bikes, shadowy characters hovering around porches, and busted up cars. Even I thought this was way to sketchy, and we instead decided to brave streets patrolled by old women washing their sidewalks and children going to school. Even these streets, however, had heavily barred shops, and at one point Josh and I both noted that a guy in front of us made a gesture to somebody directly behind us. I made a point of turning around and giving that guy a good stare, just to make sure he didn't mess with the Masta and friends. Eventually, however, the friendly stadium emerged, cops began appearing, and a clearly delineated tourist zone beckoned cheasily.
We took a taxi back to the upscale neighborhood and ordered huge steaks. It's taken a little while for Josh and Alex to trust me with the helm again.
La Boca in pictures
This is where the bus driver dropped us off.
Typical.
Although the stadium is a beacon of safety, Josh was still not pleased with me. Alex was still refusing to stand for a picture.
Boca Juniors stadium.
That crane in the background was used to load immigrants into Argentina.
One of the neighborhood toughs...
...and some of the nicer residents.
As you can see, we survived.
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