Buenos Aires: Where 50 centavos is more valuable than 50 pesos

Two weeks in, and I feel like I am finally starting to figure this place out… or at least I finally figured out where the nearest bus stop to my house is located. Buenos Aires should pride itself on having one of the most unnecessarily complicated collectivo (bus) system in the world. Imagine over 200 different routes, each owned by private companies, with significant overlap but never in the places where you happen to need to go. Multiply that frustration by 10 when you realize that buses must be paid “per-trip” using ONLY coins. I hoard my precious few coins as if they were actually worth $1000 each, rather than just barely a peso, because that is what everyone else does! The woman that works at the Kiosco (convenience store) near my school always shortchanges herself to avoid giving me coins rather than paper money every time I buy something, and from what I have heard that is pretty common. While it is still difficult to perceive, especially when coming from an American city with relatively simple and effective farecard systems for public transit, if you plan ahead it is easy to obtain the moneda (coins) you need from banks or casas de cambio (currency exchange). It is such a bizarre notion that coins, with such little actual monetary value, are probably the most prized form of currency here in the city where everyone swears by the bus system.

We have successfully concluded our first course, an overview of the contemporary economic and social policy situation in Latin America. It gets to me sometimes when I leave class and am confronted with real life examples of poverty and inequality that we discuss in class. Just like any big city, there is a homeless population, and panhandling, and street musicians, but the dichotomy on the streets of Buenos Aires just seems amplified. I live in a beautiful neighborhood called Recoleta, where the main road is dotted with international boutiques and quaint cafes, but people on the street represent all walks of life. The other day, I saw two teenagers window shopping at Cuesta Blanca (Blank Check… a popular high-end store) and they practically stepped over the homeless man who was sleeping out front. As depressing as it is, I am hopeful that when I do graduate from college(cross your fingers, guys!) I will be able to actually have an impact on something like poverty or inequality, whether abroad or in the United States.

So far, I have been gallivanting around Buenos Aires every day, but we are gearing up for the first of 3-in-a-row weekend trips out of town to Mendoza, Iguazú, and Salta (in that order). Georgetown organized the Mendoza and Salta trips, but we got together and decided to take our one free weekend to go to the majestic waterfalls at Iguazú and arranged it ourselves through a travel agency recommended to us. I love exploring the city, but I have been itching to travel to el campo (the country) since I got here.

I actually just found out that I am going to be picked up by van at 8:30AM on Thursday morning in order to get to the airport in time for our flight to Mendoza… I hope the driver doesn’t mind dragging me out of bed, because I can already foresee how useless I am going to be at that hour of the morning…

Outside of classes, I have been settling into a daily rhythm which includes lunch at a café (never for more than $10USD) an afternoon visit to a museum or other touristy or must-see spot, and all in all about 40 miles of walking per day. Maybe 40 is an exaggeration, but I don’t want to lowball it too much since I am trying to either impress you or garner sympathy with this. One night, I went to the horse track (Hipódromo Argentino) with my friends from my group, and we got to watch the races and even place bets. Of course, my bets were based on the color of the jockey’s uniform or how adorable the horse’s name was. This is why I was not allowed to actually wager any of my hard-earned money on the ponies, despite the fact that my friends who did spent at most 5 pesos (like $1.25USD). As I am starting to understand better, much of Argentine culture centers around the gaucho (kind of like cowboy) lifestyle of the plains region, and that includes the horses and cattle Argentina is famous for.

Now for the blue and white elephant in the room… Yes, I was watching with all 30 million of my fellow B.A. citydwellers as the beloved national team took a massive beating from Germany in the quarterfinal match of the world cup. That was a rough one. I allow myself to get into soccer once every two years (world cup and euro cup, of course) and it was definitely a blast to be able to tap into Argentina’s national pride for the past two weeks. “That game” was on Saturday, and the whole rest of the day was a wash for everyone. Life went back to normal by Monday, but now I have this camiseta (jersey) in my closet that I don’t really know what to do with… And now that Brazil and Uruguay are out, Latin America has no one representin in the finals! I guess now by default I have to get behind the only Spanish-speaking country left (Spain, duh), and awkwardly enough I will be cheering for them during the week marking Argentina’s 200^th year of independence from Spain.

All in all, I’m still waiting for my still-dormant amazing Spanish language skills to kick in, but until then I am getting my kicks at tango lessons (literally) and a theater-converted-to-bookstore called el Ateneo very close to my house. The tango story is this: I kicked my tango teacher in the shins (really, really hard) during the last 15 minutes of my first class, prompting her to double over in agony and me to go slack-jawed in absolute horror. Tango is a dance of controlled movements and body placement, and I brought the natural grace of Mrs. O’Leary’s cow into the dance studio that night. I don’t think I’ll be ready for a milonga (tango dance hall) anytime soon, and that is based solely on my conscientiousness for public safety, and not false modesty about my tango prowess.

Mendoza awaits!