The One Jogger of the Apocalypse, and Bussing La Boca

 I got blasé about Boca just in time. I patiently constructed the question “where do I catch buses to La Boca”, but of course I couldn't understand any of the replies, so it was walk or miss out. The city if markedly different here from the affluent north, with narrower streets and small shops consisting largely of security bars dotted here and there. But it seemed safe enough, especially when the scruffy but pleasant Parque Lezama contained nothing more terrifying than a group of old ladies doing aerobics in the shadow of a graffiti'd statue.

The Holloway of the South

I was reminded to be careful, however, but the exclamation of a passing jogger as I stopped to casually snap a distinctive building with my iPhone. “Be careful!” he said, pointing at my hands. “Be careful, e machine!” he added, before jogging sweatily away. Now, I have to agree that e-machines were a terrible make of PC, and I wish I had been careful before buying one for my mum, but the urgency in his voice had me slipping the phone back into my pocket (I'm torn as to whether that was very kind of him, or whether he just put the wind up me for no good reason), and I took no more photos until I reached the edge of the La Boca tourist district..

This begins, roughly, with Buenos Aires' own answer to Holloway. Boca Juniors' home stadium, La Bombonera, looms out over a shabby mixture of scruffy houses, railway lines, abandoned mattresses and garages. The area around the stadium is incredible peaceful, something I imagine is not the case on match days. From there it is very simple to find El Caminito, the famous heart of La Boca, as it had a halo of white tourist buses around it. Once through these circled wagons, it was easy to see the attraction. Although almost entirely aimed at tourists (think Camden market) the playful colour schemes are just so joyful in their garishness that I found it impossible not to smile at them. There are only few streets of concentrated colour, but that's enough space for papiermache Perons, model Maradonnas, painted ponies and tourist-trap tangoers. What real working class life led to the creation of these rainbow byways is no longer terribly apparent (I'm told the port workers used to liberate leftover paint after seeing to the barges, careless of the colours until they'd inadvertently created a masterpiece), but it was certainly worth the walk.

Just past the bus-stops to return home you could see the divide between fluffy tourist land and the real district. It does not look inviting, though part of me is sad that it isn't safe to go and see the real face of La Boca (the strange part of me that is more interested in people than in multicoloured shop facades – it must be stopped!).

In general, anywhere in the world it is easier to hop a bus back to the city centre than work out where to take one to an outlying district, so I finally boarded a bus (staffed by a driver happy to indulge in the pointing game) and made my way back to Alcazar to get ready for a bus trip of a different order: 14 hours to Mendoza. Wish me luck.