Daily Life

When I leave my peaceful apartment, I take a deep breath to ready myself for the daily chaos that is Buenos Aires. Over 40% of Argentina's population lives in the Buenos Aires metropolitan area. Although that definition could people living more than two hours from me, most of them commute to the city proper to work every day. Most of them, it seems, commute to the sidewalk I am walking on, forcing us all into a sullen trudge.

First, there is the public transportation. The subway, while quick, reaches absurd levels of crowded. I once spent an entire ride with my feet barely touching the floor, not bothering to sustain myself as we slowed to a stop - the people in the car simply leaned and straightened as one. To enter one of these crowded cars, it is necessary and socially acceptable to just shove, shoulders first, until a pocket of space appears. I am not above throwing an elbow when late. These smelly subway rides have shown me the best and worst of Buenos Aires. In certain moods, I have sworn under my breath, shocked by the inhumanity this inefficient system encourages. Other times, I've laughed with the people in my corner of the car, shrugging as we uncomfortably settle shoulders into chests, elbows into hips, like sweaty, mismatched puzzle pieces. None of us wants to be in this position, but there's nothing much we can do about it.

Colectivos (buses) are their own brand of crazy. Although they usually - usually - don't get as crowded as the subway, it is still often necessary to stand. This means sustaining yourself as the bus driver whips around corners, speeds quickly, and stops suddenly. It is a skill I have not yet mastered. Porteños calmly send text messages and talk to their friends, while I plant two feet squarely on the floor, bend my knees carefully, and brace myself for the twenty minutes of tripping and sliding that I must endure until someone takes pity on me and gives up their seat. Once you've learned to master the bus ride, there is still the matter of the bus system itself. Colectivos in Buenos Aires have no schedule. It is common to wait half an hour for a bus, only to see two or three arrive at the same time. The Guia T, a handy little guide, known as The Bible to recent arrivals in the city, details the web of bus routes that snake their way through almost every block of the city. When I first arrived, the buses confused me so much I often walked long distances just to avoid them. Now, despite the imperfections of Buenos Aires' colectivos, I can't believe I lived in this city without them.

Choosing your own two feet over public transport comes with its own set of challenges. First, there is the mierda. The dog shit is everywhere. Buenos Aires residents refuse to accept the fact that they live in a huge city, devoid of grass and open space, and insist on owning large, overly-energetic dogs that they hire people to walk fifteen at a time. Given the packed sidewalks in this city, it is a rare pile of mierda that gets left on its own. Instead, any given pile is usually followed by a half-block long smear, meaning that, just when you think you've avoided disaster, the worst often strikes.

Then there is the garbage. The 2001 economic crash left half of Argentina's population below the poverty line, with a 25% unemployment rate. Thus developed the cartoneros, a group of people who, deprived of conventional work, stayed alive by searching for recyclables in other peoples trash and exchanging them for money. After the crisis, the cartoneros became something like a profession, if not respected at least sadly accepted. Many still do this job, usually coming into Buenos Aires from poorer, surrounding areas, often on horseback. It originally made me nervous to see sizable groups of people sitting in dark corners, rifling through trash in the middle of the night. But all the cartoneros I've encountered have seemed to be hardworking people who just don't have any other options. They usually bring their kids with them, and often seem to be doing the best they can to laugh and enjoy what they're doing. Far from making me feel unsafe, I often feel that their presence on a street protects me from other dangers. I've never even gotten a piropo from a cartonero. Despite this, cartoneros do not much care about the state in which they leave the streets, and their garbage adds another element to the obstacle course of Buenos Aires' sidewalks.

This mass of subway stops, colectivos and pedestrians usually strikes a delicate balance, one that an experienced person can navigate without trouble. But if something upsets that balance, well... it might be better to leave the house in a few hours. Minor car accidents, subway break downs and strikes - all common - send entire neighborhoods into chaos as the number of bus passengers suddenly doubles and every car in the city seems to descend on the same intersection. Other times, it is strange, little things that get you. Once, I stepped on a loose sidewalk tile and was met with a surprisingly strong vertical squirt that left my bottom half covered in muddy water for the rest of the day.

Between the crowds, the mess, and the hurried urban atmosphere, the streets of Buenos Aires can be a stressful place. After four months of power walking down the street, dodging dogwalkers, businessmen, and oncoming buses, I can't say that I've learned to love the chaos. Often, I feel tired, and I just wish there were a quicker way to do daily tasks like grocery shopping and going to class.

But I have learned to find my own peace among it all. I frequent a magical park with swans, jugglers, a seniors pilates class, and, unlike most parks in this city, real escape from the noise of cars. On every corner, there is a quiet café with a waitress who doesn't care how long you stay. And even in the most packed subway car, there are people to laugh with about the madness that is simply impossible to avoid.