Monday, August 6, 2007

Family Life in Necochea




Aspiring football players come to El Potrero to focus on training for various amounts of time, from several months up to a year. I, however, was a bit of an anomaly in countless ways. I was the backpacker traveler in for a few weeks, having only a vague, undefined idea of where I wanted my football to take me, and of course, I was a girl. I was the first girl to come to El Potrero. The program is set up by Enrique Amarante, and his family opens their home to provide the residential experience of the football school. With an Argentinean couple, their son, their three dogs, 5 boys from Ecuador and Nicaragua, and one girl from the United States, the experience is similar to that of a family.

Arriving and Meeting my New Family
Upon arriving in Necochea, Enrique came to pick me up at the bus station with his son Esteban, who was slightly older than me. Once we arrived at the house, I dropped off my stuff and went to meet the other boys. Graciela, Enrique’s wife (and my new Argentinean mom) came running in to greet me and give me a big hug. It was quite relieving after being in the awkward spotlight of strange-first-girl-to-ever-come-here-and-just-got-off-a-10-hour-bus-ride-they-told-me-would-be-7-hours-oh-my-god-I-am-really-here-and-what-have-I-gotten-myself-into feeling. We all sat down to have dinner together, and after smiling politely to acknowledge the surprised look on their faces that I do indeed have a healthy appetite, I was off to bed to sleep off the long journey and get ready for my experience in Necochea.

Ochenta y Cinco Bis
As students, we live in the Amarante-Graziano home on 85 (ochenta y cinco) Bis. The boys have a separate area, connected via the patio with a separate street entrance. There they live with their sleeping loft upstairs, kitchen, bathroom, and communal area. The communal area was a big room, perfect for these boys: mismatched furniture, regular TV and then one for video games, posters of Maradona on the wall, and of course, dirt smudges on the walls from kicking the ball around indoors. And yes, I did it too. Being the only girl, I got to take residence in the family’s house in their daughter’s old room, complete with private bath. As much as I loved my new little brothers, and as seasoned a traveler I now consider myself to be, cohabitating with 16 and 18-year-olds was not part of what I signed up for so I was thrilled to have my own room and bathroom.

A La Casa
We had training every day at different times (which I either didn’t understand, or they would change at the last moment, so I just tried to be ready for everything and anything). We had breakfast whenever we woke up—and I was usually up first—and then el almuerzo and la cena was usually around our training schedule for the day. In between trainings, we would spend time lounging around in the TV room, watching quality programming such as trashy MTV shows, the Simpsons, and (when I got my way), classic girl movies like My Best Friend’s Wedding and How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. While hanging around at home, I would have my 501 Spanish Verbs out and work on my vocab, verbs, grammar, and correct pronunciation of inappropriate, dirty phrases that my little brothers proudly taught me (and would make me practice, “No! You have to yell! You have to sound mad!”). We would practice my skills at rolling the Rs, which tripped me up every time...but I am getting better! When I would hear a new word, I would try to look it up or write it down (which was a non-stop pursuit).

Como?
Being immersed in the language sped my progress dramatically....and also lent itself to a constant feeling of frustration. One of the boys, Alex from Nicaragua, spoke English well, however, I came to find how much I speak with idiomatic expressions, and how humor and tone simply don’t translate. I have so much respect for people who work hard to learn a language in a foreign country—the level of frustration from not being able to express yourself became too much sometimes.

“A-le-jjjooooo!”
I lived with Enrique and his wife Graciela, their son Esteban, and their dogs Che, Tobey, and Luna. But I spent most of my time with Jesi, our cook and housekeeper—and my helper in beating up on the boys—Alex from Nicaragua, Andres from Ecuador, Cristopher from Ecuador, and Jean from Ecuador (who came for the second week). After only a few days I became clear on what it’s like to have brothers: throwing things at each other, mimicking each other’s voices, doing silly imitations of TV characters, etc. One night we all sat up in the loft, turned off the lights and told ghost stories! I told the famous tale of my scary haunted house-sitting experience, and Andres had a nightmare about it! (no my Spanish isn’t that good...yet. Alex translated).

Bienvenido a Necochea
Necochea is a sleepy little town. During the summer it’s popping because it is right on the beach. During the winter, however, a lot of the cafes are closed and the shops are only open for a few hours. It is very spread out; we would have to get a ride from either Abel, the head coach, or a taxi to training. Our house was located within walking distance to the beach and a handful of amenities such as a cyber cafe, laundromat, shops, and cafes. The center of town was about a 5-minute drive and held a typical main drag of retail fronts and restaurants.

The people seemed even nicer than those in Buenos Aires, and because this place isn’t a hub for tourists, immediately can’t detect my gringa status and would unleash the Castellano propelling out like a machine gun. However, once they realized I wasn’t able to keep up with the language, I felt like everyone made a warm effort to help assist me with whatever I needed. When I told people I was in Necochea for football training after being asked why I was in town, some people actually laughed and I had to continually say, “Si, yo juego. Yo juego con los chicos.” Then I kept getting asked the most absurd question in the world, "why do you like football? I don´t understand." I began to get frustrated.

Novelty or Freak? Five Minutes of Fame
Because women in Argentina do not play soccer, I was a bit of a novelty. Novelty, or freak. I think freak is more precise while novelty is more flattering. Regardless, I awoke one morning to be told that we were going down to have an interview for TV. I was interviewed for a large newspaper article that ran in the Sunday paper, and a TV program about sports in Necochea. It was all very strange; I never felt there was anything that unusual about my being there, training with the boys. However, a few days after the article about me ran in the paper, people would recognize me when we would be out in public, which, actually, made me feel really awkward.

In all, I had an enchanting time in Necochea. To me, it was about as authentically Argentinean as you could get: Soccer, tango, family homestay, and meeting locals in a place that rarely has tourists. Necochea prompted me to learn not only about Argentina, but also my place in terms of what type of athlete I am, what type of traveler I am, and what type of family member I am. The last day in Necochea I was at a grocery store and the woman who worked there approached me and said (Alex was there and translated), "You are the girl in the paper. You get out there to kick ass, and to the kick the asses of those boys. Good for you!" And she was right. In the end, while Necochea impacted me, it seems, I impacted Necochea too.

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