FOOTBALL in Argentina

The idea was to enjoy the experience just like tourists usually do. Staying at a hostel in town, choosing one day to go on a tour to the Boca or River Stadium and feeling the T-shirt for a couple of hours. Something to remember, indeed.

Thus, we resolved to stay at one of the most traditional hostels in the neighborhood of San Telmo. The next day, on a hot Sunday, we joined a large group of tourists wearing the colors of Boca who began to gather at the door. There was clear proof that an event second to none was waiting to happen soon.

In a matter of minutes, the buses were there and we started to go up one at a time. There were tourists from all over the world who immediately became fans of Boca.

All of them were wearing the T-shirts and brandishing the flags as they sang part of the famous club's official song: "Dale Boca, dale Boooo" (Come on Boca), "Diegoooooo, Diegoooooo, oleeeeee, oleeeeee" "Riquelmeeeee, Riquelmeeeee", "Palermoooo, Palermoooooo" and even the typical "El que no salta es una gallina, el que no salta es una gallina" (if you don't jump, you are a hen -River Plate fans' nickname), which managed to excite a group of nomadic tourists who now had something in common with Argentina. They had already become fans of Boca.

As we entered the famous neighborhood and reached la Bombonera, the new fans fell madly in love with our country. Most of them were dazzled by so much passion and madness all around the stadium. The painted faces of children, the people eating that strange sandwich called "choripán", some of them wearing who knows what costume, flags of all sizes and a unique group of supporters called "la 12" which they did not quite get as they kept on singing even after the match was over.

The cry of "goal" and the hugs did not fail to be present. "Que vamo' a salir campeones, que vamo' a salir campeones" (We are gonna be champions) started to be heard coming from their own mouths. At the end of the match, we were altogether. We did not know who was who.

We continued celebrating outside the stadium with pizza and chill beer. We abandoned the neighborhood of La Boca with a feeling of nostalgia. The buses picked us up and dropped us at our corresponding hostels. We were safe and sound but nothing would ever be the same. Ever since that afternoon, each of them had become a "bostero".