Buenos Aires, why don't you want me?

6 May

After 4 weeks in Buenos Aires my initial writing habit has begun to whither. There are a number of reasons for this:

  • the appearance of Paynod & Rach

Okay, there’s just one reason for this, but it’s a good reason. Time has been occupied by parillas, football and and a wide variety of housemates. Most notable impact has to go to this fella:



Choripan is surely the fast food of kings. Chorizo sausage cooked on a barbecue (or parilla) in french bread, best served with lashings of chimichurri (condiment of god’s). All for 4 pesos, or less than 1 English pound.


The scene at Don Niceto’s, king of the parilla

Argentinian football may just be the best style of football you’ll see. The technique of the Brazilians but with less diving and refs that aren’t married to their red card. A complete lack of closing down of opponents and a complete craving to pass the ball into the back of the net ensure each game is a good spectacle. We (me and Paynod) managed trips to both El Monumental (River Plate) and la Bombonera (Boca Juniors). Both pretty good games; River won 1:0 and Boca 3:0. The River game stands out as the better of the two games.  I think because we were closer to the hardcore fans, who sang their hearts out for the entire 90 minutes (I don’t think they have any idea what the score was) and also due to a classic sending off incident. The Gimnasia keeper, after getting abused by the River ballboy, hurled the ball at full pelt towards him, cracking him on the shoulder, and rightfully got his marching orders.

I also want to send out a mention to my three housemates during these weeks. Alaric; got me used to the world of male kissing (although I still think I prefer a good ol’ handshake), Nacho; an absolute legend, a jocular talisman with Pythonesque humour and no urge to rush (too bloody right!), and Ivan; boy genius, told me I had to play with his guitar as I had temporarily replaced a nylon string with a metal string on mine and the sound was too much for him to take. I also became a temporary alcoholic while at his house, drinking Moscato, Martini, cider and Speed, red wine, Limoncello and a countless selection of others at any juncture during the day.

Nacho, Esteban, Paynod and a ball

Nacho is the one in the blue shirt, straddling Esteban. I have no idea who the other two are

Buenos Aires also gave birth to 2 new songs:

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