(15:05, Mon 14 June, Plaza Belgrano, Salta Argentina) I knew I had to get to a big city for the World Cup so I skipped the Quilmes Ruins and caught the afternoon bus to Salta from Cafayate. No less than 5 exactly the same offers and fliers from hostels awaited me at the bus station and in my indecision I turned down their free taxis to walk to the main plaza and think. Still walking around, with all my kit, I ran into Alon from Cafayate about 2 hours later. He had gone with the first hostel who approached him and whilst he wasn’t that impressed with it, I took his advice about checking in somewhere before walking around the city any longer, to at least put down my backpack – one can always change hostels the following day if need be. I headed for the nearest one, and it turned out to be awesome. There has been a party practically every night just up the road in Balcarce Street (where all clubs and bars are) and Mariana, who works at the hostel organizes free entrance and free drinks and we all go out as a big group. The other guests have all been fantastic people so far and the staff are awesome.
I forgot about the time zone issue and missed the opening concert which was showing early on Thurs here, so I was a bit moapy but by Friday morning I was in good spirits with my SA flag tied around my neck ready to find a pub to watch the game. I rounded up a few people and we set out down Balcarce Street to find, in horror, that they were all closed. We had walked about 10 blocks and the kickoff was drawing nearer so I abandoned the others and ran (yes, ran) down the street to get back to the hostel for the anthems. The few people shouting Sudafrica as I sprinted by in my flag kept me feeling excitedly anxious and the other guests helped by fussing over me as we sat ourselves down in front of the hostel television. Fox Sports showed a split screen with fans in a Gringo bar in Buenos Aires and the fan fest in Johannesburg on the other – not helpful in soothing the pang of regret, but exciting indeed. A clock in the corner of the screen showed 5:15 which we rationalized as being the time in South Africa (5 hour difference, the game was scheduled to begin at 11am here). But when the anthems hadn’t even started by 11:07, the excuses about African timing were sounding unlikely and it suddenly dawned on me that the clock in the corner was showing the minutes into the match! We were watching a channel that was showing people WATCHING the game! So I missed the first few minutes but the match was amazing and aside from our little defense mishap (a little disappointing) I was beaming with pride. It may have been better for me to miss the anthem because I would unboubtedly have been in tears.
Its been really difficult to be here, so far from the vibe at home. Regret lurks heavy in my heart all the time. Especially because, to most tourists’ dismay, the Salteños don’t seem to be interested in any matches that Argentina aren’t playing. Sadder still, even the first Argentinian match on Saturday morning involved none of the big screens in the plaza or pubs overflowing with drunken celebrations that I had expected. Festivities heightened with the win and we joined the 100 odd spectators dancing around the main square at close of play. But even there it was mostly teenage boys dotted conspicuously with gringos. I had met a number of them along my travels and when I went to greet them, many shared in my confusion about the lack of fanfare. No-one had managed to find a cozy pub to watch the games – the Irish pub in Salta does’t even have a tv- so I decided something had to be done. I did a short scout around and found a restaurant/patiserie with a decently sized television and spread the word that, even if no Argentinians would be watching, we would all meet up to watch the England USA match that afternoon.
So although it wasn’t the most enchanting match, at least we had a decent beer-drinking crowd throwing insults at each other about their goalie being “Green with envy”.
I’ve squeezed a few touristy things in between partying, recovering and watching soccer matches, but I’ve been taking the tourist thing pretty easy here. I’ve decided to stay on for a celebration on Thursday in honour of General Guemes who saved the city during the Wars of Independence, which promised to involve bonfires, dancing and 2000 cowboys. So I took this morning off to catch up on my planning and blogging. Tomorrow I tackle some more of the city sights and at some point I’ll head northwards and upwards to aclimatize for the altitiude in Bolivia.
(12:20, Wed 23 June, computer in house of couchsurfer, outskirts of Salta, Argentina) It became something of a joke at the Sol Huasi hostel in Salta centro. Every morning a few people’s bags stood in the reception, because they had checked out and would be leaving Salta that day. The next morning the same bags returned to their post, or something even more common, someone stumbled from their dorm room blinking at the afternoon sun having missed check-out. Again.
It had its perks because the people who were staying at the hostel with me were all such great people and we partied and cooked and chatted and laughed together for more than a week. But not unlike a couple of others, I have now been in Salta for two full weeks. The World Cup has undoubtedly played its role. The three matches take place here at 8.30am, 11am and 3.30pm. By the time you’ve seen them, you have a few hours to spare before supper starts and the drinking begins.
Aside from just enjoying the city and the people and doing some of the things that travellers who are slowing down do, I’ve been to two awesome events that were worth a Salta stop.
Not long after I had arrived in Salta I heard about the Guemes Festival on the 17th June. I hadn’t thought I would still be around but as the day grew closer and my clothes remained comfortably unpacked on the floor at the foot of the bed (It’s tough with bunkbeds, cos top bunks have to share floorspace with their lower neighbour. In exchange I had perfected hoisting myself onto my bed in the wee hours with absolute minimal noise) the temptation to stay for the festivities grew more appealing.
I must still tell you about the Guemes Fest and the awesome event I went to on a WOOFFing farm south of the city with this great couchsurfer I met. I’ll post about it soon.
For now here are a couple of pics from the facebook album:
http://www.facebook.com/stacey.hopebailie#!/album.php?aid=183977&id=504021698
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