My first week in Buenos Aires. It is a period so full of new experiences, both real and intangible, that I find it difficult to find the words to say (that and because all this Spanish is making my English come out funny). It is a city impossible to describe, all at once European and Latin American, local and cosmopolitan, romantic and depressing. It’s history is so full of epochs in the extreme – it was once the 7th wealthiest nation in the world, and now it’s a “chronic defaulter.” It has gone through socialism, capitalism, democracy and military dictatorship, all within the last century. Needless to say, it will take me more than a week or two to really understand the heart that beats behind this city’s chaotic, confused, and wonderful energy.
I want to keep this short – partially because I’m only a paragraph in and I already don’t think this is very good, and partially because down time is a rarity when abroad in the world’s largest Spanish-speaking city. For example, I have tried and failed to start this piece five times. Only now, with a spare half hour at 8:45 on a Monday do I find a moment to get out my first experiences (and I’m skipping my homework to do it).
This first week is like riding a broken rollercoaster – there are highs, lows, and moments when you just stop and look around and try to understand where you are. Those quiet moments, that arise between the noise of new experiences, have a sweet melancholy to them – I’m all alone in a big city, I don’t know what to do or how to get anywhere, but it feels right. It feels humbling, refreshing, present. Sometimes I wonder if I’m really here, if this is all really here, or if this is all just some complex thought I’m having, but dammit if I’m not in Buenos Aires when I wake up every morning. Existing here is different than existing at home. I feel different. I think I act slightly different. I’m tested every day, and sometimes when I turn to face myself I’m surprised at who I’m looking at.
If what Borges says is right, that “personality is just a mirage of conceit and custom,” then it makes sense that my mirage would quiver when custom is ripped so quickly away, and conceit is beaten down by ignorance of language and location. I have less options in the construction of my being, I’ve been paired down from all my passing titles and circumstantial ideology to just a solitary soul, existing every day, without specific cause to do so. And that feels very human.
The other weird thing is I don’t miss home. I miss people of course, and things, and it’s not like I feel at home here, but I’m just too far away to miss it perhaps, or maybe I’m just happy to have cast off the weight of my identity. I don’t know yet.
In other news, Buenos Aires is huge. I mean HUGE. It feels like moving to New York City minus the English. Which brings me to my first point in a series of points that I call:
List of discoveries that no guidebook prepared me for, in no particular order.
1.) There is little to zero English here. It’s exhausting, and difficult, and on top of that, the porteño accent is fast and unintelligible. But it’s ultimately awesome, for I’m forced to practice and learn, much more so than when I was in Spain. And there’s no better feeling that buying new shoes or getting a haircut entirely in Spanish.
2.) Everyone has pets, but few have leashes. Almost every host family has one or more cats (except for mine, alas) and I see people walking their dogs every hour of the day. However, no leashes. Collared dogs just walk alongside their owner in a metropolis so packed it should be called Crowded Aires. I have no idea how they do it. It’s a wonder in dog training. Their owners, however, may need more training, which brings me to my next point…
3.) There is dog shit literally everywhere. When you mix a city with this many dogs and no custom for poop removal, sidewalks turn into slaloms of dog shit. I have yet to step in one, but I know one day I will, so walking to school is like a Russian Roulette game of dog crap. And one of these days, splat. I just hope I won’t be wearing my new shoes.
4.) The coffee is average, but they can do us better than we can. It’s been one week and already Argentina wins hands down on ice cream and hamburgers. Both are rich and thick, full of toppings of whatever you like. If you, reading stranger, ever come here you must frequent Burger Joint (best burgers in the Western Hemisphere, I’ll bet) and Freddo, a chain of ice cream that surpasses expectations, no matter how high they are (they even have a Malbec flavor)
behold the wonder of Malbec and Dulce de Leche Freddo.
5.) The peso changes like it’s the weather. When I arrived it was $1 = 8 pesos. Then it climbed to 1 = 11.8. Today it was 1 = 10.5. I have no idea why the recent decline, but it’s rising overall, as the government slowly admits it has no plan for Argentina’s debt crisis or inflation problem. Getting money out of the bank is a fun little gamble, if you don’t like the exchange rate that day, wait 24 hrs. It will change.
6.) And finally, holy shit the nightlife. I would describe it less as fun and more as a marathon. After a 10pm dinner, you go for drinks at a friends house until 2 or 3am, then party until 7am. Oh, and this happens every single night. For some reason, Argentinians don’t need sleep, and always operate in a hangover. For me, after my first Friday, I needed a whole 12 hours to recuperate. I don’t think I can ever play at this level. But, because of the love for dancing and drinking here, the bars and clubs are aplenty, with milongas for dancing tango, trendy bars for expensive cocktails and sushi, and dozens upon dozens of cheap Irish pubs for a cheap Quilmes (Buenos Aires beer).
There’s so much more to discuss, including the insane rainstorms, complex hand gestures, and the inexplicable popularity of Rod Stewart, but maybe I’ll write more in a week or so. I’d describe all the wonderfully unique barrios I went to, but there are photos for that. If you’re thinking sweet job Mark, you went on for 250 word about dog shit and never once told me where you went, I’ll give you this – each barrio, or neighborhood, is it’s own unique mini-city, each with their own plaza, people, and parks galore. From the bourgeois Recoleta to party-town Palermo, trendy Puerto Madero to colonial San Telmo, each corner has a story, and probably an old man to tell it for 2 pesos.
Which is why I don’t mind the anonymity here – Buenos Aires has so many distinct personalities that I’m too enraptured to think about who I am. My desire for multiple faces is fulfilled by this city, which has an endless amount of distinct worlds to escape to. As for me, if Borges is right, and my personality has been so easily taken away, then I kind of like what lies underneath – an endlessly curious, often lost, young norteamericano that just wants to know where to get un café fuerte.
OK, BA 