By Adrian Royo Caldiz

Many times while I’m walking down the street, foreigners currently residing in Buenos Aires or simple tourists stop me and tell me “Adrian, you should write about how to survive in this city…”.

And you know what? They’re right. Therefore, starting today, we at the Argentimes would like to introduce you with some new add-ons that may help make your life in Argentina less miserable than it already is. (Yeah, yeah, we know. You moved here because your life abroad was already miserable, but that doesn’t mean that culture shock can’t get on our nerves sometimes).

Of course, we’d also like to hear what you think, so please, feel free to leave a message on this section or punch me in the eye when you see me walking down the street because you didn’t like what I said. Whatever, it’s not my fault that you don’t have a sense of humor.

So starting today, besides my usual ramblings, we will offer you four new sections:

• Buenos Aires Survival Guide: Are you one of those unlucky bastards who hopped on a bus and tried to pay the ticket with a 2 pesos bill? Did you have the unhappy idea to wear white pants on a rainy day and stepped on one of those loose tiles? Have you been taken for an unwanted ride on a cab from Ezeiza to downtown? If you have, join the club. But if you’re still settling here or for some reason you still haven’t learned the lesson, here’s a chance to make you a more savvy citizen so next time you are faced with a killer in your bedroom you will know that you need to defend yourself with a less powerful weapon than his, otherwise you end up in jail (and this my friends, is not a joke. Ha! Dangerously insane country).

• Profiled – A Guide to Argentina’s Pop Culture: Ever wondered who the hell Mirtha Legrand is? Have you felt curious to know more about some Susana Gimenez woman, who claims to be the white Oprah? Have you been hypnotized by some weird news in the Cronica TV network at 2 in the morning? Well, we all have. Here you’ll find a who’s who in Argentina’s pop culture so next time you’re at a party and hear someone make a joke about Zulma Lobato, you won’t be the only one not laughing.

• Facts That Suck: True, simple facts about a city in which mostly everything is overrated. (Including me. Can you believe I’m writing here? I know, it’s hilarious!) Sure, most of these facts will make everyone hate me, but oh well, that’s sort of my goal.

• You know you’re a fascist if…: I’ve you’ve been around BA long enough, you may have noticed that people here love accusing others of being fascists when they think differently. So before you say you don’t agree with the current government and risk being burned at the stake, I suggest you give this section a fast read to make your life easier. If you don’t, of course, you are indeed a fascist.

Please visit this site regularly for updates and new information everyday!

By Adrian Royo Caldiz

Another year comes to an end, and with it, Argentina, gets ready for some family friendly festivities such as getting drunk, eating a lot of pan dulce, drinking many bottles of cider and for some reason, having lots of marzipan for dessert.
It’s also a time in which, like in many other countries in the world, you’re forced to spend some time with those dreadful family members you despise so much.

Of course, teenagers have it easy here, because after 2 AM, when the party is barely getting started, they kiss their parents goodbye, grab a couple of champagne bottles and steal their dad’s car to go meet their other friends and of course, start the new year by getting awfully wasted. Yes, many times they total their cars but hey, apparently that’s part of the fun. And since starting January 1st., the Buenos Aires city government is resetting the score on the amount of points people are allowed to have before their license is taken away, why care!

So the families get together to have a lovely dinner before midnight, in which everyone yells, and complains about the government, inflation and tells their kids what a disappointment they are for not following an honorable career, like Law, Medicine or professional soccer, a tradition that goes back to a hundred years ago, when many spanish and italian immigrants decided to take a ship to South America in search of a better life. And boy there were in for a treat!

So, Buenos Aires feels special this time of the year, with many parties and exclusive events going on to celebrate that 2010 is upon us. “A new decade begins!”, people gleefully holler (although technically it starts in 2011, but who am I to rain on their parade, right?)!.

And it seems that the word got out that partying in Buenos Aires is fun (and cheap!) so celebrities from around the world have been coming down to Argentina to be part of the celebrations, like blogger Perez Hilton or fictional Gossip Girl character Serena Van Der Woodsen, who have all experienced the new year fun, Buenos Aires style (although to be honest, when Van Der Woodsen talks about her “trip to Buenos Aires” in the series, she shows some pictures of her dancing salsa in some cuban venue, so I’m not sure she really came here. Either she went to the wrong country or some producer really fucked up on that one), so now BA is one hot destination for people from all over the world who want to see what the city’s all about.

One of the city’s many attractive features is its hardcore way of celebrating via anything that involves gunpowder. Watching fireworks in the sky while sharing a bottle of champagne in the balcony? Boring! That’s for sissies and Europeans. To really celebrate like a man you gotta do it the argentine way, which means setting off some heavy bombs on your backyard and spending the rest of the evening at the emergency room. Have you ever heard of a “stray bullet” (“bala perdida”)? Well, apparently, when people can’t afford those cheap a-dime-a-dozen fireworks, they come up with the brilliant idea of aiming their guns to the sky and firing them. YEEHAW cowboy! No, this ain’t Texas, but it can sure as hell feel like it! So don’t freak out if the city sounds like Baghdad, it’s just the New Year! (Unless, of course, you’ve screwed up like Van Der Woodsen did and have actually gone to Baghdad, which is not the best place to be right now. Just sayin’).

But to be fair, spending New Year’s in Buenos Aires is an unforgettable experience, whether it’s because you fall in love with its melancholic streets, feel at home when somebody invites you to spend the festivities with their family or simply because you get shot by a stray bullet.

And the best part: everybody’s gone! There’s no traffic jams, no stuffed subway and no long lines to buy a Frapuccino at the Alto Palermo Starbucks because porteños have started their exodus to the three top argentine destinations: Mar del Plata, Carlos Paz and Punta del Este!

What’s that? Punta del Este is in Uruguay, you say? Not to the argentines, it’s not! But that’s a story for another post.

Right now it’s time to get stuffed with chicken, beef, cider and pan dulce (just remember to remove those ugly tasting dry fruits they put in there. Why they still do that when NO ONE in this country likes them? Only God knows).

Happy New Year, Argentimes readers!

Photo by Adrian Royo Caldiz

The grooms, Alex Freyre and José María Di Bello.

So. The pieces had been set. Everything seemed to be coming together and it looked as if it was finally gonna happen. Gay marriage! One of those things that seem to be a hot topic in Western Civilization these days. I don’t know why though! I mean, last time I checked, persecution of homosexuals was so 1506!  Of course, you seldom hear some angry old lady scream the word “abomination!”, but you have to understand that she comes from a different, simpler time, before the sexual revolution, when unhappy, unfaithful couples would stay married for the rest of their lives because, you know, divorce was a mortal sin, and homosexuality was repressed and dealt with in a Brokeback Mountain kinda way.

But, alas, progress has caught up with us and now we have to deal with all this freedom and equality! What is the world coming to?!

Anyway, December 1st was the date chosen by José María Di Bello and Alejandro Freyre to become the first homosexual couple to get married in South America. They chose this day, World AIDS Day, symbolically, since they are both HIV positive and they expected to send a double message to the community of tolerance and awareness.  When a judge granted them the right to marry some days ago, claiming that to deny them of this right was unconstitutional, even the mayor of Buenos Aires, Mauricio Macri, a conservative, replied he was not going to take action against this measure because clearly “the whole world was heading this way” (I have to say, I’m not quite sure my hyperbolic friend here is right. I mean, I can’t quite vision a couple of newlywed lesbians wearing white burkas, holding hands and walking down the streets of some town in Saudi Arabia soon…).

But I digress. Like i said, everything seemed to be ready for the ceremony, when a day before, some evil catholic lawyer named Francisco Roggero, apparently in cahoots with Opus Dei (you know, the controversial catholic organization from The Da Vinci Code…I know! I though they were fictional too!) convinced some other judge to revoke the previous permit based on some bigoted legal mumbo jumbo no one really understands. So what do you know, wedding’s off!

Well, sorta.

Our gay pioneers, in clear defiance to the system, told the media  they were still going to go to the judge to get married and invited whoever wanted to join them to come to the ceremony. And this brings us to what happened today, which felt like a mash up of an episode of Queer as Folk and the plot from some bad 80’s movie.

Located at the very posh (and gay friendly!) neighborhood of Palermo, the civil registry building was surrounded by news vans from all over the world and supporters who expected to throw some rice at the newlyweds. The Argentine Federation for Gays, Lesbians, Bisexuals and Transexuals (Federacion Argentina GLBT) was part of the organization of the ceremony, and many of its volunteers were herding the press and curious ones so they would not get in the way of another couple who had just gotten married and were about to exit the building.

Photos by Adrian Royo Caldiz

And as they did, the people from the Federation asked for a big round of applause congratulating them. I was moved. If only it were reciprocal and heterosexual couples could show gay couples a little of that respect, the world would be a much better place.

Now the downside of all this, is that, as you know, people throw rice when couples leave the building, so dozens of pigeons constantly stalk the area in search for food. After being there for half an hour, pretty much everyone had been hit by bird droppings.

“See? This is a sign”, claimed an old man who was standing by, clearly annoyed. “Gay marriage is unnatural, so even nature is expressing its disgust with all this circus”. And his theory, I’m sure, could have been given some serious thought, if it weren’t for the fact that the back of his brown leather jacket was all covered in green bird poop too.

Suddenly people could hear music coming from two blocks away and heads started turning. It wasn’t just any music, it was the Wedding March! And then, like out of some Terry Gilliam movie, a huge cattle truck half a block long showed up in front of the building carrying a few people and playing the march through some big ass speakers. Oh my, the horror! I can imagine the neighbors grabbing their rosary beads and going all crazy and stuff.

But yes, I am not exaggerating. Adorned with colorful banners on its side that read “Celebrate diversity” and some balloons, the cattle truck slowly parked in front of the civil registry.

Photos by Adrian Royo Caldiz

If you still don’t believe me, here’s some video of it!

But what do you know, still no groom & groom!

The Federation then decided to offer a press conference inside the building and the media swarmed in to try to get the best seats.  Dozens of representatives from diverse political parties (they have to score some points you know) and NGOs were standing there behind a desk, and under a banner that read “Matrimonio Ya!” (Marriage now!). Marcela Romero, a transsexual who became extremely popular last month when the Argentine Congress selected her as “Women of the Year”, was also there. Even a couple of the Mothers of Plaza de Mayo Founding Line were present to support gay marriage and equal rights for everyone (see? Not all old ladies are mean).

Photos by Adrian Royo Caldiz

This all got me thinking about how advanced the Argentine society has come to be. Just think about it: only 30 years ago, a cruel, bloody dictatorship was going on here, where you could be killed for basically wearing the wrong tie. And now you have Congress naming a transsexual woman of the year, and quite possibly the first gay marriage in the whole continent? That’s progress, whether some people still living in the dark ages like it or not.

Some ladies working at the civil registry looked at the whole thing from a window on the second floor in a way that totally looked like a promo shot for Gossip Girl – Late 40’s Edition.

Photo by Adrian Royo Caldiz

The head of the Federation then announced some big news: the Judge who originally allowed the couple to marry, Gabriela Seijas, had revoked the annulment stated by the other judge, Martha Gómez Alsina, and ordered the authorities to marry the couple. Catfight! This was all starting to feel like some bad Latin american soap opera.  People were celebrating all around. Now it was in the hands of the city government. The Mayor of Buenos Aires had the final decision on what to do. Both grooms walked in, in tears, wearing a dark suit and a red ribbon over their shoulders and chest.

You could feel it in the air. This was it. History in the making. The first gay couple to get married in the country, on such a symbolic day. All they needed was a phone call.

Guess what! The call never came. Apparently the case was now in the hands of the Argentine Supreme Court, which was allegedly going to take months to reach a decision (suddenly renting that truck didn’t seem like such a wise investment, did it!). Well those guys better choose wisely, because according to polls 66% of the population is for gay marriage.

So that was it. The wedding was off. I mean, this sucks. No cake? No wedding gifts?? I would have totally killed to see what president Cristina Fernandez would have sent the happy couple, considering how “original” she is when it comes to giving gifts to homosexual couples (last year, as a gift for the first gay civil union celebrated in Buenos Aires, she sent a portrait of herself. True story!)

And so another disappointment for the gay community came to be while some bloodsucking lawyer is having sex with a crucifix thanking God for yet a few more months without gays taking over the world and forcing him to listen to Madonna’s “Papa don’t preach” 24/7.

It seems, for now, History will have to wait at least for a few more months to keep moving in the right direction.

How delightful! It’s raining outside! Remember that? The rain? That stunt Mother Nature pulls once in a while that involves water falling from the sky? Fortunately now, because of Global Warming , it doesn’t really rain that much so we don’t have to worry about getting our hair wet or our expensive clothes getting ruined. Sure, crops are dying all over and the UV index is through the roof, but at least we don’t have to drag that annoying umbrella wherever we go anymore.

Unfortunately for us living in Buenos Aires, a rainy day means several inconveniences, including flooded streets (mostly due to a garbage-clogged sewage system), buses splashing whoever dares to walk close to the curb, and for those poor souls who choose to take the Subte to avoid getting wet, it means getting into a humid, more-crowded-than-usual train that stinks of CO2 and sweat.

And then, there’s these:

LOOSE TILES!

A foreigner’s worst nightmare, loose tiles in Buenos Aires have become one of the most difficult aspects of living in the capital or Argentina. Forget about the language, bureaucracy or stepping on dog poop. This is by far the most terrifying aspect of walking around the city on a rainy day. Because you’re walking down the street, minding your own business, when suddenly – SPLASH -, you’ve stepped into one of those urban traps and suddenly two gallons of dirty, murky water land all over your pants and shoes.

And then it’s all over. Chances are you’re gonna have to go back home and change. Maybe if you were wearing jeans you might be able to get away with it, but if by chance you were wearing those hot new summer white pants everyone is wearing, you’re screwed (we’ll talk about being a fashion victim in Argentina in the future).

So tread carefully, my fellow foreigner, for you might run into one of these bitches and ruin your life forever, or at least for the rest of the day.

You’ve been warned, now pass it on.

Hello, and welcome to the official re opening of the ¨Thoughts of a Foreigner¨ section of The Argentimes.

Our purpose is simple: to capture the very essence of the everyday minutia that every foreigner has to go through while trying to acclimatize to the argentine rhythm.

As an expat who has been living in Argentina long enough to learn their language and infiltrate their society, I promise my acute observations will be absolutely subjective, sarcastic, cynical, and above all, perfectly describing of this magnificent country.

Have you ever been frustrated by the predominance of a non-existent customer service while talking on the phone to a representative of your argentine cell phone company? Has a cab driver ever tried to scam you while driving from Ezeiza to downtown Buenos Aires? Have you (and you most certainly have) stepped on dog poop while walking down the streets of Palermo? Has a family of complete strangers embraced you right after meeting you in a way that makes you feel like you’ve known them all your life?

If the answer is yes, it means that you are already part of the Argentine society.

So let’s embark on the adventure that is living in this country by analyzing its pop culture, its customs and life styles, where the old meets the new, the cool meets the kitsch and the obvious meets the unexpected.

This is Argentina as seen by all of us.

This is Argentina as seen by you.

Enjoy.

Even at the height of national self-flagellation during the country’s meltdown of 2001/2, when we dwelled at length about our collective failure as a nation, Argentines still remained proud of a cherished aspect of the local identity: our solidarity. If there was a saving grace that stood against our ever-increasing list of shortcomings, that was our caring quality, our ability to help and openly embrace others. After all, our melting pot originated mainly from those fleeing Europe in search of a better life in a land that welcomed the arriving ships with open arms and a bag full of opportunities for everyone regardless of race, religion or nationality.

Back in autumn 2003 just as we had started recovering from the financial collapse, parts of Santa Fe province were flooded prompting spontaneous fund-raising and donations springing up everywhere, from TV channels to churches, providing us with a much-needed sense of well-being.

Last year, the alliance between two hitherto rather isolated sides as the countryside and the urban centres during the farmers’ strike seemed to reinforce this view: well-off city dwellers rallying in support of their less advantaged fellow countrymen.

But is this commonly accepted notion true? Sadly, these isolated examples are more than offset by our usual practices and behaviour. Let’s have a look at some examples:

1)    Tax evasion: although not an Argentine invention or exclusive practice, the local tax evasion rate is well above developed world standards and some neighbours alike such as Chile’s. Argentines, by and large, dodge paying taxes whenever possible regardless of social class, draining the state coffers, thus narrowing its possibilities to provide services for those who need them most. Whereas middle and upper classes can afford private schools, private hospitals and even private security, the poor cannot. Yet nobody seems to care much for them. And this includes the widespread reluctance to issue or ask for an invoice when shopping in retail stores. Even in the US, whose society is often derided for its individualism and lust for endless profit, the rate of private donations made by ordinary citizens to institutions such as universities is remarkably higher. And before anyone dismisses this argument on the grounds of our relative poverty, it is not the amount of money given but the share of those who actually open their wallets that we are focusing on here.

2)    Driving: one of the aspects that strikes foreign visitors the most is the aggressive way Argentines drive. Anyone observing street signs and regulations is made to feel stupid and meek. A driver whose car remains still even during the brief yellow light is liable to be honked or flicked at by other impatient drivers. Red lights do not command much respect either, and not only on deserted roads at night. Safety belts are an annoyance, not to mention the still usual practice of carrying small kids on the front seat, sometimes sitting on someone else’s lap, enough to shock any citizen of a “boring” country. But we love a good thrill when we drive, and are happy to oblige providing it to others, drivers and pedestrians alike. What can beat the feeling of pure adrenaline pumping when behind the wheel?

3)    Urban behaviour: cleaning after your pet is something very few dog owners deign to do. Walking the city pavements thus becomes a testing ground similar to skipping landmines.

4)    Subsidies: the decision to grant free universities for all is at least questionable. In a country when the overwhelming majority of university students come from the middle and upper classes, the current tuition-fee policy smacks of unfairness to say the least. Poor taxpayers who will probably never set foot in a university are subsidising affluent students who could easily afford a moderate fee at a public place to in turn fund loans for those applicants in need. The resources currently spent running the universities could be better allocated to better pay for teachers, public schools, hospitals and police, services most heavily used by the poor, as upper classes can provide for their own private alternative arrangements. 

5)    The failure to think collectively, to consider ourselves as part of a bigger scheme: country and institutions are cumbersome issues from which we feel detached. Every incoming president readily blames his predecessor’s incompetence or even wickedness for all the country’s woes, and if possible for those yet to come too. One could not help feeling a tinge of jealousy when the current Spanish leftist head of government José Luis Rodríguez Zapatero firmly demanded respect for his conservative predecessor José María Aznar from Venezuela’s president Hugo Chávez, even when the mutual differences and disagreements between the two Spanish leaders are widely known. Can anyone in their senses possibly imagine either Kirchner standing up to demand such respect for Menem, De La Rúa or Alfonsín?

6)    As if we needed more Spanish-baked humble pie, the lacklustre off-court performance at the recent Davis Cup final last November painfully highlighted the above. Personal frictions amongst players, rifts over the venue and the money prize, plus the inability to show a cohesive front were in sharp contrast to the professional attitude displayed by the Spanish team, whose members put aside their egos to achieve their ultimate goal of taking the trophy home. Crossed allegations, refusal to attend joint press conferences after the defeat and bitter resentments stole the spotlight from the main issue at stake: tennis.

We are emotional and exuberant like true Mediterraneans. We laugh, shout and cry until our hoarse throats send us back home to rest. We find solace in the notion that maybe our backwardness is a price worth paying for retaining our humanity, setting us apart from those societies whose inhabitants resemble perfect, lifeless productive machines. Maybe because we vent our feelings so readily we do not keep much energy left to actually do something useful with them. More self-refrained populations might show their feelings less but actually put them to good practical use, bottling that energy up until an appropriate outlet shows up. But nothing compares to the sound of a cork popping, even if half the champagne is wasted spilled on the floor instead of drank.

By DiegoBé, A local who often feels foreign

We’ve all been there. First time away from home, sporting a nice tan from weeks of idling on foreign shores; possibly even a coconut shell earring or a tattoo if you’re really brave; long tousled locks held back by a hairband (if you’re a boy) or the bedhead look (if you’re a girl), aviators, baggy and raggy clothes and flip flops. It’s everywhere. They’re everywhere. Gappers.

The sight of some of them makes me snigger, others make me retch. What makes it worse is that I was once that person – though I maintain never as bad – but alas I was. Is that why I resent them so much now?

I have no problem with the gap year. On the contrary I think it’s one of the best ideas in the world, so much so that I think it should be made compulsory for all school leavers. The benefits of taking a year off to work and travel are wasted on few. It is an adventure in self-discovery, even if you don’t realise it. A year in the life of a teenager is always a big learning curve. Add to this the ‘away from home’ and freedom factors, and a gap year is bound to be hugely beneficial for personal development. But that’s just it… It’s all about ME!

As long as people a) are honest about what they are getting out of a gap year, and b) don’t think they are the first to do it, there is no problem.

The gap year has started to come under fire, no doubt as a result of people starting to question the worth of these boardshorted bodies wandering the streets of the world. The debate has become particularly contentious since Voluntary Service Overseas (VSO), the international development charity, launched a report arguing that many overseas gap year programmes – especially those in lower-income countries – do more harm than good.

As an old-gapper (O.G.) myself I can wholeheartedly agree with this view. Looking back on the project I took part in in Peru over three years ago, I can honestly say that I got an infinitely more out of it than the children we were helping. Don’t get me wrong, I do not think we did more harm than good but the reality is that gap year students for the most part will spend no more than a couple of months volunteering. While whoever they are helping will enjoy their support during that time, the effects are transient and the vast majority of gappers have no lasting effect on the communities they lived with. Though some will, in a negative way.

There is an overwhelming stereotype that gap years are the sole domain of the white middle-class. And while this a stereotype, it does exist for a reason. Moreover, the gappers I speak of in this article refer exactly to those stereotypes. So if you’re doing something unique on your year abroad, spending it with people you didn’t go to school with or, low and behold, people from another country, then ignore this rant. I, as do we all, refer to a particular kind of gapper.

We all know the type. The boy who followed his friends from the local STA branch half way round the world without ever looking at a map and realising where he was. The girl who got stuck in Goa for the entirety of her gap year, with only dreadlocks and body art to show for it. The group of school friends who’s month in Thailand is a blur of buckets of UV paint. These stereotypes were previously reserved for the well worn Asia to Australia route but the Latin America travel boom has seen these teenagers migrate westwards.

A friend of mine had the fortune of stopping by one of Buenos Aires’ most renowned hostels. It is the place to see and be seen on the South American gapper circuit and I’m sure most you know it, and perhaps some of you are even staying there now. It oozes gap year tragedy and group fun, but it should not be knocked for that. Rather for the type of people who stay there. While waiting for gapping daughter of some of her parent’s friends she had a glance through the guestbook. There on the open page lay the prophet if you will of the gap year tale: “Took coke all night. Slept all day. Amazing.” Sadly this is what many travellers’ porteño experiences boil down to: a twilight, drugged view of the city.

It’s all so predictable. They even dress and talk the same way. A bizarre characteristic of the gap year is the widespread approval of ‘poo chat’ and I don’t mean boring chat. I refer to the well-versed international traveller discourse about bowel-movements. Why is this so acceptable? All it takes is a knowing nod before you’re knee deep in poo.

It’s testament to how obvious and boring some people’s gap years really are. You can actually tell from someone’s clothes where they have been travelling. Students count down the days to the end of school… no more lessons, no more uniform, freedom. Then within hours of landing in their destination they kit themselves out in another uniform. In Southeast Asia it’s the fisherman trousers and fakes of every kind – handbags, t-shirts, DVDs. In Africa it’s the Kikoy and some ‘ethnic’ beads. In Australia and New Zealand it’s anything with Quiksilver and Billabong written across it. In India it’s some other form of baggy raggy trouser (to me the fisherman trouser, but I am assured they are different) and Himalayan slippers and hats. In Latin America it’s the horrific ‘traveller trousers’, the big hairy rug-cum-scarf (no-one really knows what they’re supposed to be) and some llama paraphernalia. Then you accessorise with the internationally recognised frills: flipflops (Havaianas if you’re anybody worth knowing), Raybans (Aviators or Wayfarers? Or Wayfarers or Aviators?), the oh-so-not-unique piercing, the drunken tattoo and of course the coconut shell signet ring (Daddy told me not to wear my gold one on the beach). Of course all must be worn with as much hanging out as possible… bum, boobs, pubes.

A friend summed up the phenomenon nicely: “When I was in Mexico I bought about 20 of those weird belt things because I saw an indigenous woman wearing one and thought ‘oooohh how authentic’. When I got home to London I wore it once and realised how awful it was. Thank God they only cost 20p.”

You think you may be getting away from it all on your gap year. Escaping the tedium of home, work or those people. But no. Name dropping gets worse east of the Indian Ocean, only trendy London bars are replaced by hip hostels. ‘Place-dropping’ becomes a favourite activity, second only to poo talk.

Lying on a beach in Mexico I was stirred by the sound of some English squall. “Oooh ma gawd!! Nooo way! Were you in Phi Phi two months agooo??”. No I wasn’t, but the groups of gappers behind me were. It’s like being back at school again. Instead of being the girl without a boyfriend in the 1st XI, I was the girl who HADN’T been in Phi Phi in April. The only one apparently. Each year there is somewhere ‘you just haaaave to go’. I guess I didn’t get the memo, or, more precisely, the seventeen thousandth group email planning it all.

It’s the end of a long day, you’re tired and you have just spent an hour cramped into a space so small that even a sardine would feel claustrophobic. Add to this the fact that it is 30 degrees outside and it would not be unfair to say that you are pretty miserable. That is until you happily bound off the train and head as quickly as you can in whatever direction you are directed in by the colourful signs with that lovely word ‘salida’ on.

For me however this is where the nightmare really begins. You are so close. You can see the bright light at the end of the tunnel. You can even feel a whisper of slightly fresher air as you look up and see a solitary escalator separating the insufferable Subte from the great outdoors.  At this point that nightmare I mentioned becomes a reality, and it is all the fault of that thing we value so highly in good old Blighty: etiquette. Or more accurately, the lack there of.

Now I realise that we have a tendency to obsess over rules in Britain. Personally, I like the fact that we queue without being asked to, or apologise for brushing shoulders in the street, but I can understand the sentiments of some who say we take it too far. However – and this is an important however – escalator etiquette is an absolute necessity!  Why can’t people just stand on the right and walk on the left? I would even settle for standing on the left and walking on the right. Maybe this is just my pet hate, but nothing gets to me like seeing the left aisle of the escalator free but having to wait behind one person who does not seem to realise that this is not a pointless idea… escalator etiquette is a matter of consideration.

I have tried absolutely everything to alleviate the situation. I have tried ‘permiso’ with varying success. I have tried stamping my feet as I approach the person who is criminally blocking my ascent to freedom; that never seems to work. In fact, I would say that I have done just about everything and anything that I can think of short of lecturing the culprits on manners. I figured there are few who would appreciate that!

I wish that I could end with some sort of silver lining. I wish that I could offer some hope to those who, like me, want the freedom to run or even skip up the escalators if they so desire. Unfortunately, I have just one final idea: start using buses. They are cheaper anyway. Just don’t forget your monedas!

I recently learnt of wikitravel – wikipedia’s new travel sister, aiming to give a breakdown of all you need to know about destinations and countries around the world.

Being a naturally curious type, I decided to have a browse through the Argentina page, just to see what the wikitravel fellows had to say about the dear land I have chosen as home.

It goes through all the usual stuff, the main cities and other destinations like Iguazú and the Moreno Glacier: no surprises there, then. In fact, all is pretty standard until you hit the language section, where suddenly things got a bit more interesting…

“Visitors who speak Spanish should be aware that many words and expressions which are considered obscene or insulting in other Spanish-speaking places are considered a normal part of everyday speech in Argentina. For instance, it is common to refer to one’s friends as ‘boludo’ (big balls) or hijo de puta (son of a bitch).”

All true, so far.

“The concept of political correctness does not exist in Argentina,” continues the website. “Fat people are unapologetically addressed as ‘gordo’, blacks as ‘negro’, people who appear to be of Indian descent as ‘Peruano’ or ‘Boliviano’ (regardless of their actual ancestry), or middle-eastern as ‘turco’ etc. Visitors should be aware that this sort of blunt address is considered normal in Argentina, and no insult is implied and is the result of immigratory mixture.”

Hearing the language I have grown accustomed to described in such a way is food for thought. I had never considered the concept of whether such language was politically correct or not – I mean, if the person on the receiving end of the ‘che, gordo’ is not insulted, why should we outsiders be?

Additionally I had always considered such language an identifier, like my friend Colo who has red hair. I ask an Argentine for clarification.

“If calling a spade a spade is politically incorrect, then I suppose we are,” he says. “Calling someone ‘gordo’ if they are fat is just another name. Not hiring them because they are fat is politically incorrect.”

I think he has a point, and at times we need to lighten up with our language. Obviously, some things are plain insulting, but others are cultural nuances and should be judged accordingly.

And I agree with him that on some levels this whole political correctness thing has gone way too far. ‘Vertically-challenged’ – what’s wrong with plain old ‘short’? It’s only by making these words sound like they are insults and creating a ‘polite’ version that we make them insulting, no?