It's never just a train ride

A trip in the underground or the TBA trains of Buenos Aires is not just a ride from A to B. No, it also gives you the chance to do your shopping, listen to the sad story of less fortunate habitants of Buenos Aires and support them with a few Pesos, or enjoy the concert by one of the buskers that use the train carriages as a stage … and afterwards support him with a few Pesos or even buy his CD.

The shopping goods on offer are an eclectic mix. The travelling hawkers sell socks, cookies, pens that glow in the dark, handbags, toys, street maps, batteries, phone covers, computer cables … and everything at a bargain price. Or so it seems. But what I really like about the whole setup is how the hawkers promote their wares with a certain irresistible flair that had even me thinking about taking a closer look more than once.

The beggars on the trains are also quite different from the ones in Germany. They do not simply walk through, look at you pleadingly with an outstretched hand and mumble something about spare change. No, they raise their voice and tell the whole carriage the details of their misfortune, asking for some money to support their family, pay the hospital bill after their tragic accident, buy food for the children they are tagging along or to be able to afford their HIV medication. And while I almost never see anyone in Germany give something, here in Buenos Aires it is very common for people to reach for their wallet and hand over at least some coins.

The musical entertainment during the train rides covers a variety of styles, including guitar-strumming troubadours, panpipe-playing indios, acoustic singers and entire bands with bandeons, harmonicas and amplifiers. But what really took the biscuit was the guy I came across yesterday on my last ride from Nuñez to Martinez before the move to the new office who was schlepping around a harp. Yes, you read correctly: a harp! It wasn’t one of those huge concert harps, mind you, or the artist wouldn’t have been able to get it through the doors of the train, but it was taller than most of the passengers, didn’t sound particularly ethereal and wouldn’t have been my instrument of choice as a busker.

Well, from next week on, I will head in another direction on my way to the office. I haven’t figured out the public transport connection yet, but I won’t be taking the train anymore. Too bad I didn’t stock up on cheap socks and pens that glow in the dark when I had the chance.