The bus from Santiago arrived in Buenos Aires late morning the next day (16th December 2022). The journey had taken a good 24 hours. I had met a few people on the bus (night buses can actually be a great way of meeting people), including a French girl who helped me with a ticket issue at the bus terminal in Santiago. She was studying in Chile and meeting friends in BA for a few weeks over the holidays. We got off the bus together and bought Sim cards from a kiosk, and for a couple of dollars the chap who served us sent our ID to the phone company so that our accounts were fully activated, and we could use the internet – it’s amazing how different the set up for SIM cards in each country is. We then picked up a SUBA card from the main train station. A SUBA card is really important, and travellers to the country should pick one up on arrival. It’s basically a transport card that you can use throughout the country and makes getting around *dirt cheap; you can top the card up in most convenience stores but strangely enough there are very few places that actually seem to sell the card itself. We were both staying in the San Telma neighbourhood, so we shared a taxi together; she was dropped off at her hostel, and I never saw her again, that’s how travelling is, you meet people in a *fleeting moment and *poof, just like that they are gone.
I was staying in a beautiful old apartment, booked through Airbnb. It was situated in an old French inspired building and was very much *in keeping with the area. To reach it you had to pass through another building on the street and then an inner courtyard and garden. The apartment boasted a spacious living room and kitchen area with *lofty ceilings, a separate bedroom, and a balcony that offered views of the inner garden. The best aspect of the place was its *tranquility, a valuable feature in a bustling city like Buenos Aires, especially with all the celebrations that were to come. In fact, it’s where I experienced some of the best sleep during my entire stay in South America; already things were *looking up.
That afternoon I had a bit of a *kip before Lucila an Argentinian friend of mine, who lives in my hometown in the UK but was back in BA visiting her mum for Christmas, turned up to take me out for dinner. We went to La Brigada, a high
ly rated steak house, not far from my apartment and in the heart of San Telmo close to the market. La Brigada is a football themed restaurant with walls floor to ceiling *adorned with football shirts, scarfs, flags, trophies, photos and other football *memorabilia from Argentinian clubs from years gone by; prefect for *whetting the appetite and *getting me into the full swing of the world cup *fever that had gripped the city, leaving its occupants *on tenterhooks, keenly awaiting the up and coming final. You could cut the tension with the knife, and the steak? Well, that was so tender you could cut it with a spoon. This is life, I thought!
Joe an American guy who I knew very briefly from my time in Asia years ago, met us there after dinner for a digestive. San Telmo is a *bohemian hang out with bars lining the streets, and just like in other parts of the city they stay open late. We drank in some trendy ones, some with live rock bands and even some dive bars. Lucila introduced me to a Fernet cocktail and although I’d seen it drunk by the old Italian gangsters in the movies, I’d never tried it until now. Fernet may originate in Italy, but Argentines and Uruguayans are crazy about the stuff and have adopted it as their national spirit, and often just drink it with coke. I wasn’t sure what to make of it at first, it’s certainly bitter with medicinal properties but it grows on you.
We put Lucila in a taxi probably somewhere around 3am and Joe and I stayed out till the sun came up and then some. It’s no surprise then that after 24 hours on a bus from Santiago and a night on the piss in San Telmo, I had a *lie-in and didn’t wake until early afternoon. Not one to sit around, I jumped in the shower and then headed out to explore the local area.
What can I say about San Telmo? San Telmo is a historic neighbourhood and the Buenos Aires that most of us *conjure up in our minds when we think of the city; narrow cobble stone streets with crumbly old colonial buildings *seamlessly *blended with *hipster boutiques, family-run bakeries, cafes, restaurants and tango dancing in leafy plazas – I fell for the place instantly.
The area has no doubt seen better days and looks a little *dilapidated in places, but for me this just added to the *charm. It is relatively traffic free, which is perhaps why the place felt surprisingly laid back. My first stop was Mercado San Telmo for breakfast, well, lunch…late lunch. The market is basically a huge food hall with heavy meat and cheese dishes *dominating *offerings. The place is trendy and very touristy, but don’t let that put you off, it has *retained its character and is well worth a visit.
After lunch I strolled around those beautiful narrow cobbled streets and past a *mural of Maradona, who is quite possibly the greatest football player that has ever lived, and certainly one with a life story like no other. I didn’t quite realise just how revered he was, despite or perhaps because of his *flaws. He is a man held in God like status in the collective *psyche of his people – if you haven’t seen the Asif Kapadia documentary Diego Maradona, then I urge you to.
If someone were to write his story today for a fictional Hollywood movie, you might deem it unrealistic; the *adage that ‘*truth is stranger than fiction’ has never *rung truer. He undeniably led an extraordinary, *albeit troubled life, at times more *peculiar than fiction. Perhaps, all of this contributed to his *enduring *legacy. For better or worse, characters like him are a rarity today. One reason is the impossibility of getting away with such *off-field antics in the present era, as *societal norms have evolved, making *improprieties less easily tolerated by the public. Another factor is that modern sports stars and celebrities are treated as financial assets and as such are *wrapped in cotton wool, undergo media training and have their images *fiercely protected. Consequently, when we hear players in post-match interviews today, we are often served *dollops of *trite*clichés. Maradona, however, was left to navigate the challenges with minimal support, surrounded by temptation, making it hardly surprising that he *went off the rails. A *bittersweet story!
His memory lives on in murals across the city, in photos held high in restaurants and in conversations around dining room tables. It was not since 1986 and Mardona’s hand of God goal against England, which he later claimed was revenge for the Malvinas (Falklands) war, that Argentina had lifted the much-*coveted *holy grail of football trophies. They had come close since, ending in heartbreak – football the cruelest of sports. On the eve of the final Argentines barely dared to believe. Would Messi be their new *savior? Just one more night’s sleep!
I took it easy for the rest of the afternoon *popping into a few shops before settling into a seat and relaxing in the late afternoon shade in the Plaza Dorrego watching the tango, drinking a cold beer in a perfect 25c, cooled with a light breeze. The neighborhood is full of tango parlours and shows but there is something about seeing the tango performed in the open air, as street art.
After *nursing a couple of beers, I headed back to the apartment and had an early night readying myself for the world cup final the next day – I wasn’t sure what to expect but I was excited.
