When class is at 9:00, I try to leave for 8:45. It's risky because it leaves only a couple of minutes to spare for the elevators or greeting a neighbor on the street. Most Argentineans I've met are generous with time which means in some cases, a pause to walk two blocks with a more senior neighbor might make you late. Now that I know more people, the probability is going up that this happens more often.
I frequently walk on the same side of the street as the house. In the morning, there is shade but also more activity. It is now my habit to look down, left, right, center, down, left, right, center, repeat. (I'm wearing sunglasses so it doesn't look as awkward as it sounds. I hope.) The sidewalk is uneven, often containing gifts from distracted dog-owners or a pop-up construction site. Some mornings there is a line for the clinic. When the queue is really long, I've caught myself holding my breath to avoid what airborne contagion might be hovering nearby.
At the end of the month, the bank will have a line that will force you into the street for a half-block. A friend has said that she's spent up to four hours in this queue for her mom. There's a number system so everyone lines up early in the morning to collect a number when the bank opens. Then the ticket holder should check in every 30-60 minutes to see how she or he has progressed in line.
Shops are just opening so I might catch a gate roll-up. The bakery is in full swing and the pedestrian street is busy with people heading to and from the train. The 1964 Chevrolet is still for sale (since at least May) and there's usually at least one Remis driver available on the next corner. It's peak time for buses so this is the last hurdle before ringing the buzzer that will gain me entry to the building.
Despite all the classes, I'm still not used to the elevator which shoots up like a rocket and stops with a start. Don't ever open the door early or it might earn you a few good words from the owner.
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