The (Subway) Ride of My Life

Most people when using public transportation try to avoid eye contact with other passengers, keep their limbs out of reach from the possibly dangerous, dirty or perverted fellow riders, rarely allowing any expression other than disgust, indifference or emptiness illuminate their sweaty, sullen faces. Laura and Jere are the exception. There is a Subway subculture in Buenos Aires that these two aspiring actors are tapping into, where artists willing to brave the hard knocks of Argentina's Subte can perform, pass around a hat to make a few bucks, and in the process, make the dread of getting from point A to point B, more interesting, or I dare say, entertaining. I was on my way to explore a part of town I hadn't yet been to, where a prospective film school was located, and really I was in no rush. Subways have always fascinated me, and as I was riding the B line towards Carlos Peligrini, studying the people packed together, some in suits, some in muddy coveralls, some in miniskirts, others in habits. It's amazing to see so many humans in such close contact that have nothing to do with one another, and for those minutes on board the train they are anonymous, time is suspended, and then the doors open and people pour out and head back to their lives, while others get on, and pop on their headphones, settle in and hold their breath until the ride on the closest thing we have to a teletransportation device ends. But for Laura and Jere, the Subte represents something entirely different. While everyone else can't wait to get off the train, these two have figured out how to tap into that bizarre Subway-riding mood, and make it work for them. They are actors who, for lack of good paying work in theaters and TV above ground, have gone below to work the Subway circuit, and with a bit of luck and lots of hard work, are able to pay their bills. So, as I'm riding the B line that day, all of a sudden I see and hear what I soon realized was a fake argument between a fake couple, a loud and over-the-top sketch where a boyfriend criticizes his girlfriend for returning home early one day to find him with another woman. The sketch includes the "boyfriend" chatting up a female member of the Subway audience, in this first case, me, and the "girlfriend" later flirting with an unsuspecting male, all with the objective of generating some reaction and participation from the involuntary audience, who hopefully in turn drops a few pesos into the actors' hats at the end of the three-or-so minute performance. It doesn't work on everyone. It worked on me. I laughed and smiled the whole time and then gave Laura a coin (hey, I'm a starving artist myself) and then followed them into the next train car to ask them how and why they started working as Subte artists. We chatted for about 20 minutes, they were charming and lovely and warm and I was intrigued, so we decided we would meet up again the following week, they told me when and where I could find them, and so I did. We met up on the D line at 10AM and straight away we got on, and they started in with the sketch. "Laura, Laura please forgive me, that thing with Nancy was a mistake." That's when they get people's attention, old people and kids especially think there's a real fight going on. Some laugh, some don't even look up from their newspapers or books, others rub their temples with an expression on their faces that says they've seen the sketch before, and they're sick of it, or they're not in the mood. Some just get up and move to another car. But mostly the Subway riders appreciate the positive energy of the actors, the humble entertainment, they smile, play along if involved in the sketch, applaud at the end. The day I followed them around was a good day, a few days before Easter and people seemed to be quite generous when it came to passing around the hats. The way it works is this: the Subway platform goes in two directions, so Laura and Jere get on going in one direction, perform two or three functions, then switch sides and do a couple more functions, and so on. There are obstacles, though, that actors in normal circumstances don't usually come across. For example, there are other artists that use the Subte as a means of survival, like one blind man who plays guitar, and a couple of boys who breakdance. Also, there are vendors who pass around trinkets, gum, maps, etc or others who hope pity will play in their favor and hobble around on crutches or exploit their own disability or that of a loved one in exchange for a few coins from sympathetic or uncomfortable riders. My actor friends respect all of their Subway enterprising counterparts, and the chance to witness first-hand how this underground economy functions, was awesome. If someone was selling something on a car when we got on, Laura and Jere would wait until the vendor finished before starting their sketch. The ones they were friendly with, they greeted with hugs and kisses. They pointed out the ones that faked illnesses or prayed on passengers as pickpockets. I liked watching them perform, but more, I loved watching the reactions of the people, how different the same, tired sketch could seem depending on the energy of the audience, seeing through the eyes of a toddler, a father, teenagers in love, a grouchy businessman, a woman chatting on the phone to her boyfriend, who upon hearing Jere's voice hangs up on her, and then the her crying and blaming Jere for ruining her relationship. "The bad reactions aren't the norm," they tell me, "but they stick with you." I only spent three hours with them, because Laura had to leave early to rehearse for a children's musical she is in, but I was exhausted a very ready for a snack and bathroom break by then. They made about 130 pesos in that time, 65 pesos each, which is about 15 dollars, but every bit helps make it through the month. Plus, as Jere said, the goal isn't to get rich or famous, but to be able to live doing what he loves. I'm in a moment in my life where I appreciate and like to be around people who don't follow, who go against the current, who fight for permission to be on the Subte when everyone else is elbowing each other to get off. Laura and Jere inspired me. I don't know if a career in Subway acting is for me, but I could think of much worse things to do with one's time. If life is a train ride, I'd much prefer laughing and enjoying the show to sitting with arms crossed, waiting for something better to come along.

Buenos Aires Transcending

I needed a change. This past Wednesday, I had just finished an unsatisfying session with my Argentine psychologist, and the most healthy and least time consuming way I could think of to feel that sharp, clean, exhilarating sense of change was to go have my hair cut. Actually, the idea hadn't occurred to me yet, when I was walking down Corrientes (Avenida Corrientes), in a kind of fog, wondering what to do with the rest of my day, and not putting any pressure on myself to decide. Looking back, I'm not sure why I stopped in front of MarinaLook Salon, the place looked pretty average, and the low price was at the same time enticing and worrisome, but when I snuck a peak at my hairdresser-to-be straightening her flawless, black, Cleopatraesque bangs, I could tell she knew what she was doing, and decided to trust that gut instinct. Upon entering, I was greeted by a friendly receptionist who handed me off to Daniela. As a rule, I always check out the stylists' hair before allowing them to touch my head, often I will leave a salon if I don't like what I see, feigning some excuse like, oh, I forgot I just cut my hair last week. Anyway, I liked Daniela's hair a lot. I wasn't sure it was hers, though, but by the way she was primping and ironing in the mirror before I arrived, I could appreciate her appreciation for nice hair. See, Daniela was very tall, had large, silicone breasts, very tight clothing and impossibly thin, toned arms and legs. She also had quite a pronounced jaw bone, and a way about her that let me know she was in a process of change herself. More frankly, Daniela was transitioning from man to woman. When we met, she immediately began tousling my hair and experimenting with possibly styles. We agreed on a trim with some volume-enhancing layers and side-swept bangs. As she worked away, at times nearly suffocating me in her surgery-enhanced bosom, she explained how she loves to make women feel wonderful and feminine and that she cuts her own hair, which I found out is her own, and is incredibly thick and luxurious. She told me that she studies dance, and offered to give me the address of her dance studio if I wanted to try a class. She was lovely, and left me with a haircut that made me feel that refreshed, renewed satisfaction of change. For some reason, I knew Daniela was going to leave an impact on me, even if only enough to inspire this blog entry, but from the moment I saw her styling her own hair in the mirror, I trusted her, and felt compelled to walk in. Maybe because I could tell from a distance that she was a transgender person and with my own prejudices, decided she would be in touch with female style and psyche. That hunch ending up being quite useful, I love the haircut she gave me, but more than that, she was the medium that allowed me to transform from having a bluesy kind of day, to feeling great. As a person going through many changes myself, I can identify with people, like Daniela, who are in transition, and though for her it was just another haircut for another customer, I was moved by her dedication- to her vocation, to her image, and to her evolution as a person. Daniela is not the first transgender person I have met while here in Buenos Aires, but she was the spark that made me think and feel enough to put thoughts into words. People like Daniela are going through a more visible process of change, making it easier for others to judge or criticize. But all of us, well most of us, those who visit a psychologist of psychiatrist weekly, who can't decide on a career path, or on a vacation plan, or a seating arrangement, or a hairstyle, a hobby, a pet, whether to speak up or keep quiet. Those of us who are looking for a partner, or a friend, or a direction or inspiration, or just trying to understand who we are and why we are here. Gosh. You get the idea, no? Some transitions, changes are easier to see than others. But all of us are on the same journey, and realizing that we're not alone, even if it happens during something as superficial and simple as a haircut, can really brighten your day, and make you wonder- why spend so much money on therapy when a 25 peso 'do is all it takes to do the trick.

Come together, right now. Activism in Argentina is contagious.

march 24 2010

"There are much more people than last year," Ana tells me, as we sway among the multitude of people crowded in Plaza de Mayo, the political heart of Buenos Aires. "People are more mobilized this year, there is a greater feeling of activism, fighting for human rights." Today is the anniversary of the last military takeover in 1976, and masses of people gather each year on this date to remember the thirty thousand "desaparecidos" who disappeared during the oppresive regime. I wanted to see what a march looked like in Argentina, and feel closer to the issues that I hear so much about in the media and in every day life in Buenos Aires. Organizations like Abuelas de la Plaza de Mayo y Madres de la Plaza de Mayo (Grandmothers and Mothers of Plaza de Mayo) are groups that are fighting for justice and working relentlessly to uncover truths about their loved ones who were disappeared, prosecute and punish those who did the dirty work, and reunite the children of victims with their biological grandparents. Since, I had no previous reference of how many people attend the march, I had to take Ana's word for it, but leaving subway station Peru a few blocks from the plaza, you could feel that there was a good turnout to say the least. The noise of drums and chants in the streets was disorienting, I held on tight to my friend and tried not to get swept away by the current of people that surrounded us. Once we were able to maneuver ourselves under the Cabildo building and stand relatively comfortably amid people waving banners for peace or promoting a political party or simply expressing an idea with some colorful profanity, I was able to reflect on the spectacle. Lots of young people marching, sipping the ubiquitous mate between cheeky political chants, laughing, representing a cause or just enjoying the energy of being part of something. Elderly ladies wearing T-shirts or bearing flags with the name of someone disappeared, joined together pumping their fists in the air and singing Olé Olé, Olé Olá, and what I interpreted as the hymn for the Abuelas y Madres de la Plaza de Mayo. The crowd was a mix of people of all sorts- young couples toting toddlers on their shoulders, dreadlocked rastafarians, turists with cameras, vendors grilling meats and preparing sweets- a mishmosh of many colors, sounds, smells and tastes. My friend Ana doesn't agree politically with the majority of the banners and signs we pass, but that's the point. Those who make it to Plaza de Mayo on March 24th go because they believe in something, and no matter what that may be, they are accompanied by thousands of others who are also standing, for their own something. In my home town of Rochester, New York, I have never experienced what I did today. People are looking for change and take advantage of public events like today to voice their opinions, hoping to make a difference, like my friend Ana, who traveled an hour and a half each way to join me. I was overwhelmed, on one hand physically by the sheer amount of human beings sharing my personal space, but also by the positive, moving, contagious activism in the air. Being a part of an event much bigger than myself was unnerving but also comforting, and the feeling of leaving my comfort zone to experience and be part of something strange and new is wonderful. Hopefully this snapshot of my time in Argentina will inspire someone else to go stand in their respective Plaza de Mayo and be part of something.

An American in Mexico

Mexico. If you've been watching the news at all lately, you're probably under the impression, along with most of my family, that the place is run by narco leaders, ravaged by drug wars and a trap for unsuspecting American tourists to be kidnapped for ransom. Though it's true people visiting Mexico should be careful to avoid over-priced, dilapidated hostels and cheesy pick-up lines shouted by feisty locals, if you head to any of the country's hundreds of tourist locations, you'll be fine. Sure you may bump into some violence and drugs, but isn't that what you look for on vacation any way? I'm kidding, sort of. The real dangerous areas are in the border cities and the targets of most violence are members of drug cartels or local police authorities. My friend Gloria and I stayed in Playa del Carmen, about an hour south of Cancun on the Yucatan Peninsula. The town is filled with tourists from all over the world, co-existing harmoniously with locals and Mexicans from other parts who have settled in the beautiful beach area, making for a fun and relaxing and much classier alternative to the Cancun scene. We went out to bars and clubs at night but like most Playa del Carmen-goers, our days were spent traveling to historical sites- the Mayan ruins at Chichen Itza and Tulum, the city of Valladolid, snorkeling in Akumal, etc. We even spent our last night in Cancun, where there were no drug lords to be found, but enough wild and crazy spring-breakers to make us fear for our lives. There was always a police patrol car to be found, and plenty of security- we even got delivered safe and sound to our hostel by some helpful Cancun police officers. The moral of the story is that my friend and I had an amazing time in Mexico- we met wonderful people, ate fabulous food, relaxed on gorgeous beaches and slept on average 2 hours per night. When I got back to the States, everyone kept saying "thank goodness you made it back safe," which is true, thankfully we were not struck by Montezuma's Revenge or robbed by our hostel's cleaning lady or drugged by organ harvesters. But all of those things can happen in any developing country, or any country for that matter. People get attacked or killed in the U.S. every day. There is always some degree of danger any where you go. But that's no reason not to travel and experience all of the amazing places and cultures this scary yet beautiful world has to offer. The news is a great thing, but don't let what you read or see or hear prevent you from living your life. If there's any bit of advice I can give on Mexico, it's to steer clear of Cancun. I like to have a good time- as I said, we were only sleeping 2 hours a night- but Cancun is disgusting. Instead of an advisory for Americans going to Mexico, there should be a warning for Mexicans to watch out for incoming Spring-breakers. But for people who travel to appreciate the country they've chosen to visit, Cancun does us all a favor by attracting the bad eggs, and leaving the rest of the country to be enjoyed. Tulum is relatively untouched and has a string of nearly private, white-sand beaches, beautiful Mayan ruins and lots of nearby natural sites. Playa del Carmen has more of a center city and great night life. Try to take public transportation as much as possible and avoid trips with groups or guides- even though we did meet some great friends on our frustrating yet bond-inducing colectivo ride to Chichen Itza. And when it comes to deciding where to stay, reserve a place for the first night, then get there and pick the best place for you. We got stuck at our "picturesque Cabana hostel" that turned out to be less than we were hoping for, I mean, I happen to be a fan of hot water and a separation between bathroom and bedroom, but maybe I'm just picky. In conclusion, go to Mexico, or wherever you're looking to travel, with an open mind. Don't plan things out too much. Being up for spontaneity will take you to some amazing adventures.

Mexico lindo, guey! 

Post-Vacation Preview

Vacationing vs. Spring Break-ing. There is a massive and unmistakeable difference. While I continue to recover from my Mexican vacation, and decide which parts to share with my exclusive (read: small) cyber audience, here are some photos to mull over:)

Pull my finger, you'll live longer

All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go... actually, Megabus' small print says passengers are only allowed one suitcase each, so I'm still trying to jam two bags worth of stuff into one before I take off for New York City tomorrow morning. Maybe I'm not worrying about packing so much because I don't want to feel like I'm moving permanently. But, I probably am. Uh. Being in Rochester at home with my family has spoiled me. They're crazy about me here. Now I have to face not only outsiders in "the real world," but New Yorkers, and they're a tougher crowd. This is something I've wanted for a long time, and just the thought of the noises and smells and smorgesbord of different people and places is enough to make my heart go pitter-pat. Ever since graduating from college dawned on me, I've been spending large portions of my time analyzing my life, my family, my goals- and it's not all about me, I think about society and the world in general, sometimes. And while this chronic sentimentality is beautiful and all, now it's time to start doing stuff. Just one last philosophical gem before the action starts. An older but arguably not wiser friend recently said something in passing that thoroughly surprised me, coming from her. I'd likely heard a similar sentence hundreds of times before but at that moment, it caught my attention. We were talking about failed relationships, and she announced "I don't care what he looks like or how much money he makes, I just want a guy who makes me laugh. That's all that matters." Well said, girlfriend. If a person makes you laugh- be it friend, lover or family- it makes everything better. Life is unbearably short, and there's really no time to waste being unhappy. So no matter where you're heading or been, regardless of the emo, existential crisis phase I'm, or whoever, is going through... always be around people who can squeeze a nice big laugh out of you. Plus, I heard on the radio that it helps prevent heart disease:)

Riding the dangerous wind

The quarter-life crisis. So much to do...so little time. I'm moving to New York City in a couple of weeks and the idea of starting my adult life has been freaking me out. Deciding between acting classes and interning, applying for jobs and setting up interviews has me on-edge and out of whack. But this post is inspired by what I've realized just a few moments ago- I should only be so lucky that my biggest worry is which path to choose for myself- which adventure to go on next, how to make a name for myself after graduating college- I have no restrictions or obligations right now. I am free. At least for now. And starting now, I will take advantage of my advantage and do anything and everything to get to where I want to be figuratively, no matter where I am literally. It seems like this quarter-life crisis is striking a lot of people my age, but like a Chinese proverb says "a crisis is an opportunity riding the dangerous wind." Besides sounding like a magic carpet in a sand storm, the crisis metaphor does hold true. Growing up and moving on is rough but also exhilirating, and I'm starting to see that anxiety can work wonders when channeled into creativity and action. I mean, I started a blog for goodness sake. Looking for a cure for post-college woes? Move. Do things. Explore. And if you're so inclined, get a job. But take it easy. I'm starting with the basics. Going to NYC. I've been enfatuated with the Big Apple forever, and going that is the only thing that feels right, right now. For today, that's enough.