From St. Thomas to Kravi: he went 30 years to the same bowling alley, they are going to tear him down and he was left without dancing

Nahuel Gallotta

07/03/2021 15:44

• Clarín.com

• Society

Updated 07/03/2021 3:44 PM

The first alarm was in October.

Marcelo Del Río (46) received a voice message that worried him:

"Find out what's up with Kravi. It seems he's closed,"

a friend asked him.

Marcelo instantly called one of his contacts.

The pandemic had cut a streak of almost 30 years as a client of the

historic nightclub

on Avenida La Plata at 700, Caballito, which had previously been Seven and St. Thomas.

"We are complicated, but the owner will continue to bank the place. The issue is that they continue to charge the rent, even though he cannot open," was the answer they gave him, and Marcelo calmed down.

But in the early morning of June 12, as if it were a nightmare, he received another message.

It was a screenshot: "With the closure of St. Thomas / Seven / Kravi

can someone think of Marcelito ??

(sic)", someone who Marcelo does not know said on Twitter.

And believed him.

Because the phrase carried the image of the place inside, practically ransacked, ready to be demolished.

In the place where he was happy for almost 30 years, there will be a building.   

It is now five in the afternoon on Wednesday in a cafe on the corner of Kravi and Marcelo shows some of the messages he received throughout the week.

"With the news of the closure we all think of you", "How did the news hit you?", "It closed but you will always be a reference of the night and of the place", were some of the texts.

Others sent him tweets in which they named him, always referring to him as a victim of the closing of a classic Buenos Aires night.

Marcelo does not know most of them personally.

But they to him, yes.

Marcelo Del Río, at the door of Kravi, the last name of the bowling alley on Avenida La Plata at 700. Photo Emmanuel Fernández

"It grabbed me like a tummy ache when I found out. Literal, huh. Did you see when it hurts here?" He explains and touches his stomach. "I loved coming. Everyone greeted me. It's like what Francella says in the movie The secret of her eyes: you can change your job, your partner, your neighborhood, but passion is passion, and you can't change .

I felt that it was my passion.

The kids of now are not going to understand me, because they go anywhere. They do not feel identity with a bowling alley. They go to the one that becomes fashionable, for fashion. "  

His story was published in this newspaper at the end of 2015. "He decided not to go bowling," it was titled. There he said that he had stepped on the place when it was called St. Thomas, and that he could never leave it. Friday, Saturday and the eve of holidays, or the night the owners happened to open it, he was there, spending

a good part of his salary as a truck driver

. The note was the most read of the day on the website of this newspaper, received calls from radio producers and was even translated by a French magazine. The day it was published, Marcelo, better known as "Marcelito de Parque Patricios", ran out of battery at 11 in the morning. And that was not all.  

The weekend following the publication of the note, he traveled to Mar del Plata (Kravi closed all January and at least 15 days in February).

On Friday, as on practically every night of the season, he went to dance at Ananá.

Actor Rodrigo Noya, upon seeing him, asked for a photo.

The PR of the disco invited him with a table and a few champagnes.

"Crack", said those who recognized him and asked for photos, throughout the summer.

That season, of 37 nights, he went out to dance 36. Always to Ananá.    

"

You will fall in love with the place. You

love the establishment more than anything else. You know that the place that has you in love is open and you feel that you have to be there", Papo and Gringo, in charge of Ananá, his other temple, always tell him.

The only one left.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by ᴋʀᴀᴠɪ ● K (@ kravi.ok)

Some of his friends and acquaintances carried him all his life for his love for Kravi.

They told him he was "the unfriendly" because he abandoned weddings, birthdays, events and dates at two in the morning,

just to go dancing at Kravi

.

One of them clarified: "If you are my true friend, I came to see me on a Friday or Saturday after two in the morning."

He never cared about criticism.

"When they go to the casino or to the field, I do not screw them," he defends himself.

“I did mine, without bothering anyone;

I was going with my money.

Was I going to stay watching TV at home because some believe that it is wrong to always go to the same place?

No, not crazy.

I always do what makes me happy. 

I came to go with a fever of 40.

I entered Kravi and it passed

, I felt good.

Stepping on that place gives me an adrenaline rush.

I know it is abnormal, but it is stronger than me.

I go in and forget everything ”. 

"You will fall in love with the place," says Marcelo, and assures that he never cared about the criticism.

Photo Emmanuel Fernández

The day he dies he wants the hearse that takes him to the cemetery to stop there, at Avenida La Plata 735, the address that he would get tattooed if one day he was encouraged to use the needles (he has no tattoos). As soon as he entered,

he made the sign of the cross

. It was a way of thanking one more night in the place. When he invited a friend to visit the place, he received him with a ritual: he asked the illuminator to make a set of lights for his honoree. That was Marcelito's welcome. He also asked them if they were hot or cold, and turned the air conditioning on or off.

"My last night in here was in 2019," he recalls. "If I knew it would be the last,

I would have jumped from the cabin

. Not being able to go out during the pandemic did not affect me so much, because we were all inside. But now I am already needing to go out. I need to see people dancing on top of the tables, like before. "

In his later years, he had the chance to meet other discos. But in none of them did he feel comfortable. Is that according to his analysis,

the night changed

. There was a before and after. People, he says, are different. "The new kids of the night are all metrosexual: tight pants, tattooed as if they were players, short hair. They are the same. They go to the bowling alley and compete to be the one who buys the most champagne," he compares. "We never had to buy a French champagne to be recognized. They always respected me for going out, not for spending."

Another difference with the new litters, according to his vision, is the

lack of empathy between clients

.

Each group of friends "buys" a VIP table and does not greet anyone.

"I greeted myself with people from all the tables; now they only look at each other to see how many champagnes are on each table," he recalls.

And he closes with a phrase of his authorship, which represents him and which he repeats every time he refers to the subject: "Neither tattoos (by today's young people, all tattooed) nor flares (by the flares that the waitresses light when they ask for a expensive champagne):

more bowling than the Moon

. "    

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