Mi Buenos Aires Querido — Falling in love with a city through its people

This is different from your typical ethnography assignment. In fact, it is not an assignment at all. It is a collection of my thoughts after eavesdropping people at my favorite cafe in Buenos Aires, Dos Escudos. Yes, I have the (bad) habit of paying attention to stranger’s conversations in cafes because you never know when someone will say something thoughtful or unique. I am a writer, after all. I pay close attention to people.

There is nothing special about Dos Escudos; it is a normal-looking café parallel to a bakery of the same name. Unfortunately, the smell of bread and freshly baked cakes does not reach the café.

A few things about the people in the café: they are old. Sometimes, they come with their partners and family, but more often than not, they occupy a table for one for about an hour. The most peculiar clientele are old ladies, either in a wheelchair or holding a walking stick they can never figure out where to place it while drinking coffee. If you are lucky, you will experience the old ladies who look put together but order a can of beer at 4 p.m.

Looking outside, a 21-year-old with her laptop open surrounded by well-dressed Argentinian grandmas is a picture worth of a contemporary museum — too unique to understand. And I like that. I feel at ease at the café.

Now that you know what Dos Escudos is, I can delve into the intricacies of the conversations.

So I went to Dos Escudos for five days, sat at the same table, and listened.

Just yesterday, an old lady asked where I was from after overhearing my conversation with my roommate in English. From Brazil and India, we say. Ha! I recognized the accent; I’ve worked with a lot of Indians. I have also been to Brazil; it is a superpower in the making! Really? You are the first person to say that. After we go back to work, she tells her friend that we are very simpáticas.

The guy to my right switched between Spanish and French yesterday while my left ear captured another pair of old grandmas gossiping about someone’s wedding. A few days ago, another couple was gossiping about someone getting pregnant. A few days back, two foreign girls (as if I am not a foreigner myself) were talking in English about their lives in Buenos Aires.

A week ago, sandwiched between two tables during the break, two families talk about elections. Is Milel going to win? Bullrich’s performance at the presidential debate was below expectations, but can she still win?

Now, don’t get me wrong. I did talk to people. I’ve asked my friends Justina, Martina and my civic partner, Maria, about politics. The former are voting for Massa; María prefers Bullrich. And so on. They have told me that the dictatorship here is still an open wound, so much so that for Justina, who attends a school where four students disappeared a few decades back, walking in the hallway is a painful reminder that she is alive, and they are not. Amongst the infinite art galleries and exhibitions against military rule, there is the spoken and unspoken pain and the inability to create sustainable change beyond massive protests on Avenida 9 de Julio.

Another grandma at Disco, a supermarket close to the residence hall, asked me to hold her place in the line at the cashier because she wanted to buy another vegetable at the last minute. Talkatively, she asks me if I like that veggie with salad. Of course, I don’t! Well, at your age, I didn’t either, but it has many health benefits! You should give it a try. That same day, another lady asks me what I am doing, pointing my cellphone flashlight at the eggs in the supermarket. I told her I was checking if they were in good condition, and she replied I had never heard of that before. Yeah, me neither, I chuckled.

I don’t buy the shallow story that Argentinians are just mate, tango, football, and dulce de leche. The culture is very subtle here. It was the nice guy who, in timid English, grabbed the spoon I dropped to the floor and asked for another one in Spanish, assuming I didn’t speak the language. It is my civic partner excitedly giving me hugs and asking me to translate Spanish to English so that the other members of my group can understand her. It is the controversial taxi driver complaining about the (un?)employed protestors at Avenida 9 de Julio. The other taxi driver made sure we were safe before you dropped out of the car.

I have learned through people’s stories that there is so much that I don’t know. I tend to be very judgemental sometimes, especially growing up Brazilian and being taught to dislike Argentinians. However, my cultural informants have taught me that there is so much love and care if you appreciate the subtleties of human interaction and communication. Yes, they can be cold and arrogant compared to Brazilians, but they don’t mind you here. They want to get to know you if you are willing to do the same.

My communication technique has been different at the end of these encounters. I have been learning to be more spontaneous in Spanish and “go with the flow”. I don’t plan to interact with people because I believe in serendipity, which is the most Argentinian thing to do. In truth, I am trying to manage my prejudices of Argentinians with the many Argentinians I encounter and translating the cultural context to my non-Latin-American friends.

Much has changed since I last came to Buenos Aires; a decade of “encuentros y desencuentros” of life flashed through time. And yet — there is so much living history here. Everything and everyone is so alive!

I am proud to be a porteña.