It’s too bad that Andrew and Danielle couldn’t have stayed one more night in Buenos Aires, for Brandon, Ricardo, and I went to a Boca Juniors “futbol” game after waving them off. In Argentina, soccer is a national obsession. It is the sport, and the Boca Juniors is one of the two teams (along with River Plate). At La Bombonera stadium, blue and yellow fanatics crowded the stands and remained chanting on their feet until the final whistle. It was a regular weekend game, but there were more passionate fans than a championship baseball game draws in the states. They don’t just come to watch, they come to contribute to a win, which is why they call themselves “Jugador Numero 12” – the twelfth player.

After the game ended, we had to wait thirty minutes so that fans of Quilmes, the opposing team, could exit and get a safe distance away from Boca Junior enthusiasts. A head start for the minority. La Boca becomes dodgy at night, especially after a game, so we were thankful to be wearing the winning colors.

The following night I was the one being waved off. For the past week I’d been talking with Pichu, a very close family friend, and he arranged for me to stay with his family in Cordoba. He said his mom had already asked what I’d like for breakfast! It seemed like the perfect way to experience authentic Argentina, and a good time to travel solo for a bit. Brandon and Ricardo – thanks again for putting up with Andrew, Danielle, and me. Pura vida!

By now, I can handle long bus rides. During the 9-hour trip from Buenos Aires to Rio Tercero (outside of Cordoba), I was in such a deep sleep that I nearly missed the stop. A passenger I had befriended luckily woke me up and helped me off the bus, as others joked that I would’ve snored all the way back to Buenos Aires. The bus drivers in Cordoba had gone on strike the day before, so Pichu’s parents – Marta and Cholo – weren’t sure if I would make it. Nevertheless, they were waiting at the station at 6 o’clock yesterday morning. I instantly realized where Pichu got his charm and kindheartedness.

We went back to their home and, though their 16 roosters were in the middle of cockledoodledoo-ing, they insisted I get some more rest. My bed was already made up. A few hours later, I was woken up by the cries of their 3-month old puppy and a knock on the door from Diego, one of Pichu’s friends that I had met when I was too young to remember.

The best part about staying with a family is living the way they do. In a hotel or hostel, I sleep when I normally do, eat what and when I normally do, and simply miss out on countless tiny customs that offer the best insight into a culture. (Especially when the hosts don’t speak a word of English.) For example, lunch was enormous. Red wine filled our glasses, roasted chicken and mashed potatoes filled our plates. A light noodle soup followed to wash down the meal, and then fresh fruit ended it all on a sweet note. A siesta was of course in order after such a feast, and after that – mate.

Mate (mah-tay) is like kava in Fiji, in the sense that it’s a beloved drink with a social ritual, and it’s hard to truly experience without native friends. You can’t dash into a Starbucks equivalent and pick up a grande mate to go. It’s meant to be shared (Marta and I passed one cup back and forth), and it’s supposed to slow down the pace of life for a while.

I’d seen it all over Argentina during the past week, but it never seemed appropriate to ask a stranger for a taste. It’s essentially tea, but it’s just one of those things that – regardless how basic the preparation may be – has a mysterious appeal to me. Maybe it has something to do with the special cup and stirrer/straw. If I were to make it at home, it just wouldn’t be the same. Did I add enough of this “yerba” with that “yerba”? More sugar? Hotter water? Marta introduced me to the drink and will remain the mate master, in my mind.

Dinner wasn’t until 11…and then Sebastian, their nephew, asked if I wanted to go party with him. When I told him I was fairly exhausted, he said something like: “Me too, don’t worry. We’ll only stay out until 4 or 5.” See what I mean by cultural insights?

This entry was posted on Wednesday, March 15th, 2006 at 2:56 pm in XVIII. Argentina. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.