I love Sundays in Buenos Aires.
On Sundays, the only people at Plaza del Mayo are tourists. Ferías populate most prominent plazas and draw in all of the city’s English speakers. Some porteños go to church; others sleep off a long Saturday night of partying. Streets, generally, are quiet.
…except in the same moment when, no matter where you are, shouting or sighing escapes every bar and café in town. Argentine soccer devotees (aka everyone) don’t scream at the TV during the game. They watch silently, intently concentrating. But in the best moments for River or for Boca, everywhere you can hear GOOOOOO-AAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLL!!!!
Yesterday Natalie and I went to the fería in San Telmo where we miraculously didn’t die from an excellent street-vendor choripán sandwich, enjoyed street tango orchestras, and scoped a crazy assortment of antiques and artisanal goods. After sitting in the quiet grass of a pretty empty Plaza del Mayo, we split a peach licuado at the corner of Santa Fé and Pueyrredón while watching the River – Velez game and leaving the café in the same second everyone else did. I later walked to the bus stop to the sounds of the Boca game spilling out of the cafes. Finding the bus stop proved difficult and I consequently made a new friend, a very amiable, non-English speaking porteño whose somewhat lonely American girlfriend gave him cause to ask me to join them for an outing soon. I happily promised to do so.
It’s been a month as of today and yesterday was perhaps my favorite day since arriving. Probably because my classes still aren’t official and I barely know any real Argentines, I still feel like a tourist. I have a feeling, though, that more Sundays like yesterday will help me feel like I actually live here. That would be great.
