Buenos Errors

First Depressions

We drop out of dense cloud to over verdant fields arranged like jigsaw pieces - not much evidence of the rectilinear grid that is so familiar to Canadians. 

Taxiing in, the airport looks a bit shabby from the exterior but the interior is all marble and glass – modern and sophisticated. The immigration experience is a little bit un-Canadian: the staff exchange lots of cheek busses (custom here is one kiss, right cheek) during the shift change and seem quite unaware of the horde of impatient travelers. Traffic is poorly managed so the line grows and grows - some booths are constantly busy while others contain officers who languish with no clients – the latter chat merrily with their compatriots while the extranjeros grind their teeth, waiting.  

We chose a shuttle into BA rather that a cab to save a few pesos.  Traveling along the highway, one of the first things that strikes one is that a lot of the marginalia on the highway – the 1/8 hectare counterforms of cloverleafs and highway exits – has vehicles parked on them; we see dad and son kicking a soccer ball or a family sitting on a blanket, surrounded by a scrofula of litter, having a picnic - which strikes one as strange.  We have learned that today is a holiday. Perhaps that explains why those miniscule exurban hinterlands are being exploited as park-space. I was reminded of that striking scene in Mad Men season One when Don and family rise up from their picnic blanket, shake out the boxes, napkins and bottles onto the verdant grass and serenely walk back to the Cadillac – when I saw it then it I had a vivid flashback – most people were insensitive to littering and abuse of public space in the sixties. That has changed - and for so long that it almost seems impossible that we were so negligent of shared spaces.

As in many Latin countries the traffic lanes are more of a concept than a rule. Our driver meandered and weaved, spending most of his time straddling a white line – often a solid one. We transferred from the shuttle bus downtown to a collegial taxi containing 4 passengers who were stuffed into a wee Citroen - we all shared proximate destinations – it’s efficient!

Like many old European cities the streets bend, branch and merge dendritically – perhaps following ghost cowpaths or horse-trails. The car horn is an important tool in Buenos driving and is used liberally for communication purposes. In Costa Rica drivers employ merry little pips in a friendly fashion (I’m here. Go ahead. My Turn. Good to see you!)  Here, as in Athens, it’s all-out nuking; perhaps half a minute to 45 seconds of solid klaxon – why, God, why?!!!!!

Regrettably there is a pervasive smell of diesel in BA.  The cars and trucks are poorly tuned and diesel is still prevalent it seems. The late night streets smell of cigar, cigarette and unburned auto fuel provoke Proustian recollections of decades ago sojourns in foreign cities.  The streets are half-dim with sodium vapour filtering through dense foliage – lots of those charming sycamores here with their distinctive ‘camo’ bark and huge flowering trees I have yet to identify. Buenos Aires has trees lining almost every street.  Ficus and Lemon among them - which feels quite exotic to a Canadian.  It has a lush feel – and that’s just as well because the city is fairly dirty with cracked and uneven sidewalks and scabrous walls covered with grafitti.  My ambulatory experience is very different since acquiring a cane - the pitch and yaw of the crazed walkways threatens.  It’s an unwelcome sensation; making me feel more vulnerable.  I long to abandon my cane and return to normal mobility. Increasingly I am sensitized to the challenges faced by disabled folk.  Much needs to be done.

I had huge expectations of cheap and succulent meals in Argentina.  So far my fantasies have been so much vapour.  Unexpectedly this seems to be a city of pizzerias and little cafes offering supersweet cakes and pastries.  Tonight we will venture out to find music and the culinary el Dorado.

And thus my first blog Buenos Aires post.  Ultra-mundane – hopefully I will discover and report on rare things here, perhaps acquire a sense of humour.