The most expensive way to travel in Buenos Aires (though still relatively cheap compared to the US, usually between $5 and 10), taxis are the best option if you’re in a big rush or if it’s late at night. There is never a shortage of taxis in Buenos Aires. I read somewhere that there is one taxi for every 83 people living in the city.
I usually really enjoy taxi rides because of the interesting conversations I have with the drivers. I get the impression that most customers tend not to talk, because when the drivers realize I’m willing to chat, they will talk non-stop until the moment I get out of the cab. Many of the drivers are from Buenos Aires, and get extremely offended if I ask if they have always lived in the capital. (obviously, I don’t ask this question any more). There is a joke that when porteños refer to Argentina, they are actually just referring to Buenos Aires. And it’s funny because it’s true: many of the people from Buenos Aires (about half of the country’s population!) consider the rest of the country, called el interior, and its people to be inferior. I had one taxista who drove me to the airport for my trip to Jujuy and ranted for twenty minutes about how Jujuy is feo (ugly), and that I would never find beef as tasty as there is Buenos Aires. I sat in the back chuckling silently as he described the generations of butchers in his family, how he decided not to be a butcher because it was too cold in the meat freezer, but that he was nevertheless a master of the asado. Every man in Argentina thinks that he is the master of the asado. This conversation however, was relatively tame to some of the others I have had, in which really derogatory things were said about people from el interior. Though, probably for every driver who is originally from Buenos Aires, there is one who is from another Argentine province, or from another South American country. I have heard many stories from taxistas who moved to the capital many years ago to find work, leaving their families behind. Almost all of them say they miss the tranquility and the friendliness of the people back home, and would like to return when they retire.
Aside from the BsAs vs. interior theme, I have all kinds of random conversations, from a taxi driver who swore he had a photographic memory and that if he saw me in ten years he would recognize me, to heated political and/or soccer related rants, to another when I received some serious life advice and was encouraged me to seize the day, ignore what other people thought of me and live in the present. Once I got really angry when one tried to convince me that’s it’s perfectly alright for a man to have a wife or a girlfriend and at least one other lover. A memorable chat was with a taxista who explained to me that Argentines are accustomed to crisis, because it is ingrained in the country’s history and national consciousness. Often they are very interested to hear how I like Buenos Aires, and what I am doing here. Interesting fact: I have only seen one female taxi driver in five months.
Por Colectivo:
El colectivo, known in Argentine slang as el bondi, will always be shrouded mystery. On a typical bus ride, I find myself gripping the railing for dear life, clutching my purse, as the bondi bombs down tiny streets, swerving and veering along its maniacal route. If one hand is clenched on the hand rail, the other is grasping my trusty Guía T, a little yellow book which breaks the entire city into quadrants, and shows which of the city’s 144 bus lines runs through each. Even my Biblia (the Guía T) can get me so far. Mystery #1: Where are the bus stops? There is no official way to access this information, and basically, you just have to know. Therefore, finding the right stop and knowing where to get off the bus can be quite problematic. I am often frantically alternating between squinting at the tiny print in my Guía, flipping between pages to follow the route, squinting outside the window to figure out what street we’re on, rifling through my book again, realizing I am utterly and completely lost, hustling up to the front of the bus, and asking the bus driver to tell me when to get off. And to find the bus stop in the first place, I ask people on the street. It’s pretty amusing because porteños never like to admit they can’t answer a question, and will invent the location of an imaginary bus stop in the case that they do not know. Mystery #2: Where is my bus? Oftentimes I will wait for my bus for 20 or 30 minutes, and then all of a sudden four will pass by at the same time. My personal theory, which I have confirmed with several bus drivers, is that the chauffeurs within each bus line are friends, and due to extreme boredom, prefer to travel in packs so they can chat at stop lights. I admit, kind of cute, but quite annoying if you have somewhere to be. Mystery #3: ¿Dónde están las monedas? (Where are the coins?) You have to pay the bus fee in monedas, yet these precious coins are scarce in Buenos Aires. Often restaurants and stores don’t have coins to give you for change, and people will leave larger tips than necessary in bills so they can keep their monedas. They are precious, and everyone, myself included, hoards their monedas de 25 centavos (a little more than 5 cents US), as if they were 100 dollar bills. Mystery #4: Where is the pimped-out bus? A girl who studied here last year informed me that are a few mythical “pimped-out” buses in the city, and that I would know when I saw one. She was right, and I knew I had arrived the second I stepped on the colectivo: it had several disco balls, black lights, an engraved steering wheel, blue lights and a sign reading, “El Club de Amigos del Bondi.” In some ways, I think that the bus system really embodies the city of Buenos Aires. In both I perceive ‘un desorden ordenada’” a sort of madness which makes sense, but only in a nonsensical kind of way.
Note: It is highly advised when travelling by taxi or by colectivo to not pay too much attention to one’s surroundings. Just like on the chairlift it’s a good idea to not think too hard about how high up you are, it’s usually best to not look out the window too intently. The drivers are, to put it lightly, psychotic, playing chicken with eachother at intersections, showing zero regard for stoplights and traffic signals, and careening down streets coming within inches of crashing into other vehicles.
Por Subte
Hot, sweaty, and crowded, el subte is my chosen mode of transportation. The subway makes a lot more sense than the colectivo: it consistently leaves from the same places and the stops are clearly marked, and it is much more reliable. The down side is that things get pretty up close and personal. Crowded doesn’t even begin to describe what it’s like on the subway during la hora pico (rush hour): I am almost always sandwiched between two people (and I mean like a Panini sandwich, really smashed together). The other day, my face pressed up against the back of a woman’s head, I thought to myself, “Ah, Garnier Fructis shampoo, that smells nice”. It is also tricky because at each stop there are the people entering the subte, shoving themselves into the cart (despite the fact that there is clearly zero space), and at the same time those stuck in the back of the cart yelling and pushing their way to the front in desperate attempt to get off. All the while, the rest of the passengers are grumbling, gesticulating angrily, and trying to avoid being trampled. So not quite as comfortable as travelling in the Focus, but definitely an experience.
There are 6 different lines, and each is a little different. My favorite is linea A, because it’s made of wood, is very old and reminds me of a train. There is also about a 1 in 10 chance that the subway won’t be running because the workers have gone on strike, in which case I head above ground and begin searching for a bus that could be anywhere and may or may not arrive. Luckily, nothing starts on time in Argentina.
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