Golden Oldies Hockey

I am now in a grey and damp Buenos Aires. I have tried very hard to be interested in the city sights, but after a morning of pounding pavements in the rain I am happy to sit at a computer for a few hours.

I was going to write some more about Bolivia, but this Internet cafe does not provide CD drives, so I cannot upload any pictures. The scenery is such a major part of the Salar tour and the time around Tupiza that it is not much use writing about it without the photos. So I´ll deal with the hockey festival.

It is really a week-long party with hockey breaks. As the sole representative of Auckland´s Roskill Phoenix I had not entered a team of one player but instead was part of the Hampshire Harlequins. Officially this was a team from England, but there were 3 NZers and 3 Canadians in the squad.

We were due to start on the Sunday evening with a great parade of the teams at Rosario´s huge monument to the national flag. The organisation of the event was not good. It was not a disaster, but it was easily the weakest organised festival since Hong Kong in (I think) 1993. Our bus never showed up, so we had to walk to the parade, where our official team sign was conspicuously absent. Anyway we walked down the steps holding our banner aloft to the cheers of the teams already there.

The speeches of welcome could have been very tedious, but the speechmakers didn´t pause so the interpreters stood helplessly by as one half or other of the audience listened to a foreign language. At least that got it over with more quickly. These formalities were followed by some dancers. I´m sure they were introduced as a tango team, but there was no tango. However, they were dancing to the Benny Goodman arrangement of Sing, Sing, Sing, my very favourite tune so it was most enjoyable. Not a Goodman recording, though.

To make it even more memorable a stray dog wandered up the steps and joined the dancers on the stage. It wandered about and sniffed at some of the lighting gear, so 1,400 spectators were watching the dog, not the dancers. A stage hand tried to shoo the pooch away by swinging a boot at it. Not only was this totally futile, it drew boos from the dog-friends in the audience. The dancers, to their credit, ignored the interloper and carried on with their routine. As they finished the dog decended the steps to rapturous applause.

The next entertainment was a singer with a fine voice. Fido, sensing that the limelight was once again on the stage area, returned and sat appreciatively at the front of the stage. Most of us were helpless with laughter by this time.

We were also cold. The organisers could not be blamed for the unseasonal weather, but the function was running late and it was more than merely chilly. The singer was replaced by gaucho style dancers. They wear boots and kick them about so the dog wisely retreated a bit, but a good actor can tell when he is lit and when he is not. The dog kept to the edge of the stage where everyone could see him. The shivering Harlequins had become spread out in the crowd, but all those that capitano Norman could find joined a quiet drift towards the hotel where food, drink, light and warmth were waiting for us.

It was great to be early. Squads of waiters and waitresses were desperate for someone to serve their drinks to and we happily obliged. Piled plates were descended on by ravenous hockey enthusiasts. Our arrival was the signal to retrieve the hot food from some caterer´s secret place and ladle it onto our plates. Through the hotel´s windows we admired the fireworks that marked the end of the official ceremony. After three helpings and as many glasses of red wine I beamed benevolently at the throng who streamed in after staying at the monument for the full official schedule.

Then the first band started. This was definitely my evening. It was a swing jazz trio of great skill. Keyboard, drums and bass are an unusual combination but they made it work well. Between numbers I asked if they had a CD. They hadn´t brought any with them!

The next band was for dancing to, and didn´t the Argentinians do that! They were nearly all women´s teams and they swarmed onto the floor. Not that the foreigners were far behind. I was in there jigging with the best of them. At one time I was surrounded by a circle of admiring Argentinian women. My ego may one day return to normal size.

We returned to the hotel to find the arrangements for Monday´s games on the noticeboard. Oh no. We were a mixed team but had been set down to play against men´s teams. We noted the time of our bus and went to our beds.

The next morning the bus did turn up, it was just ridiculously late. All the games had to be played later than scheduled as the teams turned up. It later emerged that these were buses from another city. Maybe the drivers just didn´t know how long it would take to get to the hotels. But we did eventually get to the grounds and we did play against the men. We actually gave the Dutch 65-and-over team a reasonable game but against the Newcastle Hunters from Australia it was very one-sided. However, we did score two breakaway goals. I scored one of them. I usually score one goal per festival.

Tuesday was a picnic at an estancia some way outside Rosario. The bus was on time. At the estancia there were plenty of tables, chairs and waiters who would produce beer or other beverages on request. Delightful finger foods were distributed at appropriate times throughout the day. I fraternised with other teams from many countries.

There was also entertainment. More dancing. This time both men and women in traditional garb. I didn´t see any booted feet kicked out. My sample was a cross between country dancing and flamenco. Then some gauchos gave a demonstration of horsemanship. There was an explanation of what was being done and if you knew horses you would have properly appreciated the skills involved. I fear I am a non-horse person. Finally there was a demonstration of polo. A bit of explanation would have been useful here, too, but it was not offered. At least I can say that I have seen polo live. The rules are a mystery still. The referee was mounted, but did not make any attempt to keep up with the play. Indeed, he did not appear to have a whistle. Very odd. I am incredibly impressed that a player can hit a ball with that long-handled mallet from a moving horse. But they hardly ever missed.

Despite our earlier requests for games against other mixed teams, we were set down to play in a men´s section once more on Wednesday. We protested and this time the draw was redone instantly. Hooray, we got games against the Galway Hookers and the Bath Buccaneers. Mind you, we had to tell our scheduled all-male opponents that their day´s arrangements had been changed. They were both afternoon games, so we spent the morning trying not to drink too much beer, swapping team badges and making new friends. However, the language barrier was awkward and usually prevented long conversations with the local teams. I did have a few words with the sole team from Paraguay. They were very impressed that I had visited their country.

The Galway Hookers were a mixed team that played pretty serious hockey, and we didn´t fare well. Then it transpired that the Bath Buccaneers were mainly the same people and we had another hard game. There were some unfortunate collisions and a few players got rather grumpy. Not the Golden Oldies spirit at all. However, we kept a clean sheet and recorded our first draw.

After the Wednesday games the teams were invited to "strut their stuff". Hampshire Harlequins had registered to do a turn but (a) we hadn´t rehearsed, (b) there were so many teams performing that we estimated it would go on until at least 11pm, and (c) it was cold. We scratched. We did go through our songs round our table near the bar and even got three Paraguayans to join in singing, amongst other things, Maybe It´s Because I´m a Londoner. Then we sang them again on the bus going back to the hotel.

I had a "rest" day on Thursday. This involved getting a load of laundry done; finding a shoe repair place to re-sole my tramping boots and re-sew the other strap on my day pack; getting my camera downloaded to CD; writing a postcard to my computerless parents; sending birthday greetings to my daughter Elizabeth and finishing off the Ruta Uno story on my blog.

Many others went on tours around the area. One was a disaster. There was a border to cross (presumably into Uruguay) and the bus didn´t have the right paperwork. They were held up for hours and the monastery or whatever they were going to see was closed when they got there. They did get refunds.

Having got the message through that we were a mixed team, imagine our feelings when the draw for Friday had us playing men´s teams yet again. I made some phone calls and was promised all would be fixed by the morning. In the morning we were removed from the men´s section but had no games at all. I fear I would have got very frumpy indeed at this, but our liason person, Laura, promised to sort it out. And she did. We finally got three games against relaxed, social, mixed teams who wouldn´t try very hard.

We had three lovely games. No-one had to run hard. No-one got grumpy. We even played a silly manouvre against the Fijians. When defending a short corner, on the cry of "Bomburst" we all ran and hid behind our own goal.

Saturday is for aged bodies to recuperate and then let rip at the farewell party.

The venue was at a shopping mall, of all places. The table numbering was odd. It wasn´t random because 95 was close to 97, but the next table was numbered 43. We found our tables by wandering like particles demonstrating brownian motion until we came across them.

During the period when the 1,400 participants were arriving couples gave tango demonstrations on rostra. I didn´t realise it was necessary in tango to get so close. A tango band played. It was an idiosyncratic ensemble with 4 or 5 accordions and they played very avant-garde music. I didn´t meet anyone who said they liked it. The tango dancers appeared on the main floor and, with more space, danced somewhat further apart.

Then the organisers from Air NZ and the local committee made lots of speeches and gave each other lots of presents. Since they had done a pretty ordinary job of it, this got tedious. Food was then served while the accordions played yet more atonal music. They finally left to the most meagre of polite applause. Now, I thought, we can party, except that there was no music at all. I started to dance anyway, which at least got a laugh. And then some tango music started and a few of us danced to that. No, I didn´t try to dance the tango.

We didn´t appreciate that this music was for the professionals AGAIN. I was actually asked to leave the floor. Above the music I tried to explain that there were 1,400 people who had come here to party. I think it was about 11 o´clock at this stage. By now there were more and more Golden Oldies getting up and dancing. I believe the organisers gave up. I saw at least one of the tango troupe bopping with the rest of us.

My legs gave out at about 2:20. I got to bed at 3:00 and had to be up at 7:30 to pack in time for the bus to Buenos Aires.