Overseas briefing

Author: Hannah Epelbaum

BUENOS AIRES - Last week I stepped in dog poop. Three separate times. I know I shouldn't let it get to me that much - after all, stepping in the stuff for the first (and second and third) time after seven weeks of being here in Buenos Aires is a pretty good record, considering the amount of dogs and sidewalks in this city.

However, it does get to me. And this is because each time I set foot in that dog poo, I was confronted with the harsh truth that I am, in fact, still not a true porteÒa.

Up until that first time, I had almost convinced myself that I could totally pass as a native of this beautiful city. The "I didn't get lost today"'s were greatly outnumbering the "I got lost today"'s, I was addressing people with vos (the uniquely Argentine/Uruguayan way of saying you) as if I had never even heard of the pronoun tu, and I had even shaved my shower time down to the point that the water wasn't even turning cold before I was done. But as those dog poop episodes last week so cruelly illustrated, I still have a ways to go before I can be considered a porteÒa, and it all boils down to one thing: grace.

By far one of the most incredible things I have observed here is the seemingly natural ability of the Argentines to maintain their cool in any situation. I think that most people who know me will agree that I am not the most graceful girl you will meet.

Actually, that is an understatement. I am usually that person walking into a bunch of chairs in Atwater, or spilling food and beverages all over myself at meals, or taking the elevator downstairs in Bi Hall because I look at the elegant black stairs and a slow-motion video of myself tripping and crashing down them flashes in my mind.

So needless to say, the whole "let's try and fit more people into the subway and buses than hand rails/chairs" mentality that is so prevalent here does not make things very easy for me, nor does the widespread practice of owners not picking up their dogs' poop.

But while I am constantly finding myself flying down bus aisles, banging against every seat and passenger or on sidewalks stepping in dog poop, I straighten up and am immediately met with the sight of classy Argentines effortlessly maintaining their centers of balance with nothing more than their fingertips on the hand rails, or navigating their ways around the minefields of dog poop without even looking down.

This can be very frustrating for me, and this is why, after the third time I felt that familiar too-easy slide of my right foot as it tried to meet with the pavement, I threw my hands up in the air and said, "You win, Buenos Aires. I'll take your stupid challenge."

So what is this challenge that the city has nonverbally set upon me? Starting now, in my time here in Argentina, I am going to attempt to acquire the grace of an Argentine. And oh yes, I will be keeping score. Week 9: Hannah: 1. Dog Poop: 0. I'll let you know how it ends up.