(Sent: Mon, March 22, 2004 3:58 pm)

A Short Walk

Be warned. This is a story about nothing in particular. Why should you read something about nothing? Because it is about my experiences in a place, during a small part of a day. That day was Friday. That place is Buenos Aires. It is now my home.

The Decision

I decided to expand my horizons and cross the excessively wide 9th of July Avenue into the northern part of Buenos Aires. Since arriving here, this had become my point of limitation. I had only ever stayed within the Centro district, lying to the south of this road. It occurred to me that now was a good time to get adventurous. So I walked the four blocks past this road to Plaza Congresso.

Crossing Avenida 9 de Julio requires a high-speed walk, jogging pace, or two changes of lights to make it to the other side. Just getting to the middle involves crossing over 3 lanes to reach the side parkways and another 8 lanes to the middle curbing which provides little respite from the traffic. Then there is a further 8 lanes to the other side parkway, and an easy 3 lanes to finally reach the other side. I chose the high-speed walk, only just making it to the parkway on the other side of the 16 lane centre section.

Plaza Congresso is a very political location, and by way of the large and straight road Avenida de Mayo, is linked directly to the other highly political park, Plaza de Mayo. In these two parks can be found the beginning or ending of any good protest. I had already spent considerable time in Plaza de Mayo so I thought it would be good to see the "other side".

The Park

Arriving at Plaza Congresso revealed a large park, the size of three city blocks, covered in various patches of pebbles, grass, and bushes. Each of these were separated elegantly by very low iron fences. On both sides of the park, huge trees provided shade to the many bench seats below them. Everywhere people are relaxing, on the grass or the seats. Some stand and chat, others are walking dogs, and some are just wandering aimlessly through the many pathways scattered through the park. The whole place has a gentle, relaxed feel to it.

And then I saw the huge statue down the end. As I approached the statue, its base as wide as the park, with a magnificent fountain before it of the same width, the scars of the wars fought here became increasingly evident.

Large chunks torn off the bronze statues in the fountain from which water should have poured, empty ponds on the upper levels, and graffiti over every part that could be reached. The graffiti all over this grand statue was full of anger, hurt and venom toward the Argentine government. The mood of it all was one of despair, having lost already but trying to warn others.

To the front of the statue, for I had approached from behind, stood the magnificent Congress building. It showed no signs of life. Every door was firmly closed, yet it was still in use.

Below me, standing in defiance of the way things still are, were pitched two tents, surrounded by banners. They stood there as an ongoing protest against the missing children. This was the protest of The Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo.

It changed the entire feel of the park. Suddenly I was in a place of war. A location where division and anger had been poured out. A place very different to what it had first appeared. Surpisingly though, the whole scene still held onto the undertones of beauty it had radiated before, with the lower and largest section of the fountain still in full operation.

The Subway

Leaving this surreal scene, I took my first ride on the subway to get home. Having never used the subte before, I assumed it would be like most other cities - find a hole in the ground, descend, buy a ticket and ride. It was like that here too... almost.

Once safely standing on my platform, used ticket in hand, I waited for the train to arrive. It did, from the wrong direction. No problems I thought, simply find the tunnel to the other side. But there was no tunnel to the other side. I needed to exit the subway and enter the other side. But I had already used my ticket.

Naturally my ticket does not work when I reach the other platform, so I try to swap it at the counter. Fortunately the guy at the counter realises I have come from the other platform and guides me through a side gate to my platform. Then I wait.

When the train arrives, it is old. Really old. I find myself sitting in an authentic original rickety wooden carriage, complete with manual doors and opened windows. It turns out that this particular subway line is the only one of its type that still runs the original carriages since it was first opened.

Looking at my map, I saw that I needed to travel two stations to get to my transfer point. My map was wrong. It was too late when I realisd that I had travelled too far. Now I couldn´t return without buying a new ticket. There was one more place I could transfer, so I decided to continue. As we pulled into the last station on the track, I realised my mistake. It was no wonder so many people have left the train at the last station. That was my transfer point that I had missed again.

At the end of my journey, I decided to eat a burger before walking home. While I ate, I noticed the train I had just arrived on leaving again. This time it was going in the other direction. I quickly boarded the next train back to my transfer station where I meandered my way through the tunnels to the other line and my station. Once there, some very old fashioned mechanical staircases (now known as escalators) made with wooden treads carried me up to the street level. My feet carried me the rest of the way home.

Visiting Plaza Congresso and journeying on the subway was only a small journey in such a large city. The pain of the people and the age of equipment within this mighty city were revealed. Sometimes it is not the size of the journey that matters but the discovery that takes place as a result of it. I had discovered.

Rob.

References:

Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo

Basic Information and Photos of Argentina