Scary playgrounds

Playground at Vicente Lopez train station - TBA Mitre line to Tigre.

The train tracks at Colegiales station, TBA Mitre line.

Chu-Chu goes the mini-train alongside the real one on the carousel.

A little see-saw by the tracks perhaps?

Playground @ Florida station.

Peek-a-boo through the barbed wire. Eye the donkey on the left-hand side.

This time the playground is slightly before the station, at Belgrano R - TBA Mitre line.

Choo choo!

Colegiales again, showing proximity between playground and the tracks.

"Mummy, can we go home?"

Marge and the horsey on Carousel @ Florida station - TBA Mitre line.

Back to Belgrano R, this one actually has a mini-train track next to the real one, isn't that fun?

Yippee!

Another view of Belgrano "R" playground.

Tired of waiting for that train ? Kids giving you a hard time ? Look above and you'll see a perfect solution...

Cue the spooky music ladies and gents. You've just seen the perfect setting for a new Tim Burton movie. Just picture unsupervised little children from the 1900s skipping about singing "laaa laaa laaa laaa" faintly.... yes thats right. Starting to catch my drift?

This something I absolutely should have shared way before right now however, c'est la vie, and well folks, here it is. Scary playgrounds. I had never seen anything like this before prior to moving to Buenos Aires, but then again, perhaps on previous trips I simply didn't have my eyes open.

All along the TBA Mitre line (which is pretty broken and decrepit as it is) there is a lovely playground to take your kiddywinks to when you have a spare moment. It's particularly appealing when it's cloudy, and cold.... (rah!).

(The train lines were designed by the British in Argentina, for those who didn't know, waaay waaay back in the day - 1850s according to trusty Wikipedia - and where the trains are relatively new since then, they perhaps haven't been replaces in many cases for about 10 or more years, nor have they received adequate maintenance. Makes you feel secure putting your child in a swing next to the tracks now, doesn't it?)

The TBA (Trenes de Buenos Aires) Mitre line runs from Bartolome Mitre station in Olivos, (yes that counts as Buenos Aires province) all the way to Retiro station.

Now, not every station is blessed with a playground right next to the tracks, and some are perhaps not so bad .... Olivos station's actually got a little park and mini-square for kiddies, with the tracks out of arms reach, however those that do have countless rides to choose from and normally offer a Simpsons-themed carousel surrounded my rusty barbed wire. The trick is, to not look the Simpsons characters in the eye.....

The next station to boast a wonderful play area right next to the platform is Florida, followed by Saavedra, Coghlan, Belgrano "R" and Colegiales. 

So, next time you find yourself on the Olivos-Retiro line or the Tigre-Retiro line, take a peek outside your window. Better still, if you've got kids and you wish to show them a fright, head down to one of the stations mentioned above. 100% Fright-guaranteed. Scaredy-cats, however, should probably steer clear.

Hasta pronto!

M

TBA travels: Multa Evasion

In an overdue attempt to bring my blog back to life, I decided to take the first post back to my days taking the train on the TBA line (Trenes de Buenos Aires), back when I was living in the lovely Florida neighbourhood, in the borough of Vicente Lopez.

(Florida is a nice neighbourhood in the suburbs of BA, where I lived for a good year and a half)

Nowadays, I mainly colectivo (bus) it up, take the subte (underground), or largely walk to where I need to get to, but in England as much as in Argentina; the train is still my favourite way to travel.

The Twenty-Second of September 2009.

So, many times when you take the train here it can be a bit of an experience, I guess it depends what time you travel and at what time of year (I say this in reference to the weather and how it affects the journey), but there is usually something random going on that catches you eye, either while you're on the train or at the station.

On this particular day back in '09, on my way to teach English in the afternoon, I took the train from Florida to Ministro Carranza. Often often oftentimes, the train stations here don't have monedas (change in coins) and since a trip on the train costs you 80 centavos.... err if you have a 2 peso bill.... the ticket bloke is gonna be pissed off with you. Anyway coins or no coins, in this particular case I had actually arrived to the station a little late, catching the train by the skin of my teeth. So, basically I didn't pay.

Now, I do believe this was the first time I had taken the train without having paid (having a strict English "you must pay!", with failure do so, causing a £20 pound fine or something crap like that... knowing that yes, they do check, and no, you can't get out of it), apart from on Sundays.

(... my cousins taught me years ago that on Sundays, the train is "free"... really, no-one works at small station ticket offices on Sundays, therefore no-one sells tickets, none are bought; leading to none being checked, just a simple a "buy at destination" sign on the ticket office window....)

So, this time around, I had gotten all the way to my destination (Ministro Carranza) and then I realised I might be a little screwed. On the trains they do have signs (perhaps a little ripped and faded, but they're still there) stating that if you get caught without a ticket, you have to pay a fine of $10 (pesos, not dollars... calm down). Now, $10 pesos is rather a lot, considering the cost of a ticket being a mere 80 cents.  hmm.


As the crowds swarmed hurridly up the platform to the station exit, I hung back, kept cool, and tried to walk through the open gate un-noticed, but unfortunately there are guards right there.... checking tickets.

Ugh.

So, I make my way up and realise that I'm not the only perpetrator to commit this awful crime. There are 4 of us.

The man: "Why haven't you got a ticket, Where did you get on?"

Myself: "Florida sir, but they didn't have any monedas."

(meanwhile, someone else is giving the exact same story, saying they came from Florida too.... excellent! I had an accomplice. At the same time, another lady started a huge fuss and started shouting at one of the guards telling him, "why should I have to pay for a ticket, you are crazy, this government, this country! blaaaaaa.....")

So. The man looks at me in disbelief like.. nah. Let me phone Florida to check (meanwhile I'm thinking, shit, never in my life have these bastards been so thorough (and this never happened again afterward trust me)). So he calls Florida and he checks.

They had monedas. Damn.

Thinking that I was definitely screwed (I don't remember actually having any money on me bar like $4 pesos), the man continued:

"You can't pass through without a ticket"

(in my head it went more like a monotonous... "mmallalablaalabalaa")

Ok. It was time to negotiate.

Myself: "Te juro mister, there really were no monedas, please sir, please".

(Meanwhile the crazy bitch who before was shouting was now lookin' like she's about to explode with veins popping and such things.. "hijo de puta! aaaaaaaaa!").

Pretty much, the conversation repeated itself. On and on. "No you can't pass," but "please", but "no", but "please", but "pay bitch", but "no".........

Remember there were another 3 people going through the same ordeal, also all refusing to pay the $10. I thought I'd be really nervous about getting caught like this, however it was pretty hilarious to hear the other peoples stories, and sadly enough... a bit thrilling for my saddo self to be "going against the law". Ooo.

Suddenly, (well not that suddenly, perhaps another 10 or so minutes later, with me thinking the crazy bitch was about to throw one of the three guards on to the tracks) and after a joint "vive la resistance" act by the group, and an added "why the fuck should we pay" act (you can see how it turned around from an Oliver Twist-esque, awkard sorry faced plea- to a Rage Against the Machine, fuck the system kind of attitude), the bloke is like OK.

The man: "At least one fine of $10 is to be paid. Split it between you, I don't care, just at least one fine has to be paid."

You gotta hand it to the bloke, I personally would have buggered off myself if I were him by that point...

So, everyone seemed ok with that, I wanted to get the hell out of there (as I was now late for my class) with the added bonus of having a splitting headache from crazy bitch and her attitude (who by the way was a little slow on the uptake, and continued arguing... I had to say errm excuse me, we are paying $2 each... give me the money).

$2 pesos. I collected the cash and paid.

Had been fined, had argued, had wrecklessley fought the system. (sort of).

Nothing like England. . . . .however, perfect for a great conversation in my English class though.....


Hasta pronto, where I will detail more fun random stories!

M

Part 1) Dogs on Roofs: Valience

Howls come from above.

Look up.

There they are guarding and protecting from above.



Standing at the fence, wall, nook or cranny they have to look through, or simply with their head hanging off the roof edge.



They aim to drive away intruders, in the crackdown on neighbourhood crime.



Loyal to their territory they aim to defend. Mostly they just oversee the goings on of the neighbourhood.....

 Sounds come from afar.

Alert. Standing to attention is our guard. It could be a whiff of trouble.

Despite the probability that it just some cat crossing the road, or the wind brushing leaves up and down, our guard earns his right as fierce protector of his castle.

Beware indeed, beware. These puppies ain’t messin about. . .

Check in again for part 2: Dogs behind bars.

Neighbourhood Watch: “The guard dogs of the barrio”.

It has to be acknowledged that hoy en día, that is to say nowadays; we live in an unsafe world.

People are forever talking about insecurity of the streets in Argentina, and crimes being committed in the barrios of BA.

This piece has been written to acknowledge some of the most underestimated security guards in Argentina.

“The guard dogs of the barrio”.

I’ll have you know that they are not street dogs, for street dogs would be far kinder to that of a stranger strolling down the street. Hence, these are family dogs.

Their mission: to guard and protect.

Dare to tread, but tread carefully through the suburbs and outer neighbourhoods of BA.

If not, you could be mistaken for a burgler.

Waka Waka Africa... Football frenzy reaches the ballet studio.

I used to be a dancer. Nowadays I train to attempt to regain my former capabilities and to keep myself in the dance world enabling the possibility of re-inserting myself one day.

Each week I take contemporary classes in a well-known studio in the Nuñez neighbourhood here in BA.
I arrive at 7.30pm on a Friday evening after finishing a crazy week at work, to face the flourish of the dancer’s world when I arrive.

Ribbons in flight, hair pins, bun nets, leotards, and well used pointe shoes are being thrown around as the girls from the previous ballet class prepare themselves to go home in the changing room. There is a flurry of mums organising the little girls, helping them pack their kit bags to take them home.

The older girls casually talk about dance tecnique, steps, boys, school, and their experiences at the other studios they train at.
(A lot of the girls at this particular dance studio also train at the Colon, which is Argentina’s highest regarded dance organisation – comparable to Englands Royal Ballet Company).

This is a typical Friday evening at the studio.

However, the hype of the World Cup, has been putting everybody into a frenzy recently. This, consequentially changed the topic of conversation to more things football related.

Walalala eh o ehh, porque esto´es Africa! Hey! The girls sing as they stuff their shoes into their bags...

Surprised I am, at the knowledge the girls have during their discussions of tactic, passes and whether Argentina will win against Germany in the big match on Saturday (I am writing this of course, after Argentina lost 4-0 in that fateful match).

Walalala eh o ehh, porque esto´es Africa! Hey!

Football is in the air, and as each girl starts to leave, it is clear that each one is going home with the thought of what will happen in the morning.

The contemporary dance girls and I enter the studio to begin our class. Stretching begins, but before we commence the warm-up there is a light-hearted but passionate discussion about... football. Conveniently I have two teams to support during this World Cup, one of which had already lost out to Germany last week.
All eyes on my other team... Argentina.

My teacher Paula says to me, “and Melanie? Where does the blood connection sway you”, she said. “Who will you hinchar for?”

Cooly I say, “Well, Argentina of course... I mean, por supuesto”. All eyes are looking in my direction.

“Vamos todavia!” she exclaims, as the other girls applaud me for my dedication to the Argentina selection.

A whir of passion fleets through all of us, and for a moment everybody is insanely patriotic.

There was a pause.

We all look at one another.

The atmosphere clicks, and suddenly switches back to dance. The music goes on, and we begin the warm-up as usual. Nothing else was mentioned, but it was taken into account.

Everybody was nervous about the Argentina team taking the stage in South Africa the following day...

I wonder what it’ll be like next week after having learned the match’s result... sad times in our football crazed world...

Hasta pronto.

M

Flying Flesh

Stepping out of my door in BA, no matter what the agenda or the day, things happen which never fail to surprise me.

I admit I am pretty accustomed to how things roll here. That said, having grown up in the UK, certain practices and norms for society over here I simply can´t get used to. Random things happen all the time. Sometimes things I consider to be good, bad, some just downright inexplicable.

Curious indeed for this British Boluda.

Today in my local “Chinos” (Chinese-run supermarket), I had simply popped in to make an inquiry. Oblivious to the world I wait my turn to be able to talk to an assistant. I turn my head, and I am confronted by a wall of cow flesh (or half a dead cow to be precise), bouncing past me.

The cow carcass is huge (albeit only a half), and the little man dressed in white overalls carrying it looked slightly dwarfed in size in comparison. Slapped over his shoulder he was pretty swift in movement, and looked like he knew what he was doing as he hauled the load through the middle aisle of the supermarket.
My eyes followed him as he went to the “butchers quarters”, at the back of the shop and disappeared for a sec. Curious, (and a bit nosy) I tilt my head and look down the aisle to the meat counter, and through the back door. The half cow is hung on a hook in the back room.

Urhh.

Ok, alright, fair enough. Even though having almost been whacked in the face by dead cow leg a few seconds ago, I shake off the immediate shock. Acceptance of the situation filters through my mind, and just as it does…. oh, the other half of the cow cadaver comes flying through.

This time I can do nothing but stare. Everyone is just getting on with their business as per.

The British side of me has seen dead cow before, but not right up in my face. It was being carried as if the bloke bearing the burden had just finished skinning the poor bugger.

Odd odd odd.

In the world I am more accustomed to, these kinds of processes are well-hidden, and with good reason.

Later I pondered how hygienic it is to carry meat in such a way (uncovered and over shoulder), also wondered how long the meat had not been refrigerated for.

The Chino supermarkets don't have great fame for their hygiene, but this one in particular turns off its fridges at night to save money on electricity.

Best not think about it.


Lesson learned?
Don´t buy beef from my local Chinos.

A thought bubble please: Can we open our minds a little?

Recently I went on a trip to Rosario. I came across a good looking lad who kindly tried to chamullar me (for those of you who don't understand this expression, it's when an Arg guy chats you up). We got to talking, and he was like,

"oh, so you're not from here, whereabouts are you from?"

Well, well. In just over a year that I have been living in Buenos Aires, you can imagine just how many times I have been asked this particular question.

"Well," I said, "I am from England, but I am half-English half-Argentine".

He looks at me puzzled, with a slight smirk on his face. He says,

"Cómo que, Cómo es eso?" saying, "Well what's that all about then?"

Ah here we go again, I must explain my life story once again... well not really, but I feel like I should try to at least make a little effort, so I keep the conversation going...

"Yeah my mum's from BA and my dad is English, from London. I was born in England, but I live here now."

(whilst I talk the intrigue turns to uber intrigue)

"Yepp, I am half and half", I say wholeheartedly.

The guy almost goes to question me in more depth about that, but turns to ask me about which country I prefer overall, and would prefer to live in.

The conversation became even more complicated because it began to pull towards him trying to make me define which nationality I preferred.

(the funniest thing was though, that he did so by trying to get me to express my opinion on who owns the Falkland islands...)

Now, this isn't the first time that this has happened to me living here. In fact it happens on a regular basis that people categorize you into one nationality, mostly by where exactly you were born. But this isn't necessarily the correct way to approach the subject of ones cultural identity, as it simply isn't that black and white.

I came across some literature which brings forth some wonderful questions for analysis, which provoke deeper thought on this matter, which I will discuss in further detail in later posts.

The next quote (rather long) is by Stuart Hall, a Professor of Sociology from the Open University, UK.

"Questions of cultural identity have become central to the agenda of contemporary social and anthropological research. As the waves of forced and unplanned migration transform the hitherto well-defined and apparently stable cultural formations of the globe, so the issues of how and with what groups, do peoples on the move identify themselves - and how this is influencing the self-identifications of people from the indigenous, native, or 'host' societies - has come to constitute a subject of enormous public interest and debate."

.....

Now, it is something to consider - giving that the Argentine society was formed by immigrants having come from Europe at the turn of the twentieth century....

Stuart Hall continues,

"Are the cultural identities of social groups constituted primarily by stable, structural features of social organization, such that the vicissitudes of movement, dispersal, and displacement cannot deeply influence or disturb them?"

"Has ethnicity acquired something of the permanence of shared genetic dispositions?"

"Do we bare our cultural identities, the signs and symbols of our 'belongingness', like indelible number-plates on our backs?"

"Is ethnicity moving from a matter of 'descent' to 'assent' - not the rediscovery of our 'roots' in the past, but a tracking of our 'routes' to the present?"

(... and most importantly...)

"Is cultural identity those imperatives we obey, or that which we perform?"

........

These are all questions I consider to be hugely valid and important to wonder and ponder on.

All opinions are welcome...

That said, I will leave you all now to ponder on what you consider to be your own cultural identity...

Is it important?