La Boca

January 2007. I went to the La Boca neighborhood; the idea was to reach Caminito, take a few photos, and go back. I took the 152 bus. La Boca is a neighborhood of humble houses without much showiness. The 152 bus has the particularity of showing you two sides of the city, so to speak: on one side, the largest, newest, and well-maintained buildings, tidy and clean plazas, many office buildings—one of the, or perhaps the, most expensive areas of Capital Federal. But once the bus passes the Government House, heading the other way—that is, toward the southern part of the city—just a few blocks in, everything begins to change. The houses are all old, neglect is noticeable, and it is a humbler, poorer neighborhood. Currently, around 2014, they are carrying out some public works and giving a new look to the southern area of the city, but back in early 2007, it was quite different.

The bus crossed the highway. I saw the Crónica newspaper building, which I had visited a couple of times before for a different reason. I saw Lezama Park, where there was a fair—like so many held on weekends in the city's parks—featuring a significant number of stalls selling used clothing. I saw the Cosme Argerich Hospital, an imposing building over fifty years old that I had heard mentioned so many times on television.

Then you reach the Riachuelo. I got off a couple of blocks early and walked to the Avellaneda Bridge. I stood there and took a photograph, then another; there was also a family taking photos at the spot. Just then, a police officer—whom I had passed earlier while walking up—called out to me. He asked if I was a tourist and where I was from. I answered no, that I was from Capital, and he told me to be careful with my camera and backpack because the area was complicated and was rated as a red alert. Back in early 2007, it was an unsafe area—touristy, but unsafe. Generally, the entire southern part of the city is unsafe, or at least that's what the statistics indicated compared to other places in Capital.

I thanked the police officer for the warning and walked toward Caminito, which was about two blocks along the sidewalk bordering the Riachuelo. There were a number of Coast Guard (Prefectura) officers. The police officer was on the corner, but I easily counted ten or more members of the Coast Guard in just two blocks; I imagine it was to protect and safeguard tourism in the area.

I kept walking until I reached the other end. The smell coming from the Riachuelo is terrible, unbearable. We have one of the most polluted rivers in the world, and back in 2007, none of the people who should have cared enough to do something actually did anything—meaning, once again, the government and all its predecessors. The Supreme Court ruled and ordered the cleanup of the Riachuelo, and they have been working on it for a few years now; I don't know what the situation is like now in 2014.

There in La Boca, at least in that part of the neighborhood—the tourist zone—there is a fair, very small compared to those in other plazas and parks. And then there is Caminito, with people selling crafts and drawings, and even a few bars and restaurants. Caminito is an old alley or passage, 150 meters long and narrow, where a train originally ran. At some point, it was inaugurated as a street museum, preserving the colorful facades of the old houses just as they originally were, a product of immigration—mostly Italian. La Boca is a neighborhood close to the port from the early years of the 20th century.

When I arrived, a couple had just finished dancing tango, and another couple of tourists who were watching them were leaving. Right then, I saw the female tango dancer run after them holding her hat, saying, "No?" and something else I couldn't quite hear. The tourist couple smiled and left a coin or a bill in her hat.

Having reached that point, I turned around and walked back to where the police officer who stopped me on my way in was standing. I intended to catch the bus, but I didn't know where the stop was—whether it was right there or if I had to walk a few blocks. So I walked, and when I reached the corner again, I greeted the officer. He came over and asked where I was going. I told him I was heading to Lezama, and he said that was fine, but warned me to be careful going the other way (toward the river side), not to go toward Plaza Solís, and mentioned that someone had been stabbed or cut with a bottle there just yesterday. Plaza Solís is only two blocks from there.

I started walking toward Lezama Park, but when I reached the hospital—from where the park was visible—I decided not to continue. Right there, I boarded the 152 bus to head back, leaving Lezama Park for another time.