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Published: March 5th 2007
La Boca OG is up early and chilling in front of the TV with Buenos Aires guidebook in hand. He’s been reading about La Boca and suggests we check it out today. I went to La Boca in 2000 with my friend Andrea (Dre). I met her through Athena, who was working in BA as a journalist. Dre and I took a bus to La Boca, an area known for its multicolored houses and its place in BA history as an Italian working class neighborhood. It is a very touristy area, but when I was there with Dre, the streets were empty. We took a few quick pictures (no digital camera back then) and made sure to leave La Boca before sundown, as we had been warned that it is a dangerous neighborhood outside of the touristy areas and when dark. This time, I am going with two men in broad daylight. There is an old parrilla there that both Athena and the guide have recommended, El Obrero. The Lonely Planet calls it a dusty locale where many a famous person has frequented. But I like Athena’s description, where she writes that she does not know exactly what street it’s on,
Internet cafe
Borrowing wireless from the neighbors. The strongest signal is in the corner by the doorway.except that it’s a dark one with a lot of three-legged dogs.
We take a cab directly to the corner near El Obrero, get out, and are dismayed to find it closed. Damn. We are clearly outside the touristy part of La Boca, a street called El Caminito where there are cafés and lots of photo ops. But I hardly find the neighborhood dangerous - not when there are women pushing strollers and little kids running around. We definitely stick out like sore thumbs among the local people who are busy working. I check the map and we head toward La Bombonera, the home stadium of La Boca Juniors, one of the most popular soccer teams in BA and the archrival of River Plate. The sidewalks are crumbling and there is a definite sense that this neighborhood has been forgotten by the rest of BA. Some buildings are empty, like the Banco da Italia and Rio de la Plata. It looks as though people have set up homes inside the bank’s old lobby; you can see clothes hanging on a line through the crack in the door. As we head to the stadium, a man asks where we are
Yes!
OG gets into it too from. OG replies Mexico, and he gets a thumbs up from the man. I wonder what the response would have been should we have said USA.
Across from La Bombonera, we enter a shop with jerseys and other sports paraphernalia. Leroy has been looking for a knockoff of the Argentina national team’s jersey for a while, and other than trying yerba mate, it’s the only thing left on his list of to-dos. We find exactly what we’re looking for, and leave the store in the direction of El Caminito, just five or so blocks away. Entering tourist land is obvious - the buildings become more colorful and there are many shops and restaurants open. We get accosted by restaurant waiters and owners giving us flyers and trying to convince us to sit and eat. There are two couples dancing tango in the street, moving aside whenever a bus needs to pass. There is music at every restaurant, and vendors line the street as well. We are famished, but I hate having so many people come at me at once, so I just keep walking down the street. When we near the end, OG suggests we go to the last
Last one
I promise restaurant on the street and watch their tango dancers. The food is decent, the music a bit annoying (he had his speakers on so loud, and they were not good speakers), and the dancers fun to watch. Finally, Leroy sees an Argentine woman dancing tango. He takes lots of pictures and video. The funny thing is that the street is fairly narrow, just enough for a bus to get through, and there are lots of buses doing just that. We are seated on the edge of the street, and each time a bus comes, I’m afraid Leroy will get sideswiped. So we move our chairs a bit to ensure his safety, and while we wait the eternity that it took for lunch to come, we watch the tango dancers. One bus unloads a gaggle of Brazilian tourists. They walk around trying to decide where to eat, flyers and all shoved in their faces as was done with us. One Brasileiro asks to dance with the tango dancer. Even though he wears shorts and white socks, he puts on quite a show! He is better than her real partner, and all the tourists seated at their tables whoop and holler—after dancing,
Tango Face
Almost baby...but you have a teeny weeny smile he takes up a collection from his group and gives it to the couple. Now that’s tango! What passion!
He ends up sitting next to us for lunch and his group orders the parrillada. Leroy can’t help but stare; he is dying to see what they do with the riñones, chinchulines, and morcilla. I’m busy staring at two older ladies eating a parrillada on their own. I can’t believe how much they’re putting down! OG gets the view of a couple putting a ton of salt on their meat. “She’s still going!” The woman puts salt on her whole steak, shake shake shake. And shake shake shake. Then, with each bite, she puts more salt. We call her 200 over 90, which is our guess at her blood pressure. Finally, the Brazilians try the morcilla. The chubby one among them is the brave one, ready to try anything. He nods after a bite of the morcilla, and the rest of them take pieces and spread the gooey mess on bread. They like it, they really like it! Moments later, it’s chinchulines time. The big one takes a bite, chews, and shakes his head as he puts the piece of
gut off to the side of his plate. Leroy breaks into hysterical laughter; the Brazilians look at us, and the chubby one says in Portuguese, “He was watching me the whole time! Watched me pick it up, eat it and put it away!” We laugh with them, and they offer us some chinchulines, and we scream, “No! We had some just the other night!” Good times.
Oenophiles After lunch, OG and Leroy take pics in Tango poses with the dancer. We get back in the cab and remember that we have one other mission - to come home with some Argentine wine. Leroy and I had wanted to bring them as gifts for faculty who wrote us letters of recommendation and for some people we have done research with. We have called the post office, DHL, and other businesses, and it turns out that we can’t mail the bottles without paying a lot for shipping and taxes. Doing so would take these lovely $4 bottles and make them $25 or more each, and we just can’t afford it. We’ve decided to just purchase a few bottles as souvenirs.
First, we go to Liege in Retiro, near the El
Fenix wine shop we visited the other day. They don’t have the rosé that OG wants, but they do have the Escorihuela Gascon that we liked from Bar 6. We decide the purchase is premature and walk over to the Winery. We pass a tasting room on the way, but they won’t have a tasting until tomorrow. At the Winery, there are so many bottles it is almost overwhelming. OG quickly gets the aid of a friendly salesman and chooses five bottles. We decide on three, one is the Escorihuela, and the other two are recommendations from OG and the salesman. Wine, check!
Sushi at Las Cañitas We get home in time to chill a bit and start getting ready for dinner at 9pm. OG passes out for two hours on the couch. I don’t know why we’re always exhausted since all we do is eat, drink, party, and sleep. It must be the partying… or the last year and a half of sleep deprivation. It’s a vacation well deserved. At 9pm, we hop in a cab for a very short ride to Las Cañitas, a cute neighborhood with lots of trendy bars and restaurants near Palermo. As he
Salty
Meli watches as a woman pours a load of salt on her meat. We take bets on her blood pressure. I'm guessing, by her physique + the salt intake, 220/150. did in Palermo the day before, OG points out about 6 places he wants to go before leaving; I think he is fantasizing that he has two more weeks here. We are meeting his friend Victoria for dinner at Baez, a place that serves meat, pasta, and sushi (weird combo). Leroy and I decide to order apart from the group, which will soon include two of Victoria’s girlfriends, because we are determined to avoid cream cheese, which seems to insinuate itself into all Latin American sushi. Dinner is fabulous, with the exception of the lack of miso soup and weak wasabi. Her friends are nice, and they all speak English so that Leroy is not excluded from the conversation. It is midnight, and her friends are tired and decide to go home. Victoria suggests we go dancing at Museum.
Dancing the Night Away at Museum Museo is in San Telmo, and on the drive across the city, Victoria shows us some city sights, including a sector on Alvear that she compares to Fifth Avenue (I thought it looked more like Beverly Hills). Outside Museum, we meet Manuel, and we all get comped thanks to Victoria’s friend. The place is
Golf Clap
The singer at the restaurant had his speakers blasting. And he didn't sound that good. Thus, golf applause. big with high ceilings. They are playing a strange mix of rock, but I pay little attention at first as it is bar time. I was tired before leaving the house, and the wine at dinner has made me even sleepier. OG gets me a screwdriver, and I just can’t bring myself to drink it. I dump the drink back on OG and spend the night trying to rally some energy. Leroy, on the other hand, is doing his own thing. After a few minutes of hip hop, they switch to house and then to techno. Normally, he prefers house, but he is just in a dancing mood. He basically is the most high energy person in the place. I dance with him a little bit, but he clocks me in the head by accident with all his hand and arm dancing. I decide to hang out with OG and Manuel (Victoria had left by then as she had to work the next day) where it’s a little safer.
By 1:30am, the place is mostly empty, except for Leroy and a couple of skinny girls dancing with men circling them. I can’t tell if they’re with those guys or
Olive oil and beer
Gotta love the handwritten label. It was heavy on the olive taste. if the dudes are just trying to talk to them. They make several attempts to get near Leroy and dance with him, but he is in the zone and dancing by himself from here to there—he recalls his days in the discotheques in Europe. After each attempt, they whisper and giggle to each other. I, of course, am the sober person watching all this happen, while Manuel and OG are talking. At one point, the girl in white goes up to Leroy and they both look at me. She asked him if I was his “novia” and he said yes. Then she comes up to me, and in broken English tells me that Leroy is a great dancer and asks if she can dance with him. I ask her if she asked him if it was okay, and she replied that first she’d ask me then him. Well, I had to give her credit for being respectful; most women in clubs couldn’t care less if they roll up on someone else’s man. I said fine, and she goes to talk to Leroy but he almost hits her with his elbows (or as he calls it, throwing ‘bows). I grab his
Mad Skillz
Your boi has mad skillz shoulder and tell him she wants to dance with him. He asks if it’s okay with me, and I said yes as long as she doesn’t touch him. I’ve been watching these girls for a while, and they can’t really dance so they do that annoying ***** girl thing where they writhe sexily and throw their hands up (elbows above the shoulders, a big no no!). As long as I don’t have to watch some girl freak or grind Leroy, I’m cool. Leroy dances with her, and I think, tried to teach her to find the beat. When the club lights go on, she comes up to me and says, “Congratulations, he dances very well, you are very lucky.” I find this hilarious of course - I *am* very lucky, but not because of Leroy’s dancing. That’s just gravy.
The Boloso Joke All four of us get into a cab, and the minute I slide into the seat, I know that I won’t be able to understand the cabbie. He speaks rapid Argentine Spanish with a hoarse 100-pack-years of smoking quality to it. Manuel, in the front seat, later admits that even he had a hard time understanding the
Tango Face
OG, where's your tango face? cabbie. This shouldn’t really matter, except if he’s a talkative joke teller. He first tells Manuel the joke of the boloso (I don’t know what that is), which Manuel finds so funny he bumps his head into the taxi meter. The joke had a long buildup, and we are now at Manuel’s stop so he promises to translate the joke for us tomorrow (we never get the story though!). Now it’s just us three, and we definitely have no idea what the cabbie is saying. He tells more jokes, but gets no more than a chuckle from OG and me. Mostly, we laugh because we can tell when the punchline has been told due to the change in rhythm of the story. But I have no idea what the jokes are. Best of all, he tells us these jokes while driving like a crazy man, half the time looking ahead of him and the other half looking behind at us. We just pray that we’ll make it home alive!
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leroy's dancing..
i don't know why but that story made me laugh heartily...first he hits you then he hits that girl.