What it feels like for a girl

Not long after we had settled into our Buenos Aires apartment (read - I had my belongings suitably strewn everywhere), I found paradise: Abasto. My little pocket of capitalist glory amidst the third world, in the form of a five-storey, air-conditioned shopping mall.

Then again, it's not like the rest of the city even appears to be a part of the third world in any way, shape, or form. The city is serviced by a decent bus and subway system, as well as a regulated taxi service. Brand-name boutiques line the busy Avenida Santa Fe, where strolling porteños (Buenos Aires locals) are dressed to the tee. Besides the fact that everything costs about one third of what it would in Australia, Buenos Aires could - on the surface - pass off as a city not too far from home.



I had heard and read only good things about Buenos Aires prior to my arrival, most of which is undeniable. The city is indeed a glittering diamond in the South American rough - but the jewel does also have its share of less attractive faces.

Porteños love the night. Dinner begins at 10.30pm, and no respectable party takes place any earlier than two in the morning. The schedule worked out all too well for Jim and I during our first week or so in the city, until we cycled through a variety of sleep patterns to finally become fully nocturnal.

Not a week had passed before I found that porteño time had left me feeling a certain emptiness about each day. I awoke to traffic noises in a grey, sunless city, with nowhere to go and little to do until nightfall. It was a lonely few days until I finally found solace in a few excellent bookstores - especially El Ateneo on Avenida Santa Fe, which is located in what used to be a theatre, and is now easily the grandest, most beautiful bookstore I have ever seen.

If there is one thing I adore about porteño culture, it is their bookstores. The selection of books is wide and much more appealing - in my opinion - than the typical romance-thriller junk that seems to plague many Australian stores. As an added bonus, it seems to be common practice for literary dilettantes to spend all afternoon reading at in-house cafes without actually buying any books. This, of course, drastically broadened my reading list to include Che Guevara's diaries from the Congolese war, a very interesting book by U.S. investigative journalist Alexander Stille about former Italian prime minister Silvio Berlusconi, and a photo-biography of Evita Peron.

The latter was a raving account of the life of an Argentinean icon, painting Eva Peron as a revolutionary and selfless leader of the people, for the people. A far cry, certainly, from the power-hungry "whore" depicted by Madonna in the movie-musical, "Evita". (Yes, we have purchased the DVD for a quick, easy, and probably highly inaccurate infusion of Argentinean history and culture.)

Colour me biased, but the movie seems to have rather unfortunately reinforced many a negativity I ascribe to Buenos Aires: pretentiousness, vanity, materialism, and undeserved arrogance. One example is how our landlady reacted to hearing of our previous travels in Bolivia, which was immediately denounced as a destination she strongly disliked. When questioned, she readily admitted to never having visited the country per se, but "it's poor", she said. I have nothing against nationalistic pride, but close-minded arrogance is another thing altogether.

Another grievance between myself and the city is with what some might label "machismo". For me, this translates into plain old chauvinism; and this in a country that has once elected a female president! I find myself constantly ignored by waitstaff, salespeople and the like, in favour of Jim - who is expected to do all the little things like order for us both, and handle the bill. I am told by our Spanish teacher, Vera, that a married woman in Argentina is commonly referred to in terms of her relationship with her husband. For example: "Mujer de Jose", which translates literally to "woman of Jose".

On the positive side of machismo, porteño men are rather forward, and excessively free with their compliments. There's nothing like the constant assurance of "bonita" and "linda" to boost a girl's ego! Also, I am told the official retirement age for Argentinean women is 55, which is five years younger than their male counterparts. Perhaps this isn't so bad a city to live in after all...

posted by liz at 6:47 PM