All great journeys must come to an end and there are worst places for such a finale as Buenos Airies. This is really one hell of city. Culture, architecture, art, shopping, dining and a bar scene to rival a European capital (think Paris), but with a Latin American passion and vibe - all rolled into one. Just two full days here was really, really not doing it justice, especially as part of that was spent being ill. I walked a lot around the old centre, strolled along Calle Defensa with its antique scene and romantic cafes and hung out in La Boca (the old, colourful port district and home of tango - originally started by a bunch of sailors and prostitutes it seems). Naturally, I kept the steak eating and wine drinking pace up, despite a stomach problem. Standards remained very high.
On my last day, by amazing coincidence, it was the Super-Classico of football: Boca Junior and River Plate, the bitter local rivals, playing a derby fixture. Despite the outrageous cost of a ticket, of course I had to go. Never before have I seen rain like the day of the game, although hours queuing outside in this torrential downpour all seemed worthwhile when finally we made it into the ground. It was a cauldron of intense passion unlike anything I have seen before. The chosen member of the elite supporter crew are sung into their seats and bowed before, as a sequence of giant flags - as big as half a football pitch - are unfurled in turn. Orchestral movements of singing and chants echo througout the stadium. Away fans at the top of the stadium urinate on their rivals below. Everything you can get your hands on is ripped up and flung into the air and on the pitch. Total, absolute madness. But then came the complete downer. After 9 minutes of play on the waterlogged pitch, with heavily weighted passes moving no further than a foot or two and players unable to run, the game was called off. A nightmare and not a great end to a big trip. But I am not short of great memories to fall back on. No sir, I am not.
Spiti Jeep Safari
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