Colonial Living

My grandmother was born in India in the early 1900s and enjoyed all the perks and privileges of a daughter of a colonial general. I've always imagined her life like that of the little girl in "A Little Princess" before she (the character) became an orphan, and as far as I've heard, it's a pretty accurate comparison. I've always wondered how wonderful it must've been to live in an exotic country with servants to wait on you, to lord over a manor, or better yet, be the child of the lord of the manor.

No more anymore. This era of ours is not an era of colonialism, and anything that faintly whiffs at colonial overlord makes me squeamish and overly apologetic for being born to upper middle class parents.

Our very comfortable apartment here in Buenos Aires comes with a pool in the back, a portero who washes the floors of the building (including the sidewalk) everyday, heated floors, American appliances and two cleaners who come in once a week, Lidia and Daniela. We have been living more comfortably than most Argentines and for this I feel a pang of guilt, especially when the cleaners come in to clean up after us. Neither of them speak a word of English and in my rudimentary Spanish I've pieced together that Lidia, who is in her 40s, is from Bolivia, lives here on her own and sends money back to her family dutifully. Daniela is a mystery to me. She is probably in her 20s, helps Lidia out ever since she injured her thumb, shows up here sometimes two hours before Lidia does and watches TV on our bed until she does. When she's not watching TV they're blasting Argentine pop radio stations which must irritate the upstairs neighbor.

I certainly appreciate that we have cleaners who do a good job of cleaning our apartment but I can't stand to be here when they are because it makes me feel like the colonialist, living better than any of them may ever, exploring the world while they clean houses for (what must seem like to them) fat-cat Americans. I feel like if I'm not there then it's less of an affront to them. So as soon as Daniela shows up I grab my gym bag or work and head out for a few hours.

Yesterday she caught me right before I was out the door and asked me what I wanted to do with these clothes that were on the floor. I always clean up before they come around but I missed this pile of clothes because they were hiding on the other side of the bed. I picked them up and put them in a pile on the bed and made large arm motions over them trying to communicate to her "Don't worry about this, just leave them here, I'll tidy them up when I get back". And with that I left.

Two and a half hours later I returned and was dismayed to see that Daniela was still there and that the only thing cleaned was the bathroom. I wasn't upset because she'd been watching TV the whole time, but that I had exhausted all my tasks to occupy me while I kept out of sight. Worst of all, I noticed that she had folded every single article of clothing in the pile and put them neatly away in our drawers. I was suddenly twisted with guilt for not being more clear because she must've thought I actually told her to do that. Feeling a little shame-faced and with no other excuse to leave the apartment, I just picked up my book and hid on the balcony.

Thirty minutes later Lidia came in and then they really got down to work. Lidia came out with a bucket of water and a mop to clean up the balcony floor and asked me to move out of her way and I blushed with embarrassment for feeling like I've affronted them again with my presence. I hid in the bedroom and tried too hard to ignore Daniela when she came in to mop up the floor in there.

I think Lidia likes me but I'm not too thrilled about this. Last time I got caught in the apartment with her she started asking me how much house cleaners make in America and it went quickly down hill from there. Having some foresight I purposely gave her a conservative figure at $10 an hour and she almost fell to the floor in disbelief. "American?!" she asked with eyes wide in disbelief, I nodded my head slowly and she went on to say how rich she would be in Bolivia if she was making 10U$ an hour here. She could be retired already!

A little later on she asked me where Graham and I were going after this and I told her the itinerary of our trip, but she didn't mean that, she wanted to know where we'd be living. With a little bit of hesitation I told her that I planned on going to London for awhile and Graham would probably be going back to New York. New York City?! she asked with eyes wide again and again I slowly nodded my head yes. I have to give her credit though, she didn't waste anytime, she started making plans to move to New York City in the fall and Graham and I would help set her up, yes, sounds good? Partly because I couldn't believe my ears and partly because I felt excruciatingly awkward, I started pretending I couldn't understand a word she was saying, 'like a true colonialist' I thought to myself with sheepish shame. She lapsed back into talking about how alone she is here and how much she misses her family and I wanted to jump out the window when I saw tears well up in her eyes. Instead I just nodded my head, yes. She's a spry thing though and quickly laughed it off and went back to cleaning, leaving me home free for the moment.

When she caught up with me yesterday there was our regular awkward banter, You teach me English, yes? Yes you teach me English and I teach you Spanish. To which I have to respond that I work all week and my only free day is Sunday (which is true) and I just don't have time for another student. She laughs and shakes her head every time I say this.

She saw my bike out on the balcony when she came to out clean and asked me if I'd be selling it when I left. Yes, I would be, and she asked how much I bought it for, and I told her 450 pesos. I'm not sure if she made an offer but she told me to sell it to her, which again sent me looking for an escape route because I had intended on selling it for 350 and doubt she wouldn't have balked at that price. I said I had to think about it and that seemed to appease her for the time being.

She knows when we're moving out of this apartment and I'm a little worried at what she may ask from us before we leave. That may seem a little pretentious but I'm certain it's a valid concern. The last time I was in a spot like this was after I'd gotten back from a safari in Kenya with an old boyfriend. We were at home, getting ready to go out when a ridiculously long number came up on his caller id. Our guide from the safari was calling and asked Matteo for a large sum of euros for a loan because his wife had been taken into hospital and in all likelihood would die there without the money needed for medicine. We were with this man for three days and neither of us had ever heard him mention a wife so Matteo told him no, to which the guide responded by begging him not to tell his boss that he had called us.

It was a ruse, clearly, but I still felt cold and callous, and more so when I got angry with him for putting us in that kind of spot. We gave him and his boss a great tip when we left, so what the hell? This is the situation I'm worried about entering into on Lidia's last day with us because we won't have the luxury of having thousands of miles between us, I'm worried she's going to watch TV until I run out of things to do in the cafe and have to come home.

Bad Teacher

I am not a natural teacher. I'm pleased when my students come in late because it means there's less time that I have to teach for and I get annoyed with them when they come back from break actually on time. I find it nearly impossible to come up with a smooth transition between topics, can barely keep a group discussion going for more than a couple minutes and I am too sensitive to a group's collective bored sighs and blase looks. The one time I had to teach a pre-intermediate class (which was really beginner but called so to make them feel better for not being able to advance higher despite the years they've spent at that level) I almost had to choke back tears when a student interrupted me midsentence with a finger in my face "Excuse me!", then he turned to the class "Does anyone understand her?". There was a ghastly silence and blank faces stared back at me. He turned to me again, "We don't understand you, so you have to speak more slower and more clearer" in an accusatory tone, hate seething out of his eyeballs as if I had been sent there at 8:00 in the morning to ruin his day and was personally responsible for all his linguistic failings.
I specifically chose to teach adults, I wouldn't even consider children, and now I'm wondering if that may have been a mistake. The adult mind has a harder time learning a language, this is a fact, so inevitably in every class there is someone who demands to know 'WHY?!' the verb becomes pluralized when talking about the first person in the present tense, WHY?! it is necessary to drop the 'who' when making a reduced relative clause and HOW?! are you supposed to know when the word ends in -ence instead of -ance. Children just accept that your word is golden. They don't question you but on the occassion that they do "Because it just is" is an acceptable explanation. Tell that to a frustrated 40-something and they throw their hands up, they roll theirs eyes, they slump in their chairs and they say something in Spanish that I can tell would be mildly offensive if I knew what they were saying.
Needless to say, teaching adults is strange, especially when you're markedly younger than your students. There's a dichotomoy of how much respect I should expect from them and how much I should give them. For instance, I can't tell if they're trying to be respectful or if they just can't remember my name, but I find it uncomfortable when they call me 'teacher' and no matter how many times I ask them to call me Alex they don't. On the other hand there are some students who give me no respect and it's really awkward when they're talking over me and the rest of the class is straining to hear me.
Even more strange, I have some classes that once congregated, quickly descend back into childhood. An example:
"Teacher, may I go to the bathroom?"
"Yes, of course, you don't have to ask and please, don't call me teacher."
"Okay, I'll be right back."
"While we wait for Estevan to get back why don't we talk about what we did this past weekend."
(Sustainable chatter for about 8 minutes, then Estevan walks back in and another student asks)
"Estevan! You were gone for so long, did you go number 2?!"
(Class descends into raucous laughter, borderline hysteria)
"Yes I did! I went number 2! Teacher, do you know what number one and number two is?"
"Yes, we have the same sayings in English."
"I had to sit on the toilette for so long!"
(People start gasping for breath from laughing too hard) .

I get the sense that the people who worked a little too hard during highschool are the ones who throw fits and huff and puff their way through my English classes because they can't stand not knowing the ins and outs of something. While the students who took it a bit easier are today's jokesters, and they're just so much more fun to be in a room with for a couple of hours.
So even though I'm not the best teacher I probably don't give myself enough credit. The hours are rough and the planning takes forever and sometimes I feel uncomfortable, sometimes my feelings are hurt and sometimes I just couldn't be bothered but I care about keeping them interested and I care about their progress. If that's not good enough for them then I'll just make fun of them on my blog.

Public Transportation: Etiquette

I realize that a lot of my posts are centered around the public transport, but let me defend myself quickly, the most interesting things happen in places where people from all different walks of life are forced to share their personal space together. Sometimes something crazy will happen and it's like everyone is being held hostage and we're all in it together and there's a certain sense of camaraderie that develops when you look at the person next to you and you both mouth the words "what the hell?" But that's a rarity.
People develop a sub-culture when they're routinely forced into interactions with strangers, however minimal it may be, and this culture provides a set of norms and behaviours that are deemed acceptable for interacting with (or avoiding) your fellow passengers. They are as follows:

"Ladies First"
For the most part, about 90%, the bus drivers in Buenos Aires are maniacs. They fly through traffic at brake-neck speeds with little care for other vehicles, stop signs, or crossing pedestrians. If you're not at the exact designated bus stop (usually a tree amongst a line of trees or a telephone pole with the bus number tacked on it) when the bus reaches it, the driver will not stop. Even if he sees you sprinting across the road, running down the block, waving your arms screaming "PARE" at the top of your lungs, he still will not take pity on you and stop out of human empathy. They don't like to waste time because the faster they get through their route the more time they have to grab a coffee and a snack at the end of it (I know this because I take #76 to the terminus and the driver frequently jumps out before I do). This time saving strategy extends to people getting off the bus as well. Be quick about it because the second you've got one foot on the ground outside the driver is already pulling away, doors open.
So how the 'ladies first' rule fits into it is like this: if a man or group is at the bus stop and they see you running down the road, they'll hail the bus for you (you also have to do this, stick your arm out to get the driver's attention otherwise he'll zoom right by), even if they're waiting for a different line, and pretend to loiter while you're catching up. Alternatively, if you (a lady) are amongst a group of men all waiting for the same bus they'll always allow you to get on first, even if you were third to join the group. This is great because the buses are often overcrowded, so being the first to get on at any given stop increases your odds of getting a seat dramatically.

"You Can Look But You Can't Touch"
Something that was quite a shock to me the first time it happened was sitting on the subway and suddenly having a sheet of bobby pins dropped into my lap. I looked up and saw a little boy, about 8 or 9, dropping them into unsuspecting laps. Some people saw him coming and escaped the pins by crossing their arm over their laps and shoo-ing him on with their free hand. I honestly had no idea what to do with the bobby pins and was afraid that I was going to have to give him 2 pesos for them as indicated by the price tag. I was quite miffed at the thought of having to buy them because I didn't see him coming, he didn't even give me the opportunity to say no and by the time I realized that he had meant to drop them in my lap he was already half way down the carriage. I looked around at everyone else and saw that one or two people had picked up their sheets of bobby pins and were eyeing them over, but the rest of them had left theirs in their laps or balancing precariously on their knees. It seemed as if they were trying their hardest to ignore them because they refused to look at or acknowledge the pins in any way. So I followed suit, thinking that if the kid came back for his money I could just ignore him too.
But he left the same way he came, casually picking up the sheets from the laps and knees he had left them on and from the few people who held on to theirs he collected 2 pesos. 'Not a bad system' I thought, and since that initial encounter I've had the pleasure of ignoring general pieces of crap and buying the odd pieces of useful crap that find their way onto my lap.

"Be Kind To Your Neighbors"
This rule of etiquette comes from a couple of friends of mine who've had more than their fair share of hairy experiences on long-distance buses. If for whatever reason you're traveling on a long-distance bus with a small child, and it becomes nauseous, and on the way to the bathroom it pukes in the aisle, it is your responsibility to clean it up. Not the person's whose shoes have been splattered, and certainly not everyone else's whose olfactory senses are now being assaulted by it. I'm sure you, dear reader know this, but for some people it needs reiteration.
Secondly, if you hear the guy sitting behind or across the aisle from you having a nice, normal chat and then say something like "Oh, it's coming on" and then slip into a seizure, it is not necessary to feel as if you should do something about it. Generally there will be someone with him who knows him and knows of his condition and is more mentally prepared to deal with it than you are. It is perfectly acceptable to pretend as if it's not happening at all and once it's over, not to ask him if he's okay. If after his episode he resumes conversation as normal, then he probably slips into seizures rather regularly and is quite used to it by now. There's no need to make a bad situation worse by making a sick man feel like he's a walking 'put-upon', just a matter of time until he collapses and puts himself upon another group of people. Instead, be kind to your neighbors and remember that all's well that ends well.

Hotel CRAFT

For anyone reading this that is looking for a hotel to stay in during their visit to Buenos Aires I highly highly highly recommend Hotel CRAFT. If you're into boutique hotels then this is your jam. As mentioned earlier it is a big block red building that somehow manages to stay inconspicuous despite its location on the periphery of one of the most bompin' children's parks in Palermo. The rooms are modern and chic, and the ambiance extends to the roof where the rustic breakfast room with bins of complementary apples morphs into slick looking outdoor lounge area, suitable for roasting in the sun while maintaining a chic deportment.

For a one night stay on a Saturday night it wasn't expensive as you'd expect and the concierge has a gentle 'No no, no trouble at all!' demeanor. We showed up for a one night stay with 6 months worth of luggage, and not only did they let us check-in early but they carried all our suitcases up a flight of stairs without any sideways glances. And they've promised to carry them back down for us tomorrow! Heaven!

Click on Hotel CRAFT to check out their website.