Baubled Beauties

I’ve talked to you about the ladies of my hood. Some go out at 2o’clock in the afternoon with enough makeup on to rival RuPaul.

It’s not just the makeup, however. Ladies flout about town bedazzled beyond belief with tons of shiny baubles bejeweling their bodies, skyscraper high shoes with acrylic heels (just saw it last week), and skirts with hemlines as short as a sailor’s haircut.

After living here for a while you start to realize that maybe your sense of style changes. No, it doesn’t mean that I have cut my hair into a mullet, but it does mean I keep letting it grow. Nor does it mean that I’ve picked up a pair of hooker heels to wear to Sunday brunch. Instead, it takes on more subtle things, like wearing makeup (which I barely wear anyway) to lunch or always making sure I’ve got on some earrings or a little something to jazz up my outfit when I go out.

Women here also love jewelry. And I always have too, honestly. Even when I lived in DC, I still managed to gather a collection of little bits of glitter and sparkle to bejewel myself with when I felt like it. DC gals are a bit more, well… conservative in their style than many other places I’ve been or even lived.

But here they take it to whole other heights. For example, there is the flower. We’re not talking a flower on a lovely spring day or for an event. No, we’re talking a plastic flower in the hair for a Friday night drink with the gals. A friend from the US who has lived here for a while even sheepishly admitted to me that she has one and has worn it on occasion. We got a nice belly laugh out of that one.

Maybe it is because women like to fix themselves up. Maybe it is because women equate femininity with the stuff that is seen as “womanly” – jewelry, makeup, etc. Maybe it is because gender roles are a bit more rigid here and women are expected and taught to behave as women were traditionally expected to behave and look. Granted, Buenos Aires is one of the more progressive cities in Latin America, but old habits die hard I guess.

Whatever it is, I have to admit I am affected by it. As long as it’s a little jewelry or a touch of makeup to keep me fresh-faced, that’s fine. But if you see me eying any heels with metal tips… please shoot me.

Subte Stuff

So I am deep into my Spanish classes at the University of Buenos Aires. UBA is supposed to be the best place for Spanish, although I have my doubts. I try not to let the fact that the buildings look like the have been standing since pre-Weimar Germany (and survived that whole war thing) bother me too much, but when you have to practically go outside to go to the bathroom you kinda go hmmm.

Everyday I take the subway, called the Subte, to the microcentro. The Subte is more DC than New York with lousy hours and only a couple of lines. The upside is that when they are out of change they let you ride for free. Another fabulous thing is that they have Wi-Fi, although I can’t imagine most of the people who are riding the Subte are the kind with Wi-Fi enabled devices (although I do have one and I ride the Subte). And last but not least, I’m not sure that pulling your wireless device out on the Subte is always the best decision, as I once saw a snatching.

A friend told me the other day that Buenos Aires was the first city in South America to have a subway. Turns out it is not only the first in South America, but the first in the southern hemisphere and in the Spanish speaking world as it was built in 1913. Impressive.

I love my Subte ride to catch a glimpse of people living their lives in the city. There are stunning men in crisp shirts, looking preppy and pressed. There are beautiful women who are impossibly thin, fully made up or making themselves up as we barrel underneath Avenida Santa Fe towards downtown.

The mornings are usually cramped and hot; halfway through my ride there is usually sweat dripping from me and/or my fellow passengers. I prefer the afternoon, when the commuters are ensconced in their downtown offices and the common people are out on the prowl. The usual suspects include a blind man who regularly begs on the Green Line, his grizzled face and voice to match calling out, “Por favor, ayudarme, cinco centavos, por favor,” the tap-tap of his cane serving as the beat for his melancholy song.

Another feature of the Subte are the people hocking their wares. In South America vendors are generally more aggressive than in the North, the ones on the Subte place their selection of Guias (city guides, like London A to Z) or hairbands right on your lap to entice you.

There’s entertainment of a more traditional sense too -jugglers, actors, musicians, and singers. I was serenaded for part of my ride home the other day by a wistful tango, played on an accordion by a white haired man. Beautiful.

Sometimes what you see isn’t beautiful. Many of the people standing up and asking for some change on the Subte are children or poor men and women dragging their children from car to car, hoping for the kindness of strangers. It’s not a common sight in North America and when I first saw it, I couldn’t decide what bothered me more- the children being schlepping around alol day or that their parents are doing it in front of them. I guess if you have to survive, you do what you have to do.

Feel the Ritmo

Cities have rhythms. I have lived in cities for a large chuck of my life and after a time, you begin to understand how they move, what makes them wiggle and jiggle.

It’s a whole different experience when you are living in a foreign city. There are noises that are new, there are things that will make you stare. This gives you a different rhythm. Even the language has a different tune and you speaking with people or listening to people talking is part of what creates the groove.

Sound is the background for rhythm, but there’s also mood that fills in corners of a vibe. Here one of the factors is time. It is 10:30am and the sun is out, but it has the feeling of the middle of the night. The streets are empty. The noisy cars that normally zoom by my window are intermittent. The noisiest city in the world is quiet. Buenos Aires is truly a nocturnal city, more alive at midnight than at noon.

All of this is a far cry from DC, where I have friends who go to the gym at 4 am. Here that’s about the time when the disco is really fun.