I am in the land of the absurd. I mean that without condescension, as I believe that I left one crazy country to enter another. I live with hyperinflation on a daily basis. I am not living the life of luxury that many foreigners come to Argentina to enjoy. I have a depressingly small amount of dollars and live on weak currency whose value changes almost daily. It's a cycle: people go into panic mode and save, instead of in a bank, in dollars, which they keep somewhere safe. It is a result of two things: 1) Until the last financial crisis the dollar and the Argentine peso were 1:1 and it suddenly changed to 1:3 overnight. 2) During the crisis people were unable to withdraw their own money from banks. When there is a global financial crisis, a crisis mentality that already exists, and no confidence in one's own currency, it drives the value of the peso down further. It is psychology mixed with economics. There is a crisis mentality, as the economy tends to meltdown approximately every ten years. It is a reality, and it creates a different type of panic than that which probably exists in the states right now. People here say that they are accustomed to thinking this way. There is this feeling of being constantly traumatized by the economy and a political system that seems far too often like a farce. There is a neurosis that is, at moments, overwhelming. Fact: Buenos Aires has more psychoanalysts per capita than any other city in the world. Sometimes it just seems like a fashionable activity. I try to reschedule classes with students, but they can't possibly do it on that day because they have a very important appointment to go to a shrink, as they do at least once a week (of course I'm talking about people of a class that are able to). Other times I think it's completely necessary because the city, and its citizens, are completely nuts, and they admit it openly. I am not the sanest of individuals, but I have never felt more balanced in comparison to a population before. I feel a lot of sexism. I'm used to having a lot of male friends, and that really is not very common here. I've gotten myself into some uncomfortable situations as a result. I do feel that my ideas matter less with some people because of my gender. It gives attitude. Everyone here has it, a bit of aggression and cynicism, but a sense of humor that cuts through melancholy with a ironic and nostalgic tone, perhaps even bordering on bitter (or more than just bordering).
Another ridiculous fact: There is a coin shortage. It started about a year ago. Everyone pretty much depends on the buses to get around the city, but the buses only except change. In fact, the bus companies horde the change instead of putting it back into circulation and sell it at a higher price than its value. There is literally a black market of coins. It exists near the natural reserve not too far from my house. Wealthy people drive there to picnic on the weekends. Poor street children find them parking spaces for a coin. They sell the coins for real money. It's a business. A cab driver told a student of mine that he has to go to Puerto Madero, where the reserve is, to get change to be able to give change to his passengers. You have to find creative ways of finding coins, often by buying unnecessary things. But nobody wants to give you the coins. Sometimes you are asked to pay in higher bills so that they can give you change in cash rather than giving you a single cent. Sometimes, instead of change, the kiosko owner offers me caramelos or some small candy as change. Sometimes, at the pharmacy, cough drops (it is flu season after all).
Fantastic memories:
Going to May Day in Plaza de Mayo where all of the socialist parties convened at once (of course there have to be a gazillion, as the left always needs to be factioned so that we can never accomplish anything). The soviet anthem was sung in Spanish. People of all ages pumping their fists. It was quite beautiful, actually. Also, something that I would never experience in the states. Socialism actually exists here. I have gone to public hospitals and received good free health care.
Fainting after receiving a cortisone shot in the butt to help with some lung pain. First of all, the ones in the butt go there because they are large and filled with gel, not liquid, which is to say they hurt like hell. About five minutes later I walked outside of the hospital doors and fainted on the street. Typical Buenos Aires, no one helped because they probably assumed that the poor girl just didn't make it on time or that I was drugged. The later makes sense, as I supposedly had a smile on my face. I knew to protect my head, but I don't remember that, and I hit the concrete hard. When I came to, for half an hour I talked about my favorite colectivo (bus) for 30 minutes non-stop. With the nurses, with the person who had accompanied me. Poetically. About the color, it's route, it's interior. I do love the number 10, but I don't usually feel the need to aggressively tell people they need to use it and lecture them on it's benefits as a bus. I then took the 10 home, walking like a duck.
Going to the Northwest of Argentina. It is a different world from here. There is actually indigenous culture, not Italians like here. As my father said, this is the whitests city ever. Teh north is mountainous, colorful. The mountains of seven colors in Purmamarca, Jujuy are incredible, Las Salinas: Salt flats that give you sun burn because you are in this world pure white that reflect the desert sun right back up at you. Not having sunglasses was a bit painful.
Living with Samantha Cooper for a few months. She was my roommate. Maybe she will read this maybe not, but I respect her so much. So full of energy and fun and thoughtful. She was traveling the world, so not someone who lingered too long, but she taught me a lot. Also deserves credit for giving me the best explanation of portenos (meant with spanish n with thingy over it, it's the name for the people of BA): The neurosis and paranoia of Woody Allen with Italian hand gestures. Perfect! I can't capture it better.
Doing La Ruta de Vino in Mendoza with one Nicholas Hayes and insisting on walking it, rather than biking or doing a driven tour. Wine tastings and desert sun plus quite a few kilometers results in strange behavior. Singing Cole Porter through the streets, during which I face planted on the sidewalk, without the knowledge of my dear friend, who continued to sing and walk ahead of me.
Eating a diet that is not natural for me. The first few months after going to an asado (traditional Argentine BBQ) I would be sick for 4 days. That's a lot of time in the bathroom.
My student who is 71 and an ex-supreme court justice. His passion is literature and is an accomplished novelist. On his birthday he played me a Chopin piece and it brought me to tears. Gustavo is one of the most incredible individuals I have ever met. He was a justice during what is considered the most corrupt supreme court in history, under the presidency of Carlos Menem. He was appointed by the opposition. I don't think he enjoyed being on the side of the majority opinion very much. Most justices from that time cannot walk in public because they are so hated and known for taking bribes, etc. He still works a lawyer, does international work, and is constantly giving interviews or writing editorials, or walking in the street to the club across the street, perhaps to dance tango with his wife Ana (he told me he secretly hates to go dancing, but won't tell Ana because it means so much to her). He has no grandchildren and we have this incredible relationship. I feel so lucky to have met him, even when it is difficult to teach an older person who does not have a high level of English.
There is so much more to say. This is just the beginning. I have a lot to say about the present, and much more about the past. Perhaps that's very Argentine of me. There are so many ghosts here. The pictures of Evita, the idealization of past that is compared to an what is seen as a lamentable present. 30,000 disappeared during the last military dictatorship. Conversations about how Argentina used to be an economic powerhouse. It is true, but hasn't been for many many years. It is a present that is constructed by a mythical past without any firm timeline. Everything is blurry, but whatever It was, it was better than now. "Este país de ladrones. Este país de mierda." Which politician do you feel was was a true statesman? How old were you then? Oh, you weren't alive, it's a name that means something, but you never lived during that time. And so conversations go backwards, not forwards. The clock is turned back and everything is perfect, but we are presently sitting in a café in the midst of shit. This theme of memorialization, nostalgia, ghosts, etc. is what has made me want to start writing about living here. To share insanity is to share beauty, and often time that which is ugly. They are intertwined here.
Stay tuned for what happens in the next few weeks. We are in high midterm election season. June 28th: congressional elections. My shoulders need a rest as I do not have a desk. So much more to say. A year's worth of observation, thoughts, living in a different (sur)reality.
Les mando todo mi amor.
X,
Fierman
No hay comentarios:
Publicar un comentario