During a sudden heavy rainstorm on the 29th November the streets became flooded...watch the results!
Saturday, November 29, 2008
One for the Road, Please
Here in B.A. we've been using the city's taxis to get around. Whilst driving along the Avenida Libertadores I've rediscovered my previously lapsed Catholicism, praying desperately as I wince at our taxi driver's courageous overtaking and try to ignore various HGVs speeding towards us in the middle of the road.
To tell you the truth, I've seriously considered drinking something strong before taking a cab, but my general sense of Brit just arrived in south-america paranoia has prevented me from doing so. However, I'm sure that if I was tanked up with something strong I'd maybe even quite enjoy the trip. As it is, it's a nerve-racking, white-knuckle ride.
Apparently, according to yesterday's cabbie, B.A. is one of the world's main centres of psychoanalysis. A famous psychologist once said that you could analyse peoples' minds by how they drove. I'm sure that's true, and what's more I'm sure that you can judge a society by how it drives. Do you want to see some examples?
Well, let's start with the Brits. They are really obedient, obeying the rules 100% of the time and maintaining their lane discipline. You get the feeling that they'd love to do something daring, break a rule here and there, but they only bring themselves to do it if they're on a motorway relatively free of traffic. If someone does break the rules, however, thereby going off programme, they are considered fair game and, in the case of pedestrians who cross unexpectedly far from pedestrian crossings, will even be mowed over by unrepentant drivers. "Serves them right" you can hear the drivers say, "should have obeyed the rules!".
It's like something deep down inside the British driver hates having to be so obedient, and when he (or she) sees someone breaking the rules the resulting sense of jealousy prevokes a desire to see the rule-breaker punished.
Now the Italians. Boy oh boy, I could write a book about Italian drivers.
First of all, for them driving is a way of letting off steam in the way that heavy drinking is for the Brits. So otherwise civilised, mature, responsible people (yes, both men and women) will act in otherwise impossible ways when they are behind the wheel of a car, and other people will make excuses for them! The British "Oh, he was drunk. He's not normally violent" is echoed by the Italian "Oh, it was a really fast car. He didn't mean to run into that young family at the pedestrian crossing. He loves kids!"
In Italy, women run the home and for men, the only place to let off steam in an increasingly frustrating world is on the road. The faster a man drives the more courage he is seen to have, although I suspect that the more accurate rule that the faster he drives, the smaller is his primary sexual organ.
So. on to Argentina. I can't claim to understand the nation's psyche, but I have spent the last two weeks being driven around B.A. Maybe I can understand certain aspects of their mentality from my on-the-road observations? Let me make some suggestions, which I'll then be able to test against my future experiences.
First of all, they don't consider it risky to drive close to the car in front. This isn't the Italian "Drive faster of get out of the way". No, it's less aggressive. It's more of a "Look, I'm here. Whatever you do, you need to take me into consideration". Is this the south american inferiority complex at work? "Yes, we are tucked away down there, but you must take notice of us!".
Secondly, they seem to demonstrate more lane discipline than the Italians, but then incredibly, as if there was a form of common unconscious linking them all, simultaneously cut the same corner allowing a matter of inches to be left free between each vehicle whilst travelling at high speed-kind of like the red arrows. Here they seem to be less individualistic than the Italians, instead able to work as a team. The resulting order isn't anal like the British one. After all, they are breaking the rules but, significantly, they're all breaking the rules in exactly the same way and in perfect harmony. Strange, but true. Think it'll take me at least five years here to work that one out!
Finally, they seem to have a sense of devine destiny which Italians had in their rural, Catholic, poor past and Brits had until we stopped going off to fight wars but seem to be losing in our urban peace-time present. For example, in B.A. it seems that at most crossroads the rule is this; he who arrives first, passes. This rule seems to apply irrespective of the road markings.
This rule, inevitably, leads to accidents. Indeed, our taxi was involved in one the other day in which thankfully no-one was hurt. We arrived at a crossroads, and both our taxi driver and the driver of the car arriving from our left believed to have arrived first. They both continued and inevitably collided, slowing to only about 20mph at the moment of contact.
I think it'll be safer if we buy our own car.
To tell you the truth, I've seriously considered drinking something strong before taking a cab, but my general sense of Brit just arrived in south-america paranoia has prevented me from doing so. However, I'm sure that if I was tanked up with something strong I'd maybe even quite enjoy the trip. As it is, it's a nerve-racking, white-knuckle ride.
Apparently, according to yesterday's cabbie, B.A. is one of the world's main centres of psychoanalysis. A famous psychologist once said that you could analyse peoples' minds by how they drove. I'm sure that's true, and what's more I'm sure that you can judge a society by how it drives. Do you want to see some examples?
Well, let's start with the Brits. They are really obedient, obeying the rules 100% of the time and maintaining their lane discipline. You get the feeling that they'd love to do something daring, break a rule here and there, but they only bring themselves to do it if they're on a motorway relatively free of traffic. If someone does break the rules, however, thereby going off programme, they are considered fair game and, in the case of pedestrians who cross unexpectedly far from pedestrian crossings, will even be mowed over by unrepentant drivers. "Serves them right" you can hear the drivers say, "should have obeyed the rules!".
It's like something deep down inside the British driver hates having to be so obedient, and when he (or she) sees someone breaking the rules the resulting sense of jealousy prevokes a desire to see the rule-breaker punished.
Now the Italians. Boy oh boy, I could write a book about Italian drivers.
First of all, for them driving is a way of letting off steam in the way that heavy drinking is for the Brits. So otherwise civilised, mature, responsible people (yes, both men and women) will act in otherwise impossible ways when they are behind the wheel of a car, and other people will make excuses for them! The British "Oh, he was drunk. He's not normally violent" is echoed by the Italian "Oh, it was a really fast car. He didn't mean to run into that young family at the pedestrian crossing. He loves kids!"
In Italy, women run the home and for men, the only place to let off steam in an increasingly frustrating world is on the road. The faster a man drives the more courage he is seen to have, although I suspect that the more accurate rule that the faster he drives, the smaller is his primary sexual organ.
So. on to Argentina. I can't claim to understand the nation's psyche, but I have spent the last two weeks being driven around B.A. Maybe I can understand certain aspects of their mentality from my on-the-road observations? Let me make some suggestions, which I'll then be able to test against my future experiences.
First of all, they don't consider it risky to drive close to the car in front. This isn't the Italian "Drive faster of get out of the way". No, it's less aggressive. It's more of a "Look, I'm here. Whatever you do, you need to take me into consideration". Is this the south american inferiority complex at work? "Yes, we are tucked away down there, but you must take notice of us!".
Secondly, they seem to demonstrate more lane discipline than the Italians, but then incredibly, as if there was a form of common unconscious linking them all, simultaneously cut the same corner allowing a matter of inches to be left free between each vehicle whilst travelling at high speed-kind of like the red arrows. Here they seem to be less individualistic than the Italians, instead able to work as a team. The resulting order isn't anal like the British one. After all, they are breaking the rules but, significantly, they're all breaking the rules in exactly the same way and in perfect harmony. Strange, but true. Think it'll take me at least five years here to work that one out!
Finally, they seem to have a sense of devine destiny which Italians had in their rural, Catholic, poor past and Brits had until we stopped going off to fight wars but seem to be losing in our urban peace-time present. For example, in B.A. it seems that at most crossroads the rule is this; he who arrives first, passes. This rule seems to apply irrespective of the road markings.
This rule, inevitably, leads to accidents. Indeed, our taxi was involved in one the other day in which thankfully no-one was hurt. We arrived at a crossroads, and both our taxi driver and the driver of the car arriving from our left believed to have arrived first. They both continued and inevitably collided, slowing to only about 20mph at the moment of contact.
I think it'll be safer if we buy our own car.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Computer viruses and knife crime on the streets of Buenos Aires
Well hello there everyone, from sunny 1586 Avenida Roosvelt, Buenos Aires. Here we've just about survived our first week in the Argentinian capital. It's been hard going at times but we've made it through.
Not that it's been a week without its fair share of challanges and problems, I'll have you know. First of all, my computer refused to allow itself to be connected to the internet. I shouted at it, told it to stop being so euro-centric and get used to working in South America, but all to no avail. I was unable to make Skype calls for three days or use the net to search for a flat. Finally, I was put onto Roque, a smiling, highly skilled Argentinian I.T. technician who solved my connection problems. Whilst Roque was working away, he cheerfully asked me if he could be excused for a moment and off he went to the bathroom, situated next to the computer room. Next of all I heard the sound of vomiting, before about five minutes later my brave technician emerged, smiling broadly as if he was fine. Typically English, I tried to make out that I hadn't heard a thing. Five minutes later he asked to be excused once again, there was yet more violent puking in the bathroom and my courageous technician emerged,, this time allowing himself to mention that he 'must have eaten something bad' that morning.
Still, he solved the computer problem and as I waved him goodbye, I was left to reflect that these Argentinians must be a tough breed. I returned to the bathroom and started cleaning the floor and putting bleach down the loo. Then I noticed my sixteen-month old daughter Sophia typing away playfully on the computer keyboard. Now, I didn't want to risk her facing the same fate as Roque so I picked her up and whisked her off to clean those little fingers for about ten minutes. If she'd picked up food poisoning from the keys it would have been a new form of computer virus.
I received further proof of Argentinians' toilet habits being different those of Italians the next day, whilst I was eating lunch in the Belgrano area. Looking out of the large glass windows of the 'Ramsey' cafe, I noticed a man who had just stopped directly in front of a large potted plant standing on the pavement. There, in broad daylight, he dropped his trousers and had a pee against the plant (I think it was a pine, but I'm not sure). Then, he did up his trousers and waited obediently alongside other people at the traffic lights for his turn to cross the road. None of the other pedestrians noticing his behaviour even gave him a second glance, suggesting that this is normal behaviour. Kind of like any English town centre after 11pm.
It's hard not to notice the giant security bars covering people's front doors and windows. They suggest that crime is a big problem here. Indeed, the TV is full of news about violent goings on, and people have advised us against choosing a flat of house on the ground floor because it's easier for robbers to get in. We've taken to 'dressing down' when we go out (much easier for me than for Daniela) and carrying as little money as possible (again much easier for me than for Daniela). It seems that there is a massive difference between rich and poor (see photo, above) without the sizeable middle class which we have in Europe.
Notwithstanding the dangers outside on the streets, its our humble little kitchen that has been the scene of this week's 'bloodbath'. When we first moved in, I found myself attracted to the enormous carving knife in the kitchen, probably provided for guests to cut those enormous Argentinian steaks. Whilst chopping an onion I cut off part of my thumb, which would have needed hospital treatment had we not yet organised our private health care insurance and had I not been afraid of going to an Argentina state hospital without being able to speak any Spanish. Daniela told me I was stupid and should have been more careful.
Now, when you love someone you should never rejoice in their suffering so I feel very humble when I admit that I did feel just a little sense of justification the following night when Daniela's efforts at chopping a tomato were swiftly followed by a chain of Italian swear words. Yes, the carving knife had claimed its second victim of the week.
The kitchen struck again whilst I was closing one of the drawers under the sink, only to find that it had a sharp metal lip which gave me one of those cuts on my hand like books can give you-almost invisible but very painful.
I was now becoming extremely paranoid every time that Sophia got near the kitchen, so Daniela, sensing this, sent me to the chemist's to stock up on plasters and antiseptic cream. Wise investments, judging by our first days in the kitchen.
By the way, last night the kitchen struck yet again. Unfortunately, the hot water boiler heats the water in an exaggarated manner and if you're not careful it can burn. Daniela found this out the hard way last night when water spilled on her big toa to treat the resulting burn with ice from the freezer.
From Buenos Aires, have a nice weekend. And if you're planning on doing anything in the kitchen, be careful.
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