Yesterday was definitely a day of surprises and new experiences. Some were pleasant and some were not. I visited La Boca. One of BA’s barrios south of the city and a tourist magnet of note. It can be compared to Bo Kaap in Cape Town, with its brightly coloured houses and cultural flair. It is also home to one of South America’s best football clubs, Boca Juniors. Everything in the area has a blue and yellow undercurrent, this being the teams two colours. Outside of the caminito (cobbled pedestrian streets, lined with shops and restaurants), the colours quickly drain from everything, and a slightly rougher area prevails. About two blocks from the caminito you find La Bombonera, the Boca Juniors home football stadium.

With me I had my two friends Kelly and Ralph. After walking around the caminito for an hour or so, we left the throngs, the colour, the tango and the tourists and headed toward the stadium.
Three words: Huge. Blue. Yellow.
Aside from a small store selling every possible Boca Junior souvenir imaginable, there is not much else around there. We turned around and started making our way toward San Telmo, which is about 20 minutes away by foot. About 100 metres or so from the stadium Kelly made a suggestion of rather finding a taxi. This area has a dark-side, and it was definitely starting to feel a little sketchy. I was keen. Just as she said it, I noticed the youngster who was walking towards us. I didn’t like the look of him. And then within seconds, he pulled a knife out his pocket and rushed forward at us. He went straight for Ralph. The minute I saw that knife all the blood just drained to my feet and I just stood there, completely frozen. Kelly started screaming at the top of her lungs. But no-one was there to hear us. It was one of those moments that plays out in slow motion but is literally seconds. He was just a kid. It was hard to tell if he was being serious or just trying to freak us out (it was working). He waved the knife at Ralph a few times, but he fended him off. And I think the kid realized he’d bitten off more than he could chew. Ralph is a big guy. Eventually he left us alone and disappeared. But it scared the living **** out of us. It was at this point that we decided to get the taxi. Hearts racing and a little dumbstruck we got safely to San Telmo….and hunted down a bar.

Picadas (antipasto) are becoming something of a tradition with us. Red wine and picadas. Our Picada Grande arrived, and most of the food items were recognizable, bar one or two. Fear Factor sprang to mind. Only about ¾ of the way in did we ask our waitron what the 2 odd looking and tasting items were. He pondered a few moments, scrutinizing the food at an angle, and then pronounced the one as tongue and the other as rabbit. I hate tongue so felt a little ill at the thought of having eaten it. This was unlike tongue I’ve seen and tasted before. It had the weirdest texture and consistency, like it had been soaking in oil for two years. And it was gray. The rabbit I had not yet eaten, but decided, that since this was an alternative day, I’d give it a shot.
Three words: Do. Not. Like.

I’ve spoken about San Telmo before in a previous post. Yesterday wasn’t as busy as the first time I was there, but it still offered the usual amusements. Anyone who enjoys people watching should definitely make it a destination. As we wound our way out through the crowded streets, we passed all manner of things to buy. Most notably, an abundance of knives…

Tango, La Boca