On the same day Argentina elected a new president, the Boston Red Sox won the World Series, and I got a hell of a sunburn. It was Sunday, October 29, 2007. After 3 weeks of Buenos Aires' urban hustle, my friend Meret and I headed for the beach town of Mar Del Plata for some sun and what we hoped would be a tranquil 3 days near the seaside.
The city itself is a lot bigger than we'd imagined. With a population of just over 600,000, Mar del Plata is Argentina's 6th largest city. Known mostly for a famous "Alfajor" (little cake filled with sweet caramel or fruit) brand, the city serves as a seaside getaway for those who want to escape the heat and hustle of Buenos Aires during the summer months (December-February).
As a one-time New Yorker, my first impression of MdP reminded me of the Jersey Shore. It looked a bit like Atlantic City without the hookers (that I could see) or the public drunkenness. This was, however, the beginning of spring, and in all fairness there was a presidential election going on. There were the traditional Jersey-esque things mind you: over-priced fried food, garbage on the boardwalk, overweight older men and women wearing horrifically unflattering bathing attire. Honestly, it wasn't as bad as it sounds. It's election weekend, and the Sox are a game away from sweeping the Rockies for the title.
DAY 1:
We rolled in on Saturday night via a double-decker luxury bus from Buenos Aires' Retiro station. The ride was long, 5 1/2 hours, but comfortable, and we were in MdP by early afternoon. The city is known for its nightlife, but by Argentine law, you are not permitted to sell alcohol or open an entertainment establishment for the 24 hour period surrounding the election. No one told us this, but this was considered one of the worst weekends to take a vacation in all of Argentina. Shops were boarded up, restaurants empty, bars dark and lifeless. We had to improvise. It's Saturday night.
One of the great things about travelling with a hot blond (Meret) is that everyone wants to get to know you. In this case his name was Christian and his family owned the hotel we stayed in, The Hotel Galeon. The place was modest in stature, most likely a private residence at one time, it provided the bare essentials for cheap travel and was a mere 4 blocks from the beach. Christian's family was from Reggio Calabria in Italy, historically known as one of the country's poorest provinces. Christian, his 2 brothers, and his mother made up the entire hotel staff.
Christian invited us to a party with his friends, and having nothing else to do we obliged. The evening was not much different than it would have been in the 'States. We had a couple of drinks, talked advertising, politics, language. We met up with some girls, drove around from house to house, and called it a night around 2am.
DAY 2:
Election day was pretty uneventful. I'm not sure whether it's just me, or I just see foreign elections differently because I'm not personally involved with the politics. Much like I saw in Italy, no protests, no applause, no coffee shop arguments. The people out and about actually seemed kind of indifferent. The winner, Cristina Kirtchner is the wife of the last President, and was commonly expected by most to win in a landslide. Maybe that was it. She won by 46%. We could care less, the Sox were playing in a few hours and we got the game in our room.
Much like the election, game 4 was pretty uneventful. Now before you attack me as a fair-weather Sox fan, keep this in mind. Game 1 rocked, literally. We watched it in an American bar in downtown Buenos Aires. There was free beer for ladies, cheap beer for guys, the rattle and pounding of both front-running and die-hard baseball fans on the cheap wood bar, a few "WHO'S YOUR PAPI" chants, and a blow-out victory. Game 2 was a pitching duel. We got the local pizza shop to put the game on for us as they finished their last meals of the night, and were able to watch every pitch with no interruption. Saturday's game got lost in the maze of party hopping and cultural exchanges over cigarettes and Vodka. Sunday, well, Sunday was kind of boring. So boring in fact that I missed a few key plays in lieu of ogling thong-cladden hotties on the fashion channel. That's right, I ditched about 20 minutes of the ball game to watch the fashion channel.
DAY 3:
You could be doing worse things with your life than laying out on an Argentine beach in early Spring, surrounded by barely-covered tan bodies, clear skies, and a boardwalk with open patio cafes and restaurants. Monday was exactly how I had imagined it, tranquil, warm, and beautiful. It was a nice way to end the weekend. The Argentines got what they wanted (at least half of them), the boys from the Fens took their 2nd championship in 3 years (OK, 89 years, but who's counting the first 86), and my biggest worry was deciding whether to eat steak or a more traditional Argentine Parilla (mixed grill) for dinner. I chose the Parilla, and the long weekend was over.
As the locals typically say, with more than an obvious hint of sarcasm, "Que mala vida, no?". Si si, my friends, not a bad life at all.
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