Mas Money

I have written in the past about the moneda situation (since resolved) here in Buenos Aires. That is not the only problem. Money in general is a huge problem – especially if you are of the peso earning persuasion.

For those who earn pesos, they have to manage a couple of things, most importantly the exchange rate between the dollar and the peso. You wonder why people in Argentina have to worry about a currency that is legal tender 5,000 miles away? Well, because things like houses are priced in dollars. So this means that if you want to buy a house here, you have to borrow dollars. But you earn pesos. Oh and did I mention that the peso is constantly losing value against the dollar? When I first arrived here, the exchange rate was 3.50 pesos to the dollar. And now, 15 months later, it is 3.85 to the dollar. For me, this is seemingly a good deal. But for the peso peeps, it kinda sucks.

While this all may seem like a great deal for me, it really isn’t as lovely as it sounds. Inflation eats everyone alive here, regardless of one’s currency status. Last month, inflation was eight percent. As for last year, there’s some debate - the government of Krazy Kristina (aka Presidenta Cristina Kirchner) says it was eight percent, private economist say more like 15-18 percent. What does that mean for real? It means that every time I go buy something, it costs more. For me, with my dollar driven life, it’s like a pinch of salt. But if your money is worth less and less every month, it’s like a shovelful of shit.

The reasons why are complex and I would never profess to being an economist: It has to do with the Argentine government keeping the peso low to encourage investment by foreigners. It has to do with trying to keep the cost of exports low so someone will buy them. It has to do with the huge amounts of foreign currency the government needs to pay its huge debts. It has to do with the amount of money the government prints. It has to do with a taxation system that is insane, antiquated and easy to avoid. Whatever the reasons, the result is the same: it is harder and harder for everyone but the very rich to afford life in Argentina.

For many people, this roller coaster economy is better than it was. There is a deep history of economic instability and inflation insanity here. During the economic crisis, the rates of inflation were so outrageous that the prices in the grocery stores used to change every hour. Fellow blogger Buenos Aires Photographer has a beautiful posting (with photos) that can give you some of the backstory.

So while my friends freezing their tuchases off up north may be bitching about things, it’s for sure not as wacked as here … if that’s any consolation.

Photo from: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/c/ce/5pesos.jpg

Los Chicos de Mi Barrio

I haven’t talked too much about my neighborhood, but I am in love with where I live. Aside from having a cool apartment owned by an amazing artist, I live in a neighborhood mixed with posh apartments, young families, singles, you name it. I love the diversity when I walk down the street… there are teenagers in their rumpled school uniforms shouting at the end of a busy day, backpack lazily slug over one shoulder. The tiny girls with their hair cascading down their backs, giggling groups of gawky, long-limbed budding teenagers, rambunctious boys yelling as they run down the broken sidewalks on a fall afternoon. Old ladies with canes, hunched over their packages and moving glacially across the street as the impatient cars wait for the light to change. Young mommies pushing strollers while lugging their groceries and talking on the phone in rapid fire Spanish, probably to their housekeepers And hunky boys in gym shorts flashing their over-muscled soccer legs, my favorite.

Another part of my neighborhood is the little shops that just become part of your life when you live somewhere. There’s a lovely verduria on the next block that I frequent. When you walk in most afternoons, beautiful melodies reminiscent of Frank Sinatra but in Italian or Spanish greet you. The owner, a shriveled and charming man with sparkling blue eyes is always there, handing out compliments as fresh as his beautiful spinach. Last week he told he how much he loved my accent in Spanish, this week he complimented my hat.

There’s also Raul, who greets everyone by name as he sells them sodas and cigarettes at the corner shop. He must work 17-hour days, but he always has a smile and a greeting for you. Last night, when I went to pay, I offered him monedas and said, when I have them, I give them. He smiled and when he gave me my change, he included a little chocolate treat with his customary smile.

It's just a reminder how attitudes about work here are different. In a country where unemployment has climbed over 20 percent, people are often grateful for work regardless of what the work actually is. While things are changing in the US because of the ever shrinking economy, when's the last time the guy at 7-11 smiled at you?

Choices – Part One, Time vs. Money

A long time ago, I went to dinner with an Austrian friend. When the waiter came by our table, my friend ordered an entrée that came with a salad. “What type of dressing do you want with that?” he asked her. “I have a choice?” she responded. “Yes,” he said and proceeded to rattle off a litany of options longer than David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest. She was overwhelmed. She quickly chose a vinaigrette, shooed the waiter away, and said to me, “All of these choices, it’s too much!”

It was just salad dressing, but it was a telling comment. Even a fellow first worlder was overwhelmed by the number of choices we have in North America. Today, these unlimited options are starting to spread around the world when it comes things, but not necessarily when it comes to how we live.

In contrast, when traveling through LatAm in the winter I met a woman in Peru named Victoria. Victoria was educated; she was a teacher in a small village and we met on a collectivo (bus). She was a small woman, with graying hair pulled back into a bun, her real age a mystery as she heavily wore her years. When I told her I was traveling around and learning Spanish, she marveled at the luxury of being able to do something like that and how much it must cost. “Well, my life had gotten too hectic, ” I told her, “I had no time and needed a break.” She replied, “We have plenty of time, just no money.”

The choice between time and money - welcome to my old life. Choice is at the heart of being a first world white girl and everyday I am reminded about how many I have and that I live my life so differently because of them. And in case I ever forget, I just remember Victoria.