La Lingua del Cuerpo

 The body language of Argentina enlivens the city in every capacity. I’m not sure if it’s a cause or effect for me; whether my shortcomings of the language lead me to gesture emphatically to make my message more clear or whether it shows my mastery of the culture that every point is driven home with a dramatic hand motion. Each facet of Porteño life comes with distinct and uniquely vibrant body language.
 
Walking down the streets here is loud and close and goes beyond the invisible boundaries that we in the United States keep so dearly. Here in Argentina, staring is not considered rude. Indeed on the collectivos (buses), streets, restaurants, people will gaze directly and unabashedly. At first, I found this uncomfortable and I would avert my eyes, but I’ve learned to stare directly back at people, even giving them a good ole’ New York up-and-down. Two can play at that game. A friend taught me last semester that you’re much less likely to get robbed if you look people directly in the eyes because you could identify their eye color in the event that you were mugged. Though the cat-calling here is creepy, funny and awkward, it’s even funnier when men hit on you through gestures. My favorites being when a man swept the ground a few feet in front of me with their hands or applaud you from cars.
 
The maté culture has its own set of unspoked etiquette. Maté is the bitter and highly-caffeinated tea they drink here out of gourds and metal straws. Argentines drink maté like it’s their job if only they had good work ethic. There’s always the owner/ keeper of the maté who it gets passed to each time the gourd is drained and they are in charge of refilling it with hot water. It’s uncustomary to thank the owner for the refilled gourd because it causes a break in the conversation. The maté gets passed around in groups, usually in a circular fashion. It’s discourteous to hold onto the maté for too long or to skip people in the group. All of this happens in an unspoken dance of passing and sipping, without causing a break in the conversation, study session, etc.
 
Mealtimes have subtle but definite differences in body language. When I moved into my new homestay, Mavi, my madre, was appalled when I came to dinner the first night barefoot. When I told my friends about this, my Chilean friend didn’t skip a beat before telling me how uncustomary it is to dine barefoot. At mealtimes, Argentines will usually have a bread or cracker to scoop whatever they’re eating. Pasta, salad, mashed potatoes, it doesn’t make a difference, they seem to like having a carb vessel for their food. Being a celiac, I feel the need to explain myself whenever I don’t want to scoop rice onto a cracker. Mealtimes last hours, in the words of my father, they don’t just eat, they dine. I love the lack of urgency at meals, people aren’t checking they’re phones, they engage in conversation as if they don’t have better things to do. I feel the more time I spend here, the more porteña my actions become. 

The picture is of a maté-to-go.