Buenos Aires
March 10, 2009
Let me tell you something about the good air of Buenos Aires. When I arrived almost a month ago, the good air of Buenos Aires was rich and sweet with the dry heat of a mid-summer´s day. Ahh, I was told...do not be deceived. This is an aberration, not normal, not a typical summer´s day. Whoever told me that was right.Within a day the good air of Buenos Airs has turned thick with humidity; the temperatures soared into the low 90´s. The skies were still blue, but the ambient temperature was a force to reckon with. The good air of Buenos Aires had turned stifling
--wet, breezeless and uncomfortable. Still, with shade and access to air conditioning, all things are possible. But then, there was the good air of Buenos Aires´ metro system, know locally as el subte. No air conditioning exists below the surface of the streets and no air conditioning could be found on any metro car. Trains were packed, standing room only, and easily 5-7 degrees hotter than outside. On really hot days the good air of the subte resulted in sweat pouring out of every gland, water beading on the skin, a bone drenching dehydration waiting to happen. Fortunately, rides were short.
It was my first Friday in Buenos Aires and I was enjoying the good air of the subte. It was the start of the line, the car began to fill. I was waiting on the subte´s A line--a classic, 1950´s line complete with old cars of a New York City vintage, circa 1955--all wooded interiors, windows that opened. It was hot. A group of rag-tag, Dickensian-type children were sprawled all over the seats, racing through the cars. It was still summer vacation and school was out of session. Barefooted and dirty, these urchins were the center of attention.
People gathered, the train took off. The children regrouped and the ragamuffin kids staged a mini-show of bottle and ball juggling, and a silly little dance routine. It was a great spectacle, a theater of poverty. The young rascals had talent. were good. People applauded and little hands begged round for pesos. Then they were off to another car. I remember thinking I was glad they weren´t going to be in my classroom.
And that is when I came to love Buenos Aires. (A similar thing happened years ago in Mexico City when I walked out of the metro and watched a fire breather entertain drivers at a red light at rush hour. I always like the bizarre and that was when I fell in love with Mexico City.)
At times the good air of Buenos Aires was heavy with the smell of smoke--cigarettes and exhaust. Way too many people smoke and there are few laws that outlaw it, except in restaurants. But bus drivers smoke, the guy standing next to you waiting in line for something smokes, as does the woman next to you on a park bench.
Too, there´s the rich, wonderful smell of exhaust from the millions of cars and buses that don´t seem to have very strict emission standards. One afternoon, a rather hot one, I was standing on a corner waiting to cross the street. My eyes were watery from some allergic reaction to something. I could literally see carbon monoxide hovering in the air. Pull out the eye drops, hope for the best.
And then there is the good air of Buenos Aires´ dogs. There are leash laws, of course, but not poop laws. The good of air of Buenos Aires, at times, and dependent on location, could be filled with the aromatic aroma of caca de perro. Little landmines waited for discovery. Of course, the professional dog walkers who can lead up to ten or fifteen dogs at a time do pick up their clients´ caca, but they seem to be the only ones who do so.
The good air of Buenos Aires did not stay wet hot all the time. After a brutal three day period in mid to late February, when the temperature climbed to a 104, with a humidity to match, a front moved in that pushed out the deep heat. We woke that morning, opened the doors to the balcony, and were met with a cool, dry, late-August, "you-know-fall-is-in-the-air" sort of day. There was another week of summer vacation and it felt just like home in the days preceding Labor Day.
From then on the good air of Buenos Aires was fresh and pleasant and it´s been that way ever since.
March 10, 2009
Let me tell you something about the good air of Buenos Aires. When I arrived almost a month ago, the good air of Buenos Aires was rich and sweet with the dry heat of a mid-summer´s day. Ahh, I was told...do not be deceived. This is an aberration, not normal, not a typical summer´s day. Whoever told me that was right.Within a day the good air of Buenos Airs has turned thick with humidity; the temperatures soared into the low 90´s. The skies were still blue, but the ambient temperature was a force to reckon with. The good air of Buenos Aires had turned stifling
--wet, breezeless and uncomfortable. Still, with shade and access to air conditioning, all things are possible. But then, there was the good air of Buenos Aires´ metro system, know locally as el subte. No air conditioning exists below the surface of the streets and no air conditioning could be found on any metro car. Trains were packed, standing room only, and easily 5-7 degrees hotter than outside. On really hot days the good air of the subte resulted in sweat pouring out of every gland, water beading on the skin, a bone drenching dehydration waiting to happen. Fortunately, rides were short.It was my first Friday in Buenos Aires and I was enjoying the good air of the subte. It was the start of the line, the car began to fill. I was waiting on the subte´s A line--a classic, 1950´s line complete with old cars of a New York City vintage, circa 1955--all wooded interiors, windows that opened. It was hot. A group of rag-tag, Dickensian-type children were sprawled all over the seats, racing through the cars. It was still summer vacation and school was out of session. Barefooted and dirty, these urchins were the center of attention.
People gathered, the train took off. The children regrouped and the ragamuffin kids staged a mini-show of bottle and ball juggling, and a silly little dance routine. It was a great spectacle, a theater of poverty. The young rascals had talent. were good. People applauded and little hands begged round for pesos. Then they were off to another car. I remember thinking I was glad they weren´t going to be in my classroom.
And that is when I came to love Buenos Aires. (A similar thing happened years ago in Mexico City when I walked out of the metro and watched a fire breather entertain drivers at a red light at rush hour. I always like the bizarre and that was when I fell in love with Mexico City.)
At times the good air of Buenos Aires was heavy with the smell of smoke--cigarettes and exhaust. Way too many people smoke and there are few laws that outlaw it, except in restaurants. But bus drivers smoke, the guy standing next to you waiting in line for something smokes, as does the woman next to you on a park bench.
Too, there´s the rich, wonderful smell of exhaust from the millions of cars and buses that don´t seem to have very strict emission standards. One afternoon, a rather hot one, I was standing on a corner waiting to cross the street. My eyes were watery from some allergic reaction to something. I could literally see carbon monoxide hovering in the air. Pull out the eye drops, hope for the best.
And then there is the good air of Buenos Aires´ dogs. There are leash laws, of course, but not poop laws. The good of air of Buenos Aires, at times, and dependent on location, could be filled with the aromatic aroma of caca de perro. Little landmines waited for discovery. Of course, the professional dog walkers who can lead up to ten or fifteen dogs at a time do pick up their clients´ caca, but they seem to be the only ones who do so.
The good air of Buenos Aires did not stay wet hot all the time. After a brutal three day period in mid to late February, when the temperature climbed to a 104, with a humidity to match, a front moved in that pushed out the deep heat. We woke that morning, opened the doors to the balcony, and were met with a cool, dry, late-August, "you-know-fall-is-in-the-air" sort of day. There was another week of summer vacation and it felt just like home in the days preceding Labor Day.
From then on the good air of Buenos Aires was fresh and pleasant and it´s been that way ever since.
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