Central Parque: Buenos Aires' Cheap Alternative.

Buenos Aires has become a hot-spot for tourists in recent years, and it's easy to understand why. Internationally renowned restaurants, shopping, museums, theater, and sports are all part of the fabric that make this South American mega-city a popular destination for any traveler. But in a city of roughly 14 million people, it's easy to get lost in the enormity and sprawl that is modern Buenos Aires.

It's because of this enormity that the casual traveler only gets to see a small-albeit still heavily populated- portion of the actual city. In Buenos Aires, there are always the constants: boutiques and restaurants in Palermo, shopping and discos in Recoleta, cafes and antiques in San Telmo. Few tourists, and even many Porteños get to see the real heart of the city, or as locals call them, "barrios".

Parque Chacabuco is one of Buenos Aires' up and coming barrios that has yet to hit the mainstream radar. Located roughly 6 kilometers north of Plaza de Mayo, in the geographical center of the city, the neighborhood has many of the usual downtown emenities, but at a fraction of the cost. Whether you're just visiting or living here, you can stretch your peso much further than you could in almost any of the aforementioned areas..

The neighborhood's main commercial drag Avenida Asamblea, which runs from Avenida de la Plata to the actual park, is known for its bargain clothing stores, as well as restaurants, bakeries, and other various food markets. To put things in perspective, a woman's blouse will run you about $7-$15 USD, and a kilo of bread costs around $0.80 USD.

While the restaurants here lack the variety of those downtown, you can still find some of the best pizzerias and parillas (grills) in the city. And much like the other stores, at a fraction of the cost. Your average dinner for two usually costs about $15-$25 USD including wine. For lunch, you can grab some empanadas, $0.40 USD, or a Milanesa (fried steak) sandwich, $1.25 USD, at one of the many local "sandwicherias". If you're looking for a healthier alternative, you can easily find many outdoor fruit and vegetable markets, as well as two organic organic food and vitamin stores.

The park itself is rather large by city standards. It's pretty calm during weekdays, but on weekends livens up with practicing local drum groups, soccer matches, block parties, and artisans selling hand-made trinkets and jewelry. The neighborhood is very popular with dog lovers too, so don't be surprised if you see 4 or 5 dogs, both leashed and un-leashed, on every block.

Parque Chacabuco can be reached by Subway via the Avenida de la Plata stop on Linea E, or by one of 15 or so city buses (check your "Guia T"). Taxis from downtown run anywhere between $4-$6 USD, or $12-$18 Argentine Pesos.

10 Things I Hate About...

Buenos Aires. Now don't get me wrong, I love it here. I enjoy living here. I'm enjoying my travels here. However, with any new culture, country, or city, you reach a point of frustration on certain things and just need to vent. Without further adieu, here we go...

10. City Buses. Nothing says comfortable like a 30-year-old cattle car with no shocks, brake dust, and poor ventilation. The routes are confusing, and without many street signs to tell you where you are, it's pretty much a guessing game as to when you should get off. Add 50 people and 90 degree temps, and your lovely trip downtown turns into a gropey steam bath.

9. Siesta. Most people would argue that this is a good thing. Sure, if you think sleeping for 3 hours in the middle of the afternoon is going to pull your country out of 5 year recession, knock yourself out. For the rest of us, it's an inconvenience. Why would you possibly need stores open during, I don't know, normal business hours.

8. Spices. As in, they don't use any on their food. Latin American food has long had the stereotype of being spicy, exotic, and wild. Not here. Meat is spiced with salt. Potatoes are seasoned with mayo, and get this...salt. Hot sauce is almost non-existent, and ketchup is a luxury item. Take England with better cows, and that's the standard Argentine diet.

7. Dogs. There are far too many dogs here. At times it feels like the dog to human ratio is 1:1 . It's not that I hate dogs, I love them. I do, however, hate dog shit covering every street. I hate barking wars between rival factions of stray muts. Or better yet, having those same strays follow you around coughing sickness all over you and staring you down like you're going to be its next meal.

6. Sidewalks. If you walk anywhere outside of downtown Buenos Aires you'd think that there had just been an earthquake. Crooked cobblestones make way for protruding brick and tile, leaving you constantly looking down to avoid falling. Oh, and did I mention the dog shit?

5. The Accent. People in Buenos Aires speak way too fucking fast. They speak an ancient form of Spanish called Catellano, and are basically mocked for that by the rest of the Spanish speaking world. Even a native Spanish speaker would struggle with the nasally rapid-fire dialect they speak down here.

4. Change (money). Many small stores, and some big ones, do not carry change. That's right, no change for bills. ATMs give you 100 peso notes, or if you're lucky a few 50s. Stores won't take these bills unless they're a big corporate chain. The bus sucks up any coin change you may have, and after that, what are you left with? I've actually been told I can't buy a coke ($2.70) with a $5 note because the bill was too big to change. Now that's good for business.

3. Consistency. Inflation's a bitch, I know. Apparently so is maintaining consistent prices, stock, and business hours. Many stores open and close as they please. If they tell you something will be in tomorrow, it could mean next month. Soda is more expensive than beer, and steak is cheaper than red bell peppers. Hmmmmm?

2. Technology. Sure they have modern technology. They have skyscrapers, fancy hotels, wealthy neighborhoods. But generally speaking, most machinery I've encountered either breaks, is in the process of breaking, or looks like it's about to break. We wash our clothes by hand, heat water with a tank and a pilot light that's always off, and the preferred medium for listening to music is the CD player.

1. Arrogance. Argentine people are some of the friendliest people I've ever met. That being said, they have a real problem with thinking that the world begins and ends with their country. Most people I've met here have never left the country, yet they're the first to bash other places. In reality, they're not even the most powerful country in South America (Brazil). Bragging about Argentina as a world power is kind of like saying Nebraska has the world's best sea food. Not only is it not true, but even a 4-year-old could tell you that. I hate to say it, but the women here aren't as hot as they think they are. The steak is on par with the Midwestern US. And unemployment here is hovering around 30%. But hey, the Tango shows are still cool.

The Beautiful Game (Jogo Bonito)

Sundays are for football. Any good American man can tell you that. You eat crappy food, drink shitty beer, annoy your girlfriend, wear your ratty old jersey, and scream mercilessly at the television. If you're lucky (and rich), you can actually go to a game, and do all of the aforementioned activities. For lack of a better phrase, it's the American way.

So what happens when you leave America? No more rowdy Sundays? No more shitty beer and snacks? No more merciless screaming and taunting? No way. If you have a pulse and you live anywhere outside of the United 50, you know that Sundays are still for football, their football. The football where you actually use your feet. Call it what you will; soccer, futbol, fusbol, calcio. It's the world's most popular sport, and a Sunday tradition for millions worldwide.

This Sunday, I went to my first Argentine "futbol" match. Independiente vs. Velez Sarsfield. Both teams are from the greater Buenos Aires area, which fittingly boasts the record of having the most teams, 24, in any single city in the world. Imagine if New York City had 4 teams in Brooklyn, Queens, and the Bronx, plus another 8 or so in Manhattan. That's kind of how it would break up. Each team represents a neighborhood, sometimes so close to their rivals that the stadiums are within earshot of each other. In the case of Independiente, they actually play in their rival's (Club Racing) stadium while their stadium undergoes renovations.

I was invited to the game by a friend of a friend, Brenda, who's a die-hard Independiente supporter. I'd be lying if I didn't admit to having ulterior motives for going, but if you saw Brenda you'd understand. Besides, what else am I going to do on a Sunday? Watch NFL scores scrolling slowly by on espn.com as I sip a luke-warm coffee and try to decide whether I want rice or pasta for dinner? No thanks. Give me a hot girl, a national past-time, and I've got a reason for leaving the house.

I've learned from living in Europe that the passion for this sport is ravenous. It's hard to compare to any of our popular spectator sports. The passion is just different. Futbol fans have a distinct comradery with each other and the team which is very separate from the love they have for the actual game itself. This is evident long before you even reach the stadium. As soon as you're within walking distance from the stadium you can feel the fans' energy.

Sunday's match was a home game for Independiente, also known as the Red Devils, and the streets were full of red-clad supporters. Many wore red jerseys, red t-shirts, red bandannas, and even the occasional red cape with devil horns. The only people not wearing red were the swarms of riot police who lined the outside of the stadium, some on horseback, patrolling the crowd before the game.

"Put away your money." Brenda said to me as we got closer to the stadium, "Be careful with your camera, and don't draw attention to yourself". These are all fair warnings, and any good gringo can tell you that one can never be too careful when entering a 3rd world sporting event, but I knew I'd be fine. I've been in the depths of the hooligan section for Rome's SS Lazio club as well as a Nine Inch Nails show, so in comparison, this would be a cakewalk.

The game started at 7:30. Typically the fanatics sit in the curved parts of the stadium near the goals. The home supporters occupy one side, the visitors on the other. Opposing fans never sit anywhere near each other, and visiting fans are flanked by police for the entire duration of the game, and then escorted out of the stadium when the game's finished. It's also typical that the home fans must remain in the stadium for 20 minutes after the game has finished so that the opposition has time to leave the neighborhood safely. Unfortunately, fan violence is a huge part of the game, and it's not uncommon to see fights in or around the stadium.

We sat in the upper terrace of the Red Devil's section. Below us was a sea of red, swaying, singing bodies. As soon as the whistle blew for the kick-off the party began. It's hard to pay attention to the actual game when the crowd's so involved. They sing and jump in staggered unison. It's like a loud red wave that continuously smashes the sides of the concrete oval where the game's being played. If you're not used to it, it can be kind of scary. For me it's an incredible rush. The crowd ceases to be a group of individuals, but rather takes the form of one giant entity. You feel compelled to jump and sing even if you don't know the words.

The game itself was actually rather boring. The Argentines play aggressively, which is exciting, but their speed and natural talent is far less than what I'm used to seeing in Italy. Brenda looked disinterested, and explained to me that she's mad at her team for not finishing higher in the standings. I explain to her that I've never been to a match where the home team lost, and minutes later the Red Devil's were down 1-0. So much for my luck.

After a few questionable calls by the referees the crowd got a bit aggressive. The game was nearing its end and the Red Devils hadn't scored yet. You could feel the frustration in the air. Some of the fans began to throw sticks and piss-filled balloons at the opposing players, prompting the riot police to shield them at the corners of the field. To keep the fans from charging, the field is surrounded by a moat, about 6 feet wide and 10 feet deep. The player's side of the moat is lined with barbed wire, and the water is green and covered with debris.

With only a few minutes left in the game the Devils score. Bedlam ensues, and the stadium physically rocks and sways with the pounding of jumping bodies and flare cannons. I'm off the hook, Brenda's happy, and the game ends in a tie. It takes forever to get out of the stadium. Every bus heading back into the city was crammed with screaming, banner-waving supporters. The singing and dancing hadn't stopped, it just spilled onto the streets, and moved into the city's buses and cars.

After parting ways with Brenda I headed home. Football day was over, and this sleepy gringo needed a bite to eat and some rest. Though the game ended in a tie, the outing was ultimately a success. My lucky streak is intact too. I can still brag that I've never been to a losing match.