In Defense of Sidewalks
If you want to get a sense of life in a city, take a walk. Look down, what do you see? Gum, stuck to the bottom of your shoe? Probable. Fresh pile of dog shit? Likely. Inexplicable sock? Present.
What do all these discarded items represent, I asked myself on my most recent venture outside. Do they demonstrate the callous nature of humans? Is that caca on my shoe a sign of my neighbor’s wanton disregard of my right to stroll unencumbered by concerns of what I might tread on?
I don’t think so. These elements, which are common to nearly all cities, give natives a shared cause, a common enemy if you will. However, a city is not defined, not even in part, by its eyesores from which we avert our gaze as we pass. Rather, by the interactions and exchanges that take place in that public, albeit ill-treated, space.
Take Buenos Aires. A brief Instagram search will tell you that porteños are pretty into their sidewalks. One account, @pisosporteños, sets out to document the striking variety of tiled floors found throughout the city. Another, @lagenteandadiciendo, shares delightful fragments of conversations overheard in the streets. And, for readers not currently enjoying a meal, there is @caca.de.ba, which, you guessed it, exclusively posts photos of walkway excrement. Residents not only seem proud of the charming aesthetic of their streets but genuinely capable of laughing in unanimous agreement of the fact that the streets are, indeed, filthy.
I’d like it to go on the record that the city has been working tirelessly to address the canine doo-doo situation. From adorable cartoon videos to steep fines, they have made pleading appeals to the inconsiderate dog owner.
However, there is another important point to be made here, and that is of the country’s troubled financial state, a reality that has made sidewalks home for many residents. With inflation rates scraping 40 percent in 2020, the outlook looks bleak to many. The informal economy has risen to fill voids left by retreating industries and a shrinking GDP. It’s not uncommon to spot cartoneros, individuals who rummage through dumpsters in search of cardboard to sell to recycling facilities, leaving garbage strewn in their wake. These circumstances have contributed to a palpable sense of despair that can be sensed in the streets of the city.
Now is the time when I turn the tone of this piece around. If you have made it this far, keep reading. I still think you should book your flight to Buenos Aires for 2022. (2023, maybe?)
I’ve had the pleasure of calling this city home for over two years and in this short time, I have witnessed and experienced marvelous things on its veredas. Last spring, I saw a family throw a birthday party on a sidewalk barely big enough to accommodate their table. I’ve wended my way through tearful reunions of elderly people on multiple occasions. I’ve joined my fellow bread-lovers in long lines for the panadería that, in the initial stages of the pandemic, wrapped around the block.
I’d like to make a proposition. The next time you take to the sidewalks of your urban jungle, spend less time navigating landmines and more time looking up. Make eye contact with passersby. Exchange a convivial nod with the portero. You never know who might need a reminder that a city is much more than its litter, dog poop, and errant sock.
