Buenos Aires Stories

Elizabeth Love finds that in depressing times, with half the population on the poverty line, football is still Argentina's Viagra. And at least there's no problem finding a cab – everyone's driving one

For months, there has been a feeling among Argentines that, after all they've been through, things could not get any worse. Yet, somehow, they always do.

A severe three-year recession is becoming a full-blown depression as the government of President Eduardo Duhalde struggles to keep the comatose economy alive. Unemployment recently hit 22 per cent and 44 per cent of the population is below the poverty line, earning less than $120 (£86) a month.

I hesitate before asking Argentine friends how they are. It is hard to think they'll be well, under the circumstances, and harder still when there is little one can do to help.

Hardest hit has been the nation's once-robust middle class. First a run on the banks prompted the authorities to restrict access to savings accounts; subsequent protests forced two presidents to resign; and now a devalued peso is straining budgets further still. "I feel as if we are under a dinosaur with diarrhoea; the crap just won't stop coming," said Graciela Izarnotegui, one of the newly unemployed.

I first spoke to Ms Izarnotegui last March. Osvaldo, 54, the family patriarch, was driving a cab after his three perfume shops went under. Life was no longer sweet. His younger son, Luciano, 24, was contemplating a move to Spain, and Graciela, his wife, was working as a low-paid clerk. The family's only bright spot was planning the wedding of the elder son, Diego, 25.

Eight months later, Graciela has lost her job, Osvaldo's employer hasn't paid him in two months, and Diego was sacked just 48 hours before his wedding. The couple took their vows on 20 December, the day looting and protests toppled President Fernando de la Rua.

If the economic crisis depresses the Argentine libido, as some studies recently reported, then football is their Viagra, according to football executive Julio Grondona. Some may have found it odd that, after only a month in office, President Duhalde met the leaders of the local football clubs. The meeting followed speculation that the clubs' fragile finances might lead to the postponement of the new season. Those familiar with Argentina understand that, without football, social tensions can only escalate.

Local clubs are suffering as much from the economic crisis as everyone else, with debts of some $400m. Because of the devaluation of the peso, many of the debts have to be renegotiated, including some large sums owed to the players. A classic example of an ailing club is San Lorenzo, which won the league last year. The club has 97 lawsuits filed against it, 37 petitions for bankruptcy and five injunctions against trading in players.

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Taxi drivers in Buenos Aires have always been a garrulous lot, happily chatting on subjects ranging from football to Hollywood to monetary policy. But as more and more jobless professionals turn to cab driving, engaging them in conversation is no longer an amusing pastime. It can be downright depressing. In one week, you might get a driver who used to be a computer technician, a psychologist, a journalist or the owner of three record shops.

Now there is a maudlin joke making the rounds in Buenos Aires: what do an Argentine doctor and an Argentine lawyer have in common? They both drive taxis.