La Bombonera - The Beating Heart of La Boca

  As I read footballing magazine FourFourTwo a few months before I departed for Argentina, my excitement to travel to one of the Mecca's of the Beautiful Game grew only stronger. In a list of the World's best stadiums, I read through the impressive list enriched with sporting history, poetry and glamour. Camp Nou. El Estadio Azteca. Wembley Stadium. Yet these iconic arenas only acted as the supports acts for the main event, voted #1 football stadium in the World - La Bombonera, home of Club Atlético Boca Juniors. The rock star of South American football.

Photos taken by host Mum but
I can assure you I was there...

   From this moment it became an immediate goal of mine to visit this famous stage. I wanted to see Iguazu, Patagonia and the variety of natural wonders that Argentina possesses, but they all came second to La Bombonera. It may seem odd that a football stadium would surpass these other natural miracles but it was a personal thing. I've always had a passion for visiting stadiums and on my prior travels it's always been on the itinerary. The Bird's Nest in Beijing, Stadium Australia in Sydney and Yankee Stadium in New York have all been prior trips that have left a positive impression. Where they regarded as the best football stadium in the world though? No.

  That was La Bombonera.

Maradona and Riquelme - Just the boys
hanging out... 

  As I approached the stadium on a touristy open-top bus route, the signs that is was close were obvious. Something that I've noticed here is that football truly represents a community, and the surrounding area is a sea of painted lamp-posts and graffitied walls all signifying the colours of the local team. This was no different. The vibrant blue and yellow of Boca Juniors beat off the walls of the run down buildings like the only heart keeping them alive. The Herculean images of local Gods Carlos Tevez, Juan Roman Riquelme and Diego Maradona were painted in a variety of heroic situations. I considered that if this was anything to go by, it was no surprise that Argentina didn't invest much in their military. If anyone attacked the slightly tubby Boca legends would fight them off.

  The tour I decided on could be described as underground. And by 'decided on' I mean was presented to me by a local tout and was made nearly impossible to say no to. It required the pairing us up and subsequently I was put with a girl from the Basque Country called Ainara who proudly rocked a Athletic Bilbao shirt. We were ushered through into the concourse of the stadium and in a very 'hush hush' manner we were given instructions (in Spanish) as to where we should go.

La Doce - The 12th Man.

  The guide then evaporated. We soon ended up on the pitch with the Copa Libertadores (South American Champions League) in hand and smiling for rapidly taken pics. If it's that easy to get hold of a continental trophy here maybe Argentina should be Arsene Wenger's next career move.

 The stadium itself was a thing of antique beauty. The pounding sun reflected off the wet pitch into the three stands of yellow and blue, giving a suitable prize-like glisten to the 'Best Stadium in the World'. The stand to my right showed a '12' to represent the ultras areas - where the members are often regarded as the twelfth player due to their 'sing and bounce to the death' support. I could imagine unique flat stand symbolising a teacher overlooking the naughty children on match-days. It oozed an aurora of sophisticated calm surrounded by the carnage of the fans pits.

La Boca - a place where science and football
 once blended to create Diego Maradona.

  Me and Ainara continued to explore the stadium without limits. AR$200 each had gotten us our pitchside photo and a seemingly open ended ticket to wonder around, absorbing every atom of footballing sentiment that the cancha offered us. We even snuck in the back of an official club tour and picked up a nugget or two of information about Diego Maradona, we were quickly learning the La Boca way.

  A local couple stopped us to chat football and we each threw ingredients of our local footballing customs into a potion of cultural differences. I spoke about Chelsea and football in London whilst Ainara explained the politics of Basque football and the couple answered our questions about the local game. The sun shining as I talked football in Spanish with native speakers overlooking the pitch of La Bombonera  - this is what a year abroad is all about.

With my Basque friend and new blog
photographer - Ainara. 

  To experience La Bombonera on a quiet midweek day was unforgettable in itself but it only left me wanting more. Me and Ainara shared similar looks when we passed murals of Boca Juniors' 12th man on matchday, like two kids passing a cake - we wanted a slice of that action. The pulsing of the blue and yellow heart of La Boca is something I need to experience before I return to England at Christmas. My trip on this occasion only transformed the idea of going to match from a 'nice bonus' to a craving. This was a game-changer.

  Yet in the classic British tourist way not everything was rosy. My ever-declining phone decided to pack in towards the end of the afternoon and I was forced to perform a factory reset (it wasn't as heroic as the use of 'perform' suggests) - losing all of the day's photos*. I was and still am gutted. Yet the one photo I did retain was my favourite. A physical photo of me, on the hallowed turf of La Bombonera holding the Copa Libertadores. Living the dream.

Thanks for reading (sorry if you don't like football and this meant very little to you).

*The photos here are from the cameras of my host Mum and Ainara - but I assure you I took identical replicas!