domingo, 21 de octubre de 2007

Oktubre

Lads and ladies,

October can so far be summarized in the following events: I attended the Boca Juniors vs. River Plate soccer clásico (derby), I visited Bariloche and turned 21, in that order.

First, the so-called “Super Clásico,” (a nickname I resent considering the only “super” of clásicos is played in Spain between FC Barcelona and Real Madrid). We got to River’s stadium at around 7 in the morning to wait in line for tickets Thursday before the game, date set by the club when tickets to non-members would be sold. Much to my demise, the Argentine I was told would accompany my two friends and I was replaced by a posse of 7 Americans in The North Face jackets. It was the first time I’ve been heckled in Spanish for being German.

So much for blending in. We could have been wearing fuccia astronaut suits and not stick out as much. Nonetheless, 3 hours and 2 ignored police officers later we got our tickets for Sunday.

The game itself was everything we had hoped for, right down to a sore Boca fan-base ripping out their seats and throwing them down to the River fans below them. La 12 (the Boca fans) were let out 30 minutes before anybody else to avoid altercations (police language for street brawls with home-made weapons that may or may not have been taken from the set of Oz).

Two weeks later I was in Bariloche, ski-town de jure. Bariloche has one huge lake with countless “arms” that slide between snow-capped mountains forming a water network they nickname the Big Octopus. It is known as much for it’s skiing facilities as for being the destination by excellence of all high-school graduation trips. The aforementioned facilities are easy to spot. Not to be outdone, these teenagers sport matching graduation jackets with colors as blinding as their hedonistic goals for the weekend.

The 140 of us that embodied the trip where all together for only one occasion: a picnic and hike near a lake front. Much to the surprise of the handful of locals that expected a tranquil Sunday afternoon, keeping that many foreign exchange students under control is no small task.

Arguably the funniest thing yet this semester happened that afternoon; it involved one 6-year-old Argentinean playing fetch with a golden retriever and one collegiate American playing ultimate Frisbee with his friends. Both are essentially the same activity: one is interspecies, the other one is not.

Much like the aforementioned canine and its fetching stick, the exchange student was running around chasing flying objects before they hit the ground. On one of these runs the American stepped right in front of the kid’s throwing line. Determined not to let a tourist ruin a good wind-up, he threw the stick anyway. In flawless Shakespearean irony he nailed the American right in the snout – I mean, nose – knocking him straight to the ground. The only thing that could’ve made it better was if the dog had caught the Frisbee instead.

4 days later, yours truly became a citizen of the worldwide (legally) drinking community.
Plan was pre-gaming at Dan’s apartment with Zack before attending the Diplo show at 9. None of the elements an ideal 21st birthday were spared. Tequila toasts were shouted. Music was blasted. Laughs were hollered. Inhibitions, dignities, sunglasses and cell phones all were lost. The headlining act DJ’ed a mind-blowing, 2-hour set of fist-pumping electro. All three members of our entourage successfully overcame the elusive Argentine-barrier at least once. It was the kind of night that makes you believe in Santa Claus again.

Cheers,

Gregorio

P.S. My host family thinks I have a drinking problem. I know this because they told me so. But, that’s a story for a different night.