Let me firstly relate how blessed I feel by my opportune study abroad circumstances. Not only do I live with a trendy and well-traveled 26-year-old University of Buenos Aires (UBA) student named Pilar, but I am also within a one-block radius of two kioscos (vending kiosks), two panaderías (bakeries), and two helado (ice cream) establishments. The latter detail predestines that I am about to en-gor-dar, which personally translates to “get plump in a manner befitting the tastes of the witch in ‘Hansel and Gretel.’” The kiosks have particularly tickled my fancies. Omnipresent and often without close, they house colorful panoplies of the most extensive collection of sweets I have ever seen concentrated in such small spaces; I am talking upwards of ten flavors of Milka chocolate bars, a variety of individually-wrapped alfajor cookies (a treasured, dulce-de-leche-filled Latin American classic), and all the Kinder Surprise eggs a girl could ever dream of consuming in a single day. During the first few days of my disoriented navigation through the city, I came to consider the kiosks as well-wishers that promised to recharge my spirits, rinky-dink pre-paid phone, and public transportation card in one go!
My wonderment with the kiosks aside, I have appreciated other noteworthy items about life in Argentina over these past few weeks:
1. The dynamic between porteños, the word used to identify residents of Buenos Aires, and their dogs strikes me as illustrative of the city’s essence. Since an Argentine winter resembles more of a brisk spring day for someone from Western New York, the dogs of Buenos Aires are usually dressed in hardier sweaters than I am. The regard porteños feel for their beloved four-legged companions, who often accompany their humans into cafes and restaurants, corresponds with my long-held image of Latin America as a place of convivial, zealous, and loyal communities. Nevertheless, residents are not all that disposed to having their dogs doted upon by strangers. They do not stop mid-walk to let you reach out a hand and cop a caress, a fact that I feel points to a European reservation.
It is this cultural syncretism, engendered by a history of 19th and 20th century European immigration to the port city, that allows Buenos Aires to not have to try too hard to be enchanting. For example, impressive monuments designed by French, Italian, and Spanish sculptors stand perched in palm tree-lined green spaces that host the occasional drum circle. The residential seamlessly intertwines with the commercial as the flower-laden balcony installments, intricate ironwork railings, and old-fashioned window shutters of neoclassical apartment buildings rest atop storefronts advertising the likes of laundry-mat services and economic empanada deals. Tango performances also allude to the marriage of cultural styles. Tango, which consists of both music and dance, is the art-child of Argentina. The intensity of its characteristic fanciful footwork and sensual stares is heightened by a theatrical plotline and crooning instrumentals. I must issue an incredibly appreciative shout-out to the Hotung family of Buffalo, who treated me to a show at the El Viejo Alamacén that had my heart invested in every dance couple’s on-stage rendezvous and my faith in romance revived. It was there that I appreciated the way tango converges a European sense of technical precision with a characteristically “Latin” passion.
2. Unlike in the United States, “politics” is not a forbidden topic of casual conversation in Argentina. Porteños certainly do not shy away from spewing out political commentary at any hour of the day. Take the times when a woman at the bus stop delved into an unsolicited exposé on the state of inflation in the country, an Economics student discussed President Cristina Fernández de Kirchner’s electioneering ploys with me in a bar on a late Thursday evening, and a classmate of mine at the Catholic University of Argentina asked me why I did not punch Kirchner when she came to Georgetown last semester, as examples. Furthermore, the middle to upper-middle class host families of the exchange program wasted little time in communicating their distaste of the incumbent government leadership to us international students. We have heard many a lamentation regarding the import substitution industrialization measures and lack of resolution to an officially trivialized inflation problem: while the government reports an annualized inflation rate of 10.6%, the data of private economists indicate that the true inflation rate is a whopping 24.9%. While this may be one-sided material, we have been able to better glean how Buenos Aires compares politically to the rest of Argentina.
Moreover, a severe mistrust of the government’s economic policies, such as those that limit access to foreign currency and goods, has birthed a black market for currency exchange. One Argentine lady informed me that the fear of an unstable and devaluating peso has prompted Argentines to frantically buy U.S. dollars and stash the bills under their beds in lieu of putting their savings in Argentine banks. Us North American exchange students have actually assumed breakout roles in this economic drama. As college students wanting to maximize our study abroad experience, we pounced on the chance to obtain the black-market rate of US $1 dollar to Arg. $9 pesos over the official one of US $1 to Arg. $5.67. From the moment we arrived, we began flooding the underground economy with our coveted U.S. bills. The technically “illicit” transactions take place rampantly and not all that inconspicuously in locations such as Calle Ocho, a street where dozens of men shout out “cambio” (change) to signal their services; nameless stores with otherwise nondescript facades, save for the currency pasted on their windows; and pawn shops. Needless to say, the business of currency exchange has been an unorthodox way to learn more about the economic health of the country.
3. Due to the polemic nature of the community, it is easy to integrate oneself into the pace of “porteño” societal affairs. I recall one outing some of my companions in the program and I took to a McDonalds for the satisfyingly familiar taste of a cheeseburger and fries. Instead of reminiscing about life back in the U.S., however, we debated the utility of Argentina’s compulsory voting law. Being bombarded by the political propaganda of the legislative primaries had left us in need of collectively processing all that we had observed. For instance, the entire first half of August found me reeling in surprise at the abounding use of campaign flyers to promote congressional candidates. However old-school, I suppose seeing their faces plastered over nearly every public building was an effective tool that got even me, a newly arrived foreigner with only a moderate interest in the Congressional races of her own country, to care about who was running and what their respective political aims were.
I have also gained insight into the psyche of the city’s populace by bearing witness to two protests, both of which broke out while I was unsuspectingly strolling the streets. The larger of the two stationed itself at the inauguration site of the national flag in Plaza de Mayo. Participants carried signs that read “Stop Corruption” while a speaker system alternated between blasting lively music and disseminating the discourses of speakers. The vitality of political activism can actually be felt all the time in the city, as it most profusely emanates from the ubiquitous graffiti and street art that color the city’s edifices. Before arriving in Argentina, I had often wondered about how the country’s citizenry coped with its past of political and economic turbulence. I now realize that the graffiti and the graphics are part of the answer. They are the silent but loud expressions of a people once oppressed. Messages such as “The Falklands are Argentina’s” are manifestations of the democratic spark that returned to the country in1983. Through my interactions with this art form, I am confronted by the country’s past, able to appreciate its present, and given a glimpse into its people’s aspirations for its future.
4. Life in Buenos Aires is fast-paced in a way that differs from New York or London. The efficiency of Argentine culture can be lost on those of us who have grown up within a North American-European context of the word. While I am sure that frequently hearing Ne-Yo and Rihanna in malls, restaurants, and taxis helped soften the blows of an initial culture shock, the truth is that I did not experience much shock at all; I simply did not have the time to. From day one, I was thrown into the city’s ebb and flow of activity and forced to interact with its people. I spent so much time walking the blocks of its busy streets, riding its public transportation, identifying the quaint cafes and bustling plazas to which I wanted to return, gauging the degree of demographic diversity that existed, and gazing at the popular platform boots I saw every girl donning on my way to getting settled that before I knew it, I was settled. The unique attribute about Buenos Aires is that its momentum is not overwhelming. Despite being a sprawling metropolis, it boasts of a manageable chaos, and I feel nothing but relaxed when I move through its barrios and take in their distinct stimuli.
In addition, one question many of us pondered during our first few weeks here was, “When do porteños sleep?” Pilar is basically an Argentine Superwoman. Her weekdays entail working for eight hours, attending class for three to four hours afterwards, buying groceries, cooking, and finally sitting down for dinner at 11 pm. Meanwhile, her weekend nights very rarely end before 5 am the following Saturday and Sunday (you are basically a disappointment of a porteño if you go to bed any earlier than 3 am). This non-stop lifestyle of hers is the norm. Yet, despite their demanding schedules, Argentines never appear hurried or fraught with anxiety. In fact, I am usually the only goon ever running down the streets, frantic from tardiness. Perhaps their composure is due to the fact that Argentines allow for pause to socialize with their friends and family. The value they place on these social institutions is evident in the late-night gatherings of elderly comrades or young families that I witness whenever I travel past the restaurants and cafes of Santa Fe Avenue on my way home from class. Thus, I have come to recognize two things: one, that a fast-walking mob is not the only sign of productivity and two, that it is highly appropriate for the Argentine version of Red Bull to be titled “Speed,” since porteños sure seem to have a lot of it.
