La movida porteña (porteño/a = an adjective applying to anything related to the city of Buenos Aires)

Friday night (or Saturday morning...) 4 am. Sitting in a bar in San Isidro, a town just north of the capital, just off a main avenue, relaxing on mismatched, antique (or perhaps more accurately described as old and unwanted) furniture, surrounded by modern, eclectic pieces of art, and listening to an impromptu samba concert.

It all started at a restaurant in Belgrano, a neighborhood within the capital, where I met up with a friend, we'll call her "N," and spent about 3 hours just talking and catching up with her. After midnight, when the restaurant was starting to close, we decided to go meet up with some of N's friends at a bar in San Isidro that they had just found (it was so tucked away that even the guys who had lived their entire lives in the area didn't know it existed until that night).

Even waiting for the bus to go to the bar was an adventure. I was at the point of just going home because we were waiting so long.  It seemed like every bus except for the one we needed went by. Finally, we decided we'd go only if the next bus that came was ours. Thankfully, it was.

We got off the bus after about thirty minutes and walked up to a bar/restaurant which appeared as though it was already closed except the door was wide open. N led me in despite the darkness, and the place was packed. Only upon entering did we learn that the power had just gone out, as we saw the staff was scrambling to find candles to give a little light to the otherwise pitch black tavern. N and I found our way to a table using our cell phones as flashlights, but shortly after we sat down, N's friend called to tell us that they were actually at a different bar, one that was only a few blocks away. We quickly thanked the waitress as we left the dark tavern and started heading toward the other bar along the town's main avenue.

Our only light at the first tavern

When we first arrived at the bar, one of the guys led us around the back of the bar to an outdoor patio area where the rest of the group was sitting, around a fire pit, which at that point was letting off more smoke than flame... I wish I had been able to take a picture of the outdoor space. Spread throughout the space were all kinds of interesting modern sculptures and light fixtures that lit up tables filled with friends enjoying each other's company. At one point, probably around 3:30 am, one of the guys went inside to go to the bathroom – and never came back. N and another friend went in to check on him, leaving me with only two others at the table. After about fifteen minutes, N came back out and told me I had to go inside with her. What she showed me was something unlike anything I'd ever witnessed before, something very unique to a city like Buenos Aires.


On the cello was an overweight, African-Brazilian woman singing samba beautifully with a deep, raspy voice.
The rest of those accompanying her were an odd blend of strangers united only by the music they created together. A young man from our group playing the bongo drums, an older porteño playing the piano beautifully, and another middle-aged brazilian woman singing harmony and playing various types of percussion.

Just one room of the musical/artistic bar

Sitting there listening to the mishmash of musicians trying different combinations of rhythms and melodies, some with success and others with failure, made me think of what it might have been like when the famous Argentine tango was birthed in Buenos Aires about a century ago... a mélange of immigrants from Europe and Africa who would gather randomly at bars late at night in the city to play music and sing together, experimenting and collaborating and inspiring those listening to dance what is now (in my humble opinion) one of the most seductive and intimate dances that exists, el tango.

Finally, around 5 am, the band started to disassemble, and the remaining patrons began to leave (myself and N included). N called a remis, basically a taxi except cheaper and safer, and we rode home to her house to stay there for the rest of the night (a.k.a. morning...). The next day, Saturday, I spent all afternoon lounging by the pool at a friend's house in San Isidro. I have to include a picture of her dog because he is so cute (and huge).

Rocco, the star of the afternoon

Sunday was another epic day. (what kind of post would this be if I didn't mention fútbol??) It was my first experience at a professional men's soccer match in Argentina. Now, I've been to a couple of pro games in other countries. I've been lucky enough to have gone to US international men's and women's games, an MLS game, and even a French Ligue 1 match in Paris, but none of those experiences come close to the thrill of standing and cheering among the hinchada (the faithful) of River Plate in the Monumental.

Even though I go to River Plate every day for training, finding our way to the entrance was tricky on game day. In order to avoid violent clashes between the visiting and local barras bravas (if you don't know what that means, you should definitely read the hyperlinked article), the metropolitan police block off entire streets and specifically designate which fans can access the stadium by which routes – and this game wasn't even against one of River's main rivals. The barra has one entrance in the back of the stadium which is isolated from the average fans (so Mom and Dad, don't worry, I wasn't sitting among the crazy ultras who always end up in the news for fighting with other fans). Luckily, since my friends and I are women and none of us wore a River jersey until we were at the stadium, the police let us walk cut through the visitors' path in order to avoid having to take a loooooong detour to get to the club. For further security and safety precautions, on the street in front of the stadium, the police have a blockade set up where fans have to show their ticket and undergo a pat down in order to get to the entrance. My friends and I made it through without any issues, but as we waited to go in, we saw several fans get pulled aside by police to have various drugs confiscated (although I think afterward they were allowed to enter the stadium anyway, but I'm not sure...). We faced a similar sort of security checkpoint as we went through the stadium gates (pat down and purse check), and then we made our way to our seats (which we never actually used...).

A beautiful night at the Monumental. Soccer, sunset, and planes landing at the airport nearby.

Before the game even began, as the starting players were waiting on the field for the whistle to blow, the fans began to sing, led by the drums and chants of the barra in the upper deck at the far end of the stadium below the scoreboard. I can't even begin to describe how awesome it is to be among more than 60,000 people all dressed in River's red and white, singing, clapping, and yelling for almost the entire 90 minutes of the match. The only time the crowd was quiet was for a couple of brief seconds when the away team, Colón of Santa Fe, cut River's two-goal lead in half with about fifteen minutes to go. But after that brief silence, the crowd began to sing even louder, urging on its beloved team for the rest of the match. At the end, after the referee had blown the final whistle, the crowd began to sing even louder than before, especially as the players made their way around the field applauding the fans for their support. The home fans then had to wait about a half hour until all of the visiting supporters had left the stadium and had been loaded onto the buses for the long drive back to Santa Fe. In order to avoid the mass exodus of fans via public transport immediately after the game, we went to the cafeteria to sit with the girls on the team who had to eat dinner at the club. It worked out perfectly because by the time they finished, the majority of fans had already cleared out and we had no problem getting on the subway to go home.

Needless to say, it was an amazing evening, and I'm definitely going to all the home games that I can make it to. Also, any of my friends who come to visit me will also be highly encouraged to come with me to a match. It is an unforgettable experience that is unique to soccer in Argentina and so unbelievably different from sporting events in the United States (in both positive and negative ways).