These are a few of my favorite things

Tomorrow, I leave for a 19 day trip through Patagonia. After that, I will come back up to Buenos Aires to meet my family, do some traveling with them, and show them around Buenos Aires. I'll try to find time to update, but I might have to save it all for when I get back to America on December 31st.

In honor of my last day in the city (save 4 days at the very end with my family, which will be a whole different thing), I have decided to write about the things I will miss most about Buenos Aires and Argentina. These range from places to people, from the very personal to things anyone would experience here.

1. The café culture, taken straight from Paris. I don't drink coffee, but I love the ritual of spending an afternoon in a café with a friend or a book and some medialunas (croissants). Coffee, or the hot chocolate I usually order, comes with a tiny glass of sparkling water and a biscuit. Waiters don't work for tips, so they never try to rush you out. In fact, it is usually quite a challenge to get the bill. Especially in the hot weather, I've found myself retreating into air-conditioned cafés, ordering nothing more than an orange juice and reading for hours until it gets dark.

2. Casual compliments. Affection is built into Argentinian Spanish (and that of other countries). Cashiers often greet me with, "hola, mi amor" (hello my love) or, "qué tal, mi vida" (how are you, my life). When I ask for directions on the street, people respond with "por allá, linda" (that way, beautiful) or "a la izquierda, divina" (to the left, divine). These compliments come from men and women of every age. Though these phrases are common and not particularly serious, they almost always make me smile.

3. Ice cream. Simply put, Argentinians do ice cream right. And they do it a lot. Boutique ice cream parlors cover the city, showcasing the Italian influence with rich, smooth, home made flavors. A small will get you two flavors, adding an extra element of creativity to ordering. My favorites are Banana Split (banana ice cream with chunks of chocolate and dulce de leche) and dark chocolate, even better when combined.

4. Twice a week, I sit in a park that makes everything in the world seem right. It is only two blocks from UBA, so I usually go to class early and spend some time doing homework, or simply sitting. It is huge and set off from the street, so if you sit by the lake near the middle, the sound of cars magically disappears. Unlike many other parks in the city, where the grass is worn down and uncomfortable to sit in, and the prevalence of sketchy looking people prevent me from fully relaxing, I always feel comfortable here. It is busy, but I can always find a bench. There is so much going on - exersize classes, jugglers, drummers, families walking, dogs playing, swans swimming - but never too much. In this park, I can concentrate on my work without trouble, but I can also spend time just staring, watching the people and the animals play.

5. San Telmo. The neighborhood I live in is easily my favorite in the city. It is artsy and funky, with great night life, while at the same time small and laid back. Unlike many other areas in BA, there is a real neighborhood feel. I've gotten to know people just from spending time in the area and have developed a small collection of people I say hi to on the street. It is also home to most of the reggae clubs (and, on a related note, most of the stoners) in the city. It is one of the homes of tango, and there are tango clubs everywhere. It also has one of the most lively gay scenes in the city (including a queer tango club). All of these people come together, along with most of the tourists in the city, on Sundays for the San Telmo fair, a collection of artisans, musicians, street performers and food vendors who occupy 10 blocks or so until dusk, when the San Telmo murga club dances and drums down the length of the fair, signaling the end.

6. Everyone I know here leads a double life. This is especially true among students and professors, since it is nearly impossible to be just a student or just a professor. But everyone else tends to have a lot going on as well. Since the economic crash of 2001, NGOs have flourished in Buenos Aires, and each one seems to have an army of dedicated volunteers. A staff member of my study abroad program also volunteers as a therapist for Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo (http://www.abuelas.org.ar, click on the left side for English version). My building manager trains street kids for the Pan American games. My host mom volunteers as a therapist at an orphanage. I don't want to diminish the destruction of the economic crash, nor of the general lack of public funds here. But it has had the pleasant side of effect of encouraging a cultural solidarity we lack in America. People here do things for free, because they see that they must be done and that no one else is going to do them. To me, this is beautiful.

7. Tango and folklore. I love Argentinian music and dance. My favorite weekend nights have been spent at milongas (tango clubs) and peñas (folklore clubs), where people of all ages dance until dawn. Whatever attempts I might make to describe these songs and dances would fall short, but here is a good example: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3S4bFC2DasI&feature=related. Unfortunately, this video does not capture the liveliness of the clubs themselves, where people pull each other from tables to dance with grins and affection, enjoying every moment of what they are doing. These dance clubs further exemplify the double lives porteños live. I went to a peña last night and met a group of accountants who danced beautifully. Respected government ministers work all day, and dance tango all night.

8. The daily thrill of speaking Spanish. Some days, the language is far more frustrating than thrilling. But on the whole, learning Spanish here has been incredibly rewarding, and has added an exciting element to otherwise mundane daily interactions. "Oh my god," I think, "I just bought batteries! And I didn't have to repeat myself once!"

9. Las Madres de Plaza de Mayo. I have written about them here many times, but I could not neglect to mention these women just once more. Working with them has been a privilege, and without question the best thing I did here.

10. Rituals. Two extremely important customs here are saludos (greetings) and mate. Everyone greets everyone with a kiss on the cheek (just one, to the right) when they see each other. Meetings of large groups result in a ten minute long frenzy of kissing in every possible combination. If you forget to greet someone, better to do ten minutes later than not at all. I also love the ritual of drinking mate, a bitter tea, out of a hollow gourd with a metal straw (http://www.nutricion.pro/wp-content/uploads/2008/02/mate.jpg). People do drink mate alone, but when with other people, they always share. People pass their mate gourds in a circle, each person drinking as much as they want, refilling the water whenever necessary. I love both of these rituals, because they make interaction automatically personal. No one worries about personal space or germs. There is an affection in daily life, even among acquaintances, that we lack in America. Many Americans say that they consider hugs - rarer in Argentina - more intimate than kisses. While that might be true, Americans only hug those people with whom they are already intimate, while Argentinians kiss everyone, and pass their mate to anyone that looks thirsty.

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.

Piropos

"Hola linda." "Ay, muy bien." "Mmm vení acá." Phrases like these, often accompanied by a spit-filled kissing noise, have become part of the soundtrack of my daily life. The piropo - a compliment given by a man to a woman on the street - is an Argentinian institution (although certainly not unique to this country). When I first arrived, the female staff of my program as well as my host mom immediately warned me about piropos, having seen the reactions of countless fearful American females. Don't be afraid, they urged me. Piropos are part of our culture. Take them as a genuine compliment, don't show any reaction, and you will be fine.

In my first months here, I followed their advice with vigilance. Sometimes, the piropos were sweet. After selling me my subway ticket, a middle-aged man told me, "you are very beautiful," and then continued his work without hope or expectation. Another man stepped off the sidewalk, took off his hat and bowed as I passed, saying in English, "welcome to my country beautiful lady." Other times, the piropos contained more stomach-turning lipsmacking and rapacious eye searches than old-fashioned gallantry. But in these cases, I avoided eye contact, kept walking, and shrugged to myself: just a part of being in Argentina.

In October, my opinion changed. I was up north in Jujuy, wandering through a mountainside village with a female friend, when a car full of men slowed down for the stop sign next to us. I unconsciously braced myself for what was coming, directing my gaze far ahead, tightening my muscles, checking that my shirt hadn't slipped down and that my shorts hadn't slipped up. The man in the driver's seat turned to us purposefully while his friends watched. "Buenos días," he said.

Until that interaction, I didn't realize how accustomed I had become to my new relationship with unknown males. I no longer considered the possibility of a pleasant interaction on equal terms. And all the while, I realized, this was the civil way Argentinian men treated one another, while all I could do was try to disappear in their presence. I'm not sure if the exchange in Jujuy was the result of different social mores in that region or just a particularly nice man. Either way, I now view piropos with indignance. Many girls I know like them, but I long for the day when I can walk down the street and play an active role in my interactions. I want to dress comfortably for the sweltering summer weather, and not feel uncomfortable as a result. I want to be able to smile at strangers. I still do as I was told when I arrived - I do not fear piropos, and I ignore them with success. Sometimes, if I'm in the right mood, an artful piropo still brightens my day. But piropos represent Argentinian machismo at its finest. Anyone who denies this is simply not paying attention. Some days, I prefer the United States, where we keep our sexism to ourselves.

In Which I Consort with World Leaders

My service learning professor helped plan a presidential service learning award, and somehow managed to snag invitations for our class. This meant we got to enter the Casa Rosada through a gate that I've never seen open before, watch the Kristina Kirchner, the president of Argentina hand out the awards, and then take a picture and "saludar," i.e. kiss her on the cheek.

When she figured out we were a large group of Americans, she immediately asked us who we had voted for. When we answered Obama, she pumped her fists and chanted, "Obama, Obama!" It was funny to see a head of state share the same giddiness over the American elections as the vast majority of her citizenry.

Sí, se puede.

I spent election night at a Democrats Abroad party. There, along with over 300 other Americans, I crammed myself into an air-conditioning-free bar on a 90+ degree night, to watch CNN in English and cheer stupidly for every statistic that appeared on the screen. It was a great night.

(The W in the photo is for Wesleyan, as I ended up hanging out with almost all the Wesleyan kids on my program that night).

Most Argentinians have followed the elections almost as closely as us, and are far more fervent Obama supporters than many people I know in the United States. At the Madres de Plaza de Mayo office today, three madres began running around excitedly when I came in (no small feat for 80something year-old women), kissing and hugging me as though I were personally responsible for Obama's win.

I also had a really interesting conversation with my host mom the day before the election. She also supports Obama and said she was worried that something would go wrong to prevent him from winning. Bush, she thinks, is an "immoral type" who would do anything to keep his party in power. Even though Obama had a clear lead at that point, it was difficult for her to conceive of a peaceful, minimally fraudulent power transition. I, on the other hand, despite believing in some degree of regular voter fraud, had never once considered the possibility that the rightful winner would somehow fail to gain power. It is a luxury to live in a country like America. For all of our many problems, we have a very good track record of switching parties peacefully and often. I don't think this is an innately American skill, as historical factors make this far more difficult to do in Argentina. Still, that conversation showed me, yet again, the degree to which national history affects the way individuals view the present.