Meats and Cheats

Steak for breakfast.  Steak for lunch.  Steak for dinner.

I threatened it, I joked about it, and I’ve followed through.  And I can proudly declare, from the gluttonous slumber of my Buenos Aires couch, that Argentinean steak is the best in the world.

I find it fascinating how travellers can be so quick to create a stereotype or judge a demographic from the most statistically insignificant experiences.  One or two chance meetings with someone from a certain exotic country can be enough to pass judgement on anyone from the nation.  For example, “All Argentinean taxi drivers are scammers,”  “Every Brazilian man knows how to dance,” and “Ecuadorians are much warmer people than their South American neighbours” are all phrases I’ve encountered thus far on my travels.

In one sense, I can understand the logic behind it.  For instance, if I arrive in Argentina and a taxi driver rips me off on the way from the airport (as happened to my good friend, Tristan), I too would be automatically more suspicious upon the next taxi ride.  It’s a self defence mechanism, and a sound one.  But it would be a safeguard against the possibility that all Argentinean taxi drivers are scammers – a mathematically unlikely possibility that would be logically nullified after a single taxi ride in most countries.  After all, every individual is different, and it hardly seems fair to receive pre-judging on the basis of some anonymous compatriot’s past indiscretion.

When you think about it, this natural stereotyping from singular experiences really puts a lot of pressure on travellers themselves. After all, for a lot of the people I’ve encountered on this trip, I’m the first Aussie they’ve met.  I wonder what beliefs and judgements they’ve made from meeting me – that all Aussies play chess, sport receding hairlines and have a phenomenal tolerance for tequila?  If so, I can’t wait until our Prime Minister pays a visit to the continent.

Non-personal generalisations are of course a little different, and, for instance, the steaks here are almost unambiguously brilliant.  I’ve deliberately tried to take an open mind to encountering different cultures, values and personalities on this trip – the ‘when in Rome‘ approach to travelling – and it’s been quite enlightening.  I’ve drunk Pisco Sours and Malbec wines, adjusted my body clock to late lunches and 10pm dinners, and have taken a general approach to ordering anything on the menu I can’t translate.

And, while I can see the basis for some of the more popular stereotypes, I’ve discovered that not all Brazilians (of either gender) can dance the samba, let alone anything else; that many taxi drivers are genuine professionals who earn an honest living; and that the differences between South American males and females reinforce that both genders are as complex and heterogeneous in this continent as in any other.

In any case, there are some well known travel tips based on generic ‘new culture’ stereotypes that really are useful.  If you learn and attempt to speak some of the local language, if you respect and open yourself to the local traditions, if you show humility and indefatigable politeness in your personal interactions and exhibit a tolerance and glass-half-full mentality to every challenge, you’ll find reciprocity and warmness in return.  For South Americans who are used to white Western ‘gringos’ swaggering in to their countries sprouting “Do you hablar English?” as they wave copious greenbacks and fiddle on their blackberries, these simple traits are a breath of fresh air.  And yes, I realise that sentence blows an ironic raspberry at my pretensions of rejecting cultural judgements.

I’ve involuntarily acquired another stereotype from my first night in Buenos Aires, almost as if Karma wanted to mock me for my pretentious musings.  My very first experience in the capital was very nearly a scary reinforcement of the generalised warnings I’d heard of Argentinean criminality.

Having arrived late at night in pouring rain, I prepared to set out for the short 400 metre trek from the bus station to my hotel, via an admittedly poorly lit (but centre-of-the-city) park.  As I took my first steps out of the station, a Singaporean guy named Marvin rushed up to me and urged me to take a taxi.  Half an hour earlier, he’d set out with the same idea, only to be accosted by two muggers waiting just at the edge of the park.  They took all of Marvin’s luggage, his wallet, his passport and everything else on his person, leaving him with no choice but to return a lot lighter to the bus station to wait for the police.  And this on his last day of a two-month holiday before returning home.

Scary stuff.  Naturally, I took the taxi, but not before having a great chat with my unlucky Singaporean amigo.  Surprisingly, he had a very c’est la vie approach to the incident, preferring to give me copious travel and tourism advice from his journey rather than lament his misfortune.  Marvin even insisted on getting my details so he could pay me back after I gave him half my Argentinean pesos (not much) to give him a bed for the night – I said I’d prefer he just show me around the next time I stop over in the lion city.

Now, regardless of all my previous pretension of cultural individuality, I have to say my general opinion of Singaporeans, based on this random and fortunate (well, for me) encounter, is that they are all awesome.  And it’s fair to say that night-time walks in the park are probably no longer in the itinerary.  But I have managed, with some conscious effort, not to think poorly of seedy-looking Argentinean men walking in twos along the street, though I must admit I check my wallet a little more regularly.

After all, as long as this wonderful country keeps feeding me three square steaks a day, who am I to complain?