Some of them were spending their weekend waving masses of flags in front of the magnificient Congresso Palace. Christina, at 58 years, came into her office again by a land slide victory. Her loyal subjects crowded the plazas, avenidas and balconies welcoming her back. Watching television footage of the event, one wonders whether this occasion welcomes back rebel Che ('Buddy' in Argentinian Lunfardo slang) or Evita Peron. There were as many flags picturing these revered personalities, as there were of Christina herself - all of them more or less buried in a sea of sky blue stripes and lemon yellow suns (colours of the Argentinian flag). As usual, the streets and plazas were jammed with celebrants and colourful banners - I stayed away.
Christina subscribes to the idea of latin-sexy, her lips are botoxed to pillowy fullness, her hair a mane of darkly hued, flowing coppery waves, her eyes outlined with thick black liner, and her face rejuvenated by what ever secret method. She dresses ultra-feminine, with lacy see-through clothing, even when performing official functions. In that way, she certainly follows Evita Peron, who was obsessed with her appearance - except for the botox bit. Angela Merkel or Hillary Clinton just could not compete...
Christina Kirchner has her work cut out for her, 10 % annual inflation tops her list of numerous problems. But she is certainly favoured by 50 Million Argentinians, for whom Politics is the most riveting entertainment of all - almost beats out soccer - almost..
Subway and buses ran free of charge all day, to facilitate the mass movement of cheering Kirchneristas.
I hiked a few blocks to the Campo de Polo, where the Campionato de Deputados was going to be fought out between two Polo teams. I missed the Grand Argentinian Open, which had its Final on the 9th of December (my flying day). Pity - I missed the biggest social people watching event in Buenos Aires - the Elite graces the stands (at a few thousand dollars a Palco - balcony) and struts the latest fashion.
Sunday's match was gratis, one set of prescribed Chukkas, equine and human athletes just as daring and dashing, and the game just as riveting as the BIG ONES. And I saved myself a good chunk of inflating Argentinian Pesos. Half an hour walk along tree-lined Avenues, and I am there.
It is all about horses. A modern but very graceful scultpure greets arrivals in the Portal of the expansive Polo Field, which is located between a series of verdant parks, a huge Mosque, an elevated railway line, and a number of apartment buildings adjacent to the field.
At two extreme corners of the field, strings of Polo Ponies belonging to the opposing teams are resting under shady tree canopies. They are literally 'strings', as a whole bunch of ponioes is tied to nothing else but a long string fastened between tree trunks.
There are wash stands with fans to cool the animals down after a stint of duty, there are blankets placed on the ground where clean saddles , bridles and polo bandages are lined up. Gauchos and handlers in their usual working garb watch over the well being of their precious charges.
The horses are as fit as Olympic sprinters, not an ounce of fat on them, all hard toned flesh and muscle.
It is Argentina, and Polo goes back a long time. I think it originates from the times of the British Rahj in India, where it was rather pukkha for the upper classes to play and watch Polo. Almost like cricket, except not quite as benign.
These photos in the Argentinian Polo Club date back to 1905 and onward. Argentina being a nation of natural born horsemen, Polo must have been in instant hit.
The Moet and Chandon hustle and bustle of the Grand Open was over, only line ups of deserted wine and champange tents gave and idea of last week's super exclusive and crowded Fiesta. Only a few die hards sipped a couple of flutes in the Association Pavillion.
The Big Cup was still on display beside the Pavillion. A couple of very serious looking armed guards hovered over it. Note the centaurs at the base of the cup. That is an apt description for the Polistas and their Polo Ponies: one mind, and almost one body, and one aim to win.
The horses have fine heads and neck, slender legs, but heavily muscled hind quarters and good shoulders. There is not a hay belly in sight. The manes are shorn off, and the tails are braided around the dock, everything tangle free. This fellow is taking to the 'dress up' area for preparation.
I am taking a prime spot, right beside the bell man, who rings in the Chukkas, closes them off, and times the rest periods between chukkas to the second.
Eager spectators in the stands.
Television and photographers line the field.
One of the two Referees. This one was the only person who seems to have a couple of extra ounces around the middle - must be a referee thing. They carry a tube in front of the saddle, for extra balls.
Virgencita Team against La Quinta Team, almost equally handicapped - one with 30 points and the other with 29. Each player (they are on deck for the duration of seven chukkas of 7 minutes each) is individually handicapped. Four players to a team.
From the word go it is all speed, close quarters, riders shouting, and ponies pivoting and racing and body checking...
Ar racing speed, handling stops and turns in split seconds, it is astonishing that they don't all finish up in a tangled mess with mallets and legs and bodies.
The ponies seem to love it, ears are up, eyes alert, and they go flat out. Riders hold a fixed length rein and a crop (sometimes) in their left hand, and wield the mortal weapon, the mallet, with their right. The horses must react to weight shifts, as there is no trace of 'pretty equitation seat'. The riders and horses move in unison, although half the time it appears as if the riders are flying above their saddles.
Look at the middle guy! Really, they all seem barely hanging on.
They swing their mallets at full tilt under the horses necks, beside their bodies, across the opposite side of their withers...worse than fencing. At least in fencing one does not have to keep out of the way of a bunch of charging animals and several wind-milling sticks.
I don't know much about the rules of the game, but it appears that defencemen cover their opposites, enforcers bump team members of the opposition out of the way. Whistles go off all the time, off side, penalty shots, whatever ...too fast for me to even start to understand why all this is happening.
A chuckka last 7 minutes, all at racing speed. The ponies are changed even during a Chukka. A rider gallops off to the edge of the polo field, where a helper is ready with the next equine athlete to take his or her turn. The Polistas (that's what they call the players) change horses without touching the ground, they just slither across from one saddle to another in a split second, and race back into the fray.
Between chukkas are exactly 3 minutes of rest, and the scoopers spread across the field and gather the poops. When these ponies have time to relieve themselves on the field in beyond me. Maybe they find time, when everyone crowds around the referee to catch the next throw of the ball into the field. Seems to happen after goals, or some infractions...
The teams seemed to be very well matched, both teams were accumulating goals in tandem. 5-6, 8-10, 11-11...
It is something to watch when the 'quarterback' comes out and outruns everybody, chasing after the ball and placing it squarely between two 'barber-pole' goal posts. The fans cheer, and the man behind the electronic clock flips the next cardboard number onto the score board - high tech.
The wavy tail belongs to the referee's horse. The referees change horses almost as often as the players, as they have to be right where the action is. And the action is always a movable feast in a break neck rush.
This little guy suddenly hit the polo field, not a good place to be for a little dog. He was obviously confused and lost his owner. Horse handlers tried to catch him, spectators called him, photographers reached for him. He skipped past everyone and disappeared unter the stands. He wore a collar, so with luck he may be reunited with his owner.
Quite a noble steed - one of the equine referees.
The usual melee...
One player had a fall, quicker than a heart beat. The horse stopped, an ambulance drove out onto the field immediately. The game paused. The horse was fine, the rider walked off the field....and was back in the game immediaely with a fresh pony.
It is said, that Polo is the most dangerous sportof all. More deadly than car racing. I can see, why.
The experts following the action down on the green.
A high speed injurious collision. The game is stopped in an instant, the rider of the injured horse is on the ground in a flash, player of both teams get off their horse to assist the casualties. The referees signals for the Equine Ambulance.
After all, their ponies are their partners, probably closer than their girl friends or wives.
Discarded mallets litter the ground, as riders surround the horse and inspect the injury. The horse stands calmly...a few seconds later the saddle is removed.
The horse limps badly and hobbles on three legs. The injured hind leg is wrapped into a heavy protective boot. Several men literally lift the animal into the Equine Ambulance trailer, to keep possible pain to a minimum.
Loaded up in a few minutes, and the horse it transported away. Next to the polo field is the extensive veterinary clinic of the Argentinian army, only a few minutes ride away.
And the match goes on....
I am holding my breath. The entire match only last 7x7 minutes (if I remember correctly) with 3 minute breaks in between...but the opportunity for serious injury is ever present.
On guard...
This is like driving a Ferrari at full speed whilst looking out the back window.
No protective gear for the riders, except for high padded riding boots and a helmet. Just a light Polo shirt and regular riding pants. At least the horses wear leg bandages.
Sometimes the field is not large enough, the the action jumps outside.
Afternoon in Palermo...today the stands on the sunny side are empty (no one wants to have the bright sun in their eyes during the entire game), but a week ago for the 'Abierto', the Open, there was not a seat to be had for love or money.
All for legs in the air - seems ot be the normal position.
Handler warming up another pony...ready for the quick change over.
Going after the ball and bodychecking the competition.
Residents of an apartment building next door - 'Private Viewing Balconies'
Another accident. This time, the horse rolled onto the ground, the rider extricated himself and walked to the edge of the field...people ambulance on the way just in case. The horse got up and seemed fine, it was led off the field.
And the match goes on....
Final sound of the bell 15-13, game over - a close match.
By the time I walked around the field toward the exit and along the outside of the fence, behind which had waited all the ponies before the game started, most of the horses had been cleaned up and loaded into their trailers. On their way back home to their stables and pastures.
The Polistas and their friends and relatives comiserated in their respective team tents, and the crowd of spectators started to stroll home.
Out onto Avenida de Libertador and then half an hour walk, in the balmy evening air, to my apartment in Palermo.
Long story, maybe too many photographs...and my spell check has turned to Spanish - how did it know? No way it lets me check spelling in English as long as I am here in Buenos Aires.
Please endulge my mistakes...hard to find them all on these tiny screens.
No comments:
Post a Comment