Subte Quilombo

---

Down into the underbelly of the city. Hand sliding down the rail, feeling the chipped paint rise and meet my skin. My feet creating a drum pattern as a dance down the steps, two light and one hard. The sickly sweet mix of perfume and body oder pervades as I cross the doorway threshold into the terminal. The pressure change brings a surge of air a cool refreshment before decending into the sweltering heat of a subway car. Long line to buy a ticket. Should have bought one earlier, Proof of my lack of foresight, why wait it line two times when you can buy two trips at once. Ahhh what does it matter anyway, thirty seconds lost. One more flight of stairs to the platform. Moisture on the stairs makes my shoes squeak, shoot I could record a whole shoe symphony at the rate I am going. Just at this moment it dawns as me, 7 o'clock, not a great time to take the subway. There is a moderate crowd on the platform, people down here take different tactics. Some people spread down to either end, hoping that their osmosis from the turnstiles will reward them with a more peaceful subway ride. Others focus their efforts directly in where they turned in, standing on the yellow partition of the floor that politely asks, "Please sir, move back, for your own safety." Once you hit the subterranean part of the city all niceties are left on the surface. People don't heed the warning of this small yellow man on the ground. My play is to hang back, approximately 5 feet from the yellow partition, feigning boredom and inattentiveness. Occasionally taking a half step forward to look for the jaundice colored light poking its head down the blackness of the tunnel. After five smooth checks, each time making sure people aren't on to my act. It seems peculiar that the train hasn't arrived yet, ten minutes having ticked off of the clock. The platform is filling up rapidly, this is going to be a struggle for a spot, alertness that is the name of the game.
The ground shakes a bit, fat man or train? Ahh a train indeed. I shift my backpack to the front, impregnating my self with a blue nylon baby. I prepare to make my move. The train arrives in the station and it is teeming with people. One final deep breath before delving in to the train. Primed and in position, the train signals hello to the new passengers and chau to the old ones. With that the doors open and a couple of weary portenos emerge looking like this was the first time they have taken a breath of fresh air in decades. NOW! NOW! NOW! I am about to move in when 3 portenos charge in like Lebron James coming from half court to block an unsuspecting player's break away layup. My face is twisted in shock, how can it be, I reach in my arm in last ditch hopes that someone will pull me aboard. But the friendly grip around my wrist doesn't happen and I will be relegated to the next train. Now time to rethink my game plan, I know their schemes now.
The next rumbles the ground, feet register and before I can even think I am moving forward. Into predatory mode. I judge the braking of the train perfectly and end up directly in front of the door. I hug the left side of the door, forcing the exiting passengers to move to my right. As the last one makes their way from the congealed mass of people I make my move. People crowd the doors but this is where my size comes to advantage. I make my way on to the train, protecting my blue baby. The people still outside are afraid of missing another one and I feel a small pair of hands on my back using me as a red haired freckled battering ram. Their technique is different from mine but it seems to be effective, more suited for their smaller size.
The car is packed like an unorganized silverware drawer, tines of forks hitting the concave bowls of spoons creating ovals of unused space. Many people become one in these situations. Stop and go of the train sends ripples through the crowd, wiggling like jello jigglers. We solid masses demonstrate basic conceptual physics. As a wave moves from the front of the train back momentum is transfered from person to person. It hits the back wall and reverberates and eventually dissipates. All this contact and energy transfer creates a sweltering heat, but there is no room to take off my light jacket. I will sweat this one out, a poor man's sauna. In the car everyone has there own method of separating themselves from the amoeba of the train. Some people but there head down and charge forward, points of the elbows out, forcing people out of their way. Then there are some people who politely tap you on the shoulder and ask "bajas?" the quick equivalent to "are you getting off?" I am reward their courtesy taking a step back, mashing the people behind me in order to allow one person to exit promptly. Any personable interaction in this madness is my saving grace, a kind glance, gentle tap on the shoulder from a beautiful Argentine woman. As time moves on I am being brought deeper into the fold, against my will. Like chocolate chips being folding into the cookie dough by a red silicon spatula. Now I am in the middle which provides safe harbor from the boiling pot of water around the door. My height gives me an interesting perspective on this whole situation, heads bobbing back and forth. Most with their head fixed down like something interesting is going on the top of their shoes. There is a silent reverence that falls over subterranean moles, a black vail of silence. The quiet is almost disturbing. Like there something tragic happened and I am the only one who doesn't realize it.
One stop away now it is time to start making my move. I pull my arms up from the crowd and grab for the gleaming metallic poles and swing forward like an urban Tarzan. Trying to be polite but this is crunch time, I push through using my blue nylon bag as a buddha belly ramming device. "Permiso, Perdon, Perdon, Ayyyy Dios Mio!" Burst free, my face looking like the people I saw getting of the train just 20 minutes earlier. "There is a whole world outside of this train?" A baby bird popping his head out of the egg shell for the first time. I bounce up the stairs to the surface after a ride like that the streets of a 14 million person city seems like open prairies.

Well there is a little bit of perspective for you about the mass transit in Buenos Aires. It can be pretty crazy from time to time. In two hours I am going to get on to a bus headed to the North of the Country, Provinces of Salta and Jujuy. Going with a small group of students and a guide/friend Juan to visit native villages high in the Andes , around 14,000 feet. The goal of this trip is to get to know the people that live there and see the often overlooked side of Argentina, the indigenous cultures. There will be much hiking and conversing over the course of 12 days. This is the capstone of my trip, my crown jewel if you will. I expect to continue my growth over these days. Look forward to this and a couple more blogs that are on the away after this trip. Less than a month until I return home, getting really excited to see all of you!
Love and respect,
Patrick Higgins Murphy

---