Futbol. What else?

The mood at Plaza San Martin before and after a most unfortunate Argentine loss. I assume you can distinguish between the two.

Urban flower power

Naming this city 'good airs' was just clamouring for a hippie invasion. From good airs to good energy, passing by good vibes... A few snaps of this funky, laid-back Buenos Aires:



On their way back from Woodstock.



I will never complain about dog-walking again.



"I love my bicycle."

Lost in translation

Me, trying to hurriedly thank someone on the phone: "Me agradezco muchissimo."

Te agradezco muchissimo: Thank you very much
But me agradezco muchissimo?: I thank myself very much.

The writing is one the wall

"Prisoner of my hope/illusion."



"Don't think. Repeat what I say."



"Hunger is a crime."

Vocabulario

Some inpenetrable, totally Argentine slang:

FULL-- Full.
LUNCH-- Lunch.
FREAK-- Freak.
TICKET-- Ticket.

But the bizzare pronouncation (think 'frrrrik') renders understanding a little more tricky that one would assume.

San Telmo

When I first arrived to Argentina, a rainy Saturday night after more than 24 hours of travel, I was pretty dismayed by my hostel. It's not that I'm that picky-- I simply like moderate cleanliness and, if possible, a little heat. But the neighborhood of San Telmo, where the dodgy hostel is located, is lovely. And so although I bid a gleeful farewell to my first hostel quite quickly, I didn't quite leave San Telmo. I now have a very cool apartment in the "bad" part of the neighborhood, but no matter. San Telmo is noisily, witsfully, ridiculously charming. In addition to the crumbling balconies overlooking the busy streets, there is a wealth of artisan markets, including the famed Sunday feria. On that day, the Plaza Dorrego comes to life, as chic, tango-dancing pairs waltz around and antique-sellers set up their quaint stalls. You can find anything you want, with a little patience. Evita Peron memorabilia? Check. Old typewriters? Check. Mounds of irresistible jewellery? Check, unfortunately for my wallet.



An Argentine flag, an attractive building from another era and a church-- welcome to Buenos Aires.



Take your pick and bargain hard.



Tango dancer, who picks his partner from the crowd of admirers-- beware!



The feria's regular band, but with an uncommon passion in their music playing.



Pretty yellow church whose name escapes me.

Overheard in Buenos Aires

Waiter, a few minutes after I ordered: "I'm sorry but we can't make you the vegetarian calzone... we actually don't have any vegetables."

Futbol. What else?

And the fever mounts. In Argentina this month, football trumps life just as powerfully as the national team trumped Mexico today. Clearly, the entire country is riveted when it comes time for Lionel Messi and his buddy to play. But what is equally amusing is what happens after the day's sacred game is over. Honking continues for hours. The goals are incessantly replayed. Mothers of the adored players are interviewed on every channel. And when I say interviewed, I actually mean: they are lauded for their divine offspring. Last week, I (distractedly) listened to a radio program, wholly devoted to Diego Maradona, that lasted a good two hours. Various listeners called in to vociferously voice their opinions of the man. The commentator, who has clearly been thinking about 'El Diego' for a long, long time, had some sharp insight. Maradona acts as a mirror for the country, he said. Both triumph together; both come tumbling down together. And right now, the Argentine coach is worshipped once more-- but who knows for how long? Though the country's excitement regarding the World Cup is tangible in every Porteno street corner, there remains a historically-rooted nervousness. Only Saturday will tell where Maradona and the country head.



A fervent mannequin-fan in front of a shop.