No Patience

This photo does not do justice to the heavy sludge of traffic that is now a permanent fixture outside our balcony. I call it a sludge because it does not flow in the way that typical city traffic does. The cars behave more like sludge in that they inch painfully forward until gravity (or the blare of horns) finally forces the buildup to burst forward in a sudden and jerky plop... and then a red light again. The buildup resumes and the horns blare, the entire routine repeats every 3 minutes and all the while I go slightly more mad with every red light. These Portenos do not believe in a single "Hey you!" or "Get going!" honk. They prefer to communicate their dissatisfaction by leaning against the horn of their cars until their wrists hurt from pushing too hard and display no regret or concern for the people who live in the buildings around them, i.e. me.

Here is further evidence that there are too many people in this city:

Rush hour on the subway makes you feel like this:

*I asked the woman facing me (in Spanish) "This is normal or this is crazy?" She answered with defeat in her voice "It's always like this."

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.

All Hot and Bothered

At the top of my list of '100 Most Unpleasant Things' is standing in a steamy, hot, overcrowded subway car when it's about 100 degrees outside. Already 'glistening' from the walk to the subway station you then have to wait for the train on a subterranean platform where it is no doubt ten degrees hotter than outside. Everyone else down there with you is in quiet reflection mode, the air is thick and heavy, and the stillness gives you the sudden wherewithal to realize that you've probably just sweat through your shirt when you start thinking, 'how the hell is it still so hot?' It's as if the air is sick with fever and slinks down the stairs to lean on you while it sweats the sickness out.
If the platform is where hot air goes to be sick, then the cars are where hot air goes to die. This was the situation I found myself in yesterday, surrounded by steamy, dying air and seriously overheated people standing too close to one another. Looking into the eyes of my fellow passengers all I could see was quiet, melancholic resignation. Some people leaned against hand rails with their heads cocked back resting against the glass, seeming to be concentrating on not passing out. I looked over at Graham and saw a single bead of sweat slowly slip down his brow, he looked back at me and said "Don't talk to me right now, too hot".
Intolerable heat has a way of lowering your irritation threshold, so when I saw a man with a guitar and harmonica step into the car I couldn't help but roll my eyes and groan 'Oh God, no'. The last time I experienced a subway musician it was another harmonica player who was either delusional or plain crazy. He clearly didn't know how to play a harmonica and sang as a deaf person would, with no concern for how he sounded. I tried to prepare myself for the onslaught that was about to begin.
But then this new guy started playing his guitar and it sounded good. Then another guy, squatting on a wooden box across the aisle from him started playing the bongos, and it sounded better. Then the harmonica came in and it was really good. I looked around at my fellow sufferers and we were suddenly smiling, bobbing our heads and tapping our toes to the beat. It was an impromptu little concert and we had prime front row seats to the show. I was enjoying the music so much at this point that I felt terribly guilty for having wished them out of existance before, so I took out my wallet and grabbed as many coins as I could spare (there's a coin crisis going on) for the hat that I knew was bound to come my way.
I was sad to see them get off at the next stop, I wanted to ask them to stay, play again, let me forget my plight and lose myself in your song, but I don't know how to say that in Spanish. The thought to follow them even crossed my mind but following them wasn't going to get me home any faster. So I let them go and swore to post about them when I got home.
So what's the moral to this story? Don't judge a book by its cover? There's a silver lining to every cloud? No, it's if you like the music then fork over some pesos please.