Gay BA

Might not stop you behaving
like an asshole though. Pity. 

Gay is OK in BA and this is a good thing. Gay marriage is now legal in Argentina, a giant step for co-habiting same sex couples everywhere, but specifically in Rainbow Nation Argentina.

In spite of strong, consistent, vocal and numerous protests galvanised by the Catholic Church in capital the week before the vote, symbolised by banners proclaiming that the 'traditional family' should be protected, the senate passed the law, the first of its kind in Latin America. The symbol of the marches, by the way: baby girl pink baloon tied to baby blue boy balloon.

If there was a march against the reductive categorising of girls into baby pink and boys into baby blue, I'd be all over that.
- Whatdawewant? I'd shout.
- Gender equality, they'd reply, as manifested by girls who slay dragons with swords!
- When do we want it? I'd say.
- Now, they'd retort, so we can pop those ridiculously reductive baloons.

Not catchy, but I'd be there like a bear. Or a march to burn at the stake - well, at least hit with a stake - the author's of Preventing Homosexulity, which actually is not a hilarious spoof but a hideously well selling text for 'gender-disturbed' children, helping parents to know when and how they should intervene.  

Legalising the life choices of a minority group that affects no one outside of their own lives seems an entirely civilised and groovy thing to do. I don't, can't and won't listen or respect those who oppose gay marriage, or gay adoption. Sorry, but the counter arguments are... well... just too dumb to listen to.

Those who state that a 'child deserves a mother and a father' must thereby ban any form of marriage that could in any way damage the child. But, as Philip Larkin once put eloquently, every mum and dad messes up their child. That's what a parent is. If your parents did everything right, who would one complain about during one's adolescence? And what would you do with all those spare therapists, consellors, psychologists, psychoanalysts and landlords?

Exactly. Think it through. But seriously, the arguments against a same sex couple adopting are identical to those once raised against couples of different races adopting, and how out of touch and ridiculous do those arguments sound now?

Well, yes, as ridiculous as they did at the time.

They'll get bullied at school. No. You get bullied at school based on a projection of other's fears onto the target. Those fears (homosexulity, different cultures, ya mum) are only going to be reduced by being made more visible and backed up by the state's laws. So you get less bullying. Be a winner; not a sinner.

It doesn't happen in the animal kingdom. Yes it does, when animals have free choice over 'partners' and, really, are you frikkin' kidding me, are you shooting with that? At least give me a challenge.

The Holy Book. It is an abomination according to the Bible. Well, lots of things are adominable, some fair enough, like 'murder', some of them just bonkers, like 'planting two different crops in the same field' (Lev 19:19). Plus, it's ok according to lots of other books. And, on religion... the Catholic Church... sexuality... morality... do you really want to take the moral high ground there? Thought not.  

When gays get married in BA and it is not news, that'll be even more progressive, but for now, let us celebrate the following victory for LGBT, common sense, decency, human rights and the YMCA.

... oh, and if you really want to get angry, click this.

On The Road

Driving out of Beunos Aires, snapping photos in between entertaining children, navigating the labyrinth of motorway exits and avoiding becoming yet another road kill statistic, we managed to snap a couple of shots of the city en route.

Whilst everyone bitches about the traffic, for a city of its size, Buenos Aires must have one of the freest flowing freeways in the world. 9 de Julio, the world's widest road, that runs like a coronary artery through town, must help, and from Martínez in Zona Norte, 15km north of the city, straight through the centre to the open freeways of the South was 45 minutes, at 10am. That's about Brixton to the M1 proper.   

Zoo-like voyeurism though it may be, I'm always fascinated by the drive for a glimpse into the world that is Villa 31 ('visha trenta y uno'), taking its name from the km mark 31 on the highay sits Argentina's best villa; what would be known as a favela in Brazil. 

The main road takes you straight over the top as you look down on make-shift housing build on, under around and on top of whatever structure exists, including the bridge structure you are driving on. "Look, a castle!" said Leah, with envy, as she saw a "princess" playing on an open roof. Either the sweet innocence of a 2 year old or I'd better sort us out with some decent accomodation.

Villa 31

On Sunday mornings, on the way to cricket matches in the South, you see what is clearly highly organised 5-a-side football tournaments going on: a pitch with goals marked out down the central calle, teams wearing matching strips determined by I don't know what: once it looked like countries, Brazilian yellows against Paraguayan red and white, but who knows. Unlikely to be Brazilian, as there's little Brazilian presence... who knows? Villa 31 is divided, or has divided itself, in 5 seperate barrios (YPF, as in the petrol station, Güemes, immigrantes, autopista and comunicaciones) : maybe those guys play each other each week... 

What I do know is that the games were being watched from every available space. Every street, shop window, rooftop... I would say balcony, but only a Foxton's estate agent would describe an unfinished wall with an open living room leading to a 20ft drop, as a 'balcony, with sunrise facing views'. The stakes? Territory? Winner takes all cash? Bragging rights? No idea, but the atmopshere is phenomenal.  

Good chance these guys know, but I'm neither mad nor brave enough to follow in these footsteps. The movie, Pelada, looks exceptional. Extract from their blog, Buenos Aires section: 

¨Well the real futbol happens in the villas. But you can´t go into the villas.¨

We go into the villas. It feels like the favelas in Brazil, but this time, we know nobody on the inside. They´re not as organized and there is no non-profit group we can email. We know it´s not an intelligent decision but we want futbol, real futbol. We ride the blue subte out to the last stop and we don´t take much. We ask the banana man where Villa 31 is. ¨Very, very dangerous,¨ he says, while pointing out how to make our way. We walk down the train tracks into the shanty town that sits directly beneath a major highway into the city. It´s a Sunday, and it´s the neighborhood championship, so most of Villa 31 is piled around the sidelines of the villa´s main road that is doubling as a field. There´s the smell of barbeque, a man selling a parrot who is plucking at his buttons, kids playing with stereophone–it feels friendly, we watch futbol and make a friend who tells us we can play with him the following day.

We go back the next day, feeling a bit more confident, like maybe the banana man is an exaggerator.

While we are filming under the watch of Gustavo, a policeman stops us, warns us, and then says, ¨It´s your life, not mine.¨ Another policeman tells us to leave. Gustavo still says it´s safe. A third policeman tells Luke, ¨Last week, channel two came and they stole their cameras and bashed in their heads.¨ This statement carries the most weight. We hope it is just the policeman telling us lies that will scare us enough to leave. But the fact is confirmed an hour later by the sister of one of the guys we played with. Another guy calls out to us, ¨They´re going to rob you.¨ But we´ve made friends with the guys we played with and hope their presence will be enough. We film and then get the hell out of there–heads still in tact. 

Puerto Madero, urban redevelopment, empty flats, stunning hotels, over priced steak.

On the other side of the road is Recoleta, the most expensive real estate in the city, therefore the country, where you'll find old money and the foreign Embassy buildings. This is like walking through London's Sloane Square, and across the road there would be a slum the size of Hyde Park with 30,000 people living in various degrees of poverty.   

On the drive out, there are a couple of bizarre social housing projects, strangely aesthetic from the road. Again, this is the voyeur's angle: living there with a view of the toll booth, and the speeding highway, isn't necessarily as much fun, but there's a faint Blade Runner, apocalyptic feel about the architecture. 

Replicant

And that's about all for now really. 

Museo de los Niños

Museo de los Niños, one of the great things to do with children in the universe. Well, in Buenos Aires anyway. A giant play park, converted top level of a shopping mall, so exciting that Leah, on appearing at the top, ran around and round in circles too excited to choose where to go first. 

These don't do the place justice, but are quite cute. 

Smiling 

Bouncing

Posing. 

Building

Done. 

Señor Barnes

El Conde de Cabalitto, Señor Barnes.

Entry on Iain and Bex's visit next, but Señor Barnes more than deserves his own space. Owner, inspiration behind and charming front man of La Epoca, Señor Barnes offers the best shave in Buenos Aires. An afficionado of the cut throat razor, in the best possible way, his barberia hides in the oft unvisited but hidden gem of a barrio, Caballito.

The barbers is as much museum as it is barbers; the half of the barbers you can't see in this photo serves as a cafe, where the coffee is strong, the beer is cold and the wine is spine tinglingly awful; exactly as it should be. From the tiny piano in the back, every Friday evning, a tango show is put on for free anyone passing by and interested.

For 40$, about 11$US, you get the full shave which I swear is as close as I've been to a Zen Moment. You feel half way between the complete gentleman and the complete playboy. The wives were loving it.

The shave took about 20-25 minutes, all in. Long enough to sink into nirvana, and only a few seconds short of enough time for Señor Barnes to steal our wives.

Recommended, and warned.

Barracas

Barracas was the barrio to explore this weekend gone. Calle Lanin, specifically: a fairly typical and forgettable working class street, until it was spruced up, painted and mosaiced by ex-resident and local resident Marino Santa Maria. Pictures tell the story. Check it out.

Cafe, San Antonio

Drive an hour north west from Buenos Aires on Ruta 8 and you'll come to San Antonio, a sleepy little gaucho town. Walk two blocks south from the main square, and you'll find an old cafe/bar that cannot have changed since there was a dirt track and two day ride to connect it to the capital.

Photos from Katie. Click to enlarge.