Subte

I got off to a bad start with the BA subway. I bought a 0.70 peso fare, popped through the turnstile, and then realized I didn’t know which way the subway was going to take me. Convinced I was on the wrong side, I paid another fare and switched to the other. But then the train came from the wrong direction (well, in my opinion, at least), so I paid a third time and returned to the place where I had started, just in time to miss a train.

But since then, riding the subway has been pleasant – quite a civilized affair, really. The ride is smoother and straighter than in New York City. Many people stand in the center of the car and don’t hold onto anything. Try this in New York and you invariably end up landing on somebody. The seats are often cushioned, and there are 2 electronic signs in each car announcing not only the name of the next stop, but also the side on which the doors will open.

Many of the trains have small mirrors on either side of each door, allowing people somewhat shorter than me to check their appearance before heading out into the world. A far cry from the rush hour cattle cars I was accustomed to.

I remember one morning last year in New York, when I had just stepped onto the Manhattan-bound R train at Queens Plaza. An older woman angrily shoved back on the people in front of me, yelling that she was getting off. Domino-like, I was knocked backwards and the leg that was supposed to hit the station platform went into the gap. I dropped down like I’d stepped in quicksand, and found myself looking at the other passengers’ knees, one leg sticking straight down towards the third rail and the other splayed out in front of me. I was a bit stunned, I guess; rather than immediately lifting myself out of the hole, I gazed upward at my fellow train-riders. None of them said anything, but a few at least graced me with looks of horror. Not, however, the woman at fault, who merely pushed her way past and strode by (over) me.

There are a few aspects of the Buenos Aires subway that lag behind NYC. For one thing, there is no AC. Instead, the windows are left open. This can make it a bit loud, though the noise is tolerable – nothing like, say, the screeches of the downtown N/R winding its way out of 5th Avenue. Another weakness is safety. There are no warning sounds announcing the closing of doors; there appears to be only 1 driver (no conductor) who watches people going in and out of the train via a large mirror on the station wall; and the train often starts moving before the doors are fully closed. But the most serious problem is that the trains don’t run all night. If you want to go somewhere after about 22:30, you’re stuck taking a bus or hailing a cab.

There are performers – for example Ecuadorian players of pipes and mandolins – and many sellers of various things: notebooks, pens, razors, maps, poetry. These sellers are often children, and usually follow the practice of walking around the car and putting a sample of their wares in each person’s lap. They come around a while later to see if anybody wants anything. Apparently this works – i.e. little is stolen and people at least occasionally buy the items.

I don’t understand how the subway can be functioning so well and charging so little. I thought this country was in financial ruin. Not only do the trains run frequently (well, ok, sometimes they are blocked by protesters), but they are completely free of graffiti. In comparison, NYC’s subways are scratchittied to death, and I gather they were overwhelmed with spray paint during the 70s financial crisis. Even today, colorful spray painted symbols coat the walls of obscure NYC subway tunnels, making you wonder how in the world anybody could sneak in there among the unpredictable trains.

In fact the intensity of graffiti in NYC in general is unmatched here. The thick, rainbow-colored coatings of New York’s railroad bridges and neglected storefronts make you realized what the floodgates of the “anti-graffiti task force” are holding back. Here, there is graffiti all over the place above ground. Above many bank entrances, for example, people have scribbled “robbers!” “thieves!” – and the words are left there for days.

Most striking of all is the content, which is almost all political, broken up by an occasional profession of love for a woman.

There appear to be no gang-related symbols, and – I can hardly believe this – no profanity. I have yet to see an oath. In New York City, it’s hard to find any intelligible graffiti without a profane word.

antes era phonebook
despues tenés pointing fingers

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