Shifting Gears

Being a farmer’s daughter, it might surprise some that I never learned to drive a car with manual transmission. Maybe even more surprising, who ever would have thought that I would learn to drive manual in Argentina? Nonetheless, yesterday marked my first lesson specific to this method of driving. While automatic transmission is becoming slightly more common here in Argentina, the vast majority of cars in the country sport a manual gear shift, attributable to the fact that cars with automatic transmission are still significantly more expensive (than those with manual). Along with my boyfriend who already has his license and two other close friends four other friends in the car, our lesson took place at Resistencia’s airport. The airport is the city’s infamous site for such driving lessons with its l-o-n-g , meandering entrance that stretches from the highway to the tiny two-counter, one boarding gate facility. Nothing like turning on the car’s flashers to warn others of a new driver’s presence on the road. In fact, I would venture to say that the airport is utilized by far more individuals with its long stretches of green space for biking, soccer games, running, roller blading and casual relaxing with friends than  the number of individuals that come through in air transit. Anyhow, on to the lesson: Clutch pedal all the way down to the floor, first gear, ease the clutch up, oops, car stalls. Thankfully I can say that first stall was the one and only put on my record yesterday. I will certainly say that it helped that I listened to all the instructions a first time from the backseat while one of my friends tried her hand at the wheel. As she has zero driving experience, I had a good chance to mentally process all the directions given in Spanish before actually having to execute them at the wheel. I’ll conclude my driving recap for the day with the reflection that it was an odd sensation to be back at the wheel but half clueless for the first time since I was 15 ½ years old.

Our other afternoon adventure involved making a stop at Walmart which happens to sit just across the street from the airport. Yes, much to my dismay, there is a Walmart Supercenter here in Resistencia, Chaco. The store opened several months ago but I had not previously gone in; it sports an eye center, a pharmacy, a café, and an auto center among other expected departments of any Walmart (appliances and technological gadgets, clothes, food, etc.). Unlike the Walmarts that one finds in the U.S., however, I didn’t notice that prices were markedly lower than other places in the city where you can find consumer goods. I don’t have an answer to that specific inquiry either. Basically, my increasingly sweeping generalization that inflation is a significant issue here was reconfirmed, at least for the day.  While I didn’t peruse every department thoroughly, a few things did catch my attention stocked on the shelves:  a black (imitation?) leather sofa bed that cost probably double what it would in the states, Oreos with a half banana, half dulce de leche crème center (kudos to Nabisco, I suppose, for tapping into a target audience’s tastes in new ways), Nerds candy (which one of my friends told me he had never seen before) and an approximately 8 oz. bottle of A1 steak sauce that cost approximately ten dollars. Yes, these comments are largely about food as we spent some significant time in the grocery section of the store. I shared with my friends yesterday that, if at all possible, I never want to make a purchase from this Walmart. Of course, in the U.S. I have shopped there numerous times, and yesterday I consumed a couple of cookies from the bag that my friend had purchased. I realize fully that my actions raise just cause for condemnation of defying my previous anti-Walmart consumption statement. Throw stones (or words) if you’d like; I’m open for discussion. There is just something about this part of corporate America that makes me cringe, that makes me generally want to avoid this symbol of my native culture….at the least, while I’m several thousand miles away. When I can better, more succinctly express this sentiment of repulsion emanating from the sight of Walmart in Resistencia, I’ll let you know. Until then, don’t expect any updates on how I responded to the permeating slogan of “Save Money. Live Better.”