Cultural quirks at the beach
The beaches of Argentina are normally quite hectic—aside from the wind and the crashing gray Atlantic waves —there’s the tejo games, which is like a wooden disc form of bocce ball.
There’s also beach soccer, soccer-volleyball, soccer-tennis, wave soccer, and even soccer golf.
Men push carts with ears of roasted corn dusted in salt and garlic, and every hour or so a guy pushing a battery powered smoothie-mobile appears — to-go-daiquiris bouncing along the beach just a dozen feet away.
On this day in early summer though, suddenly everything went quiet. Everyone froze. The churro guy lowered his hat in respect. The wind continued to whip, it’s always windy.
I stood up, What's going on? A distant sound began to ripple across the beach. It started faintly, far away, then grew louder, and closer—clap, clap, clap — everyone on the beach was clapping in unison.
I didn’t understand at first — old men, teenagers, sweaty frozen-fruit-vendors, all stopped in their tracks, all clapping in the same rhythm.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Can someone tell me what’s going on?! Around me, faces were tense, scanning the area. And then, in the distance, a joyful yell broke out, a woman nearby said “They found him,” and the tension disappeared.
A crowd approached along the waterline, a little kid was perched on his father’s shoulders, with tear stained cheeks but he was smiling now.
What just happened?
I later learned that in Argentina, when a child goes missing on a crowded beach (or maybe in any crowded area?) and someone finds them alone, people start clapping in unison. It’s like a beacon—a way for the crowd to signal “We found a little guy.” The clapping radiates up and down the beach, growing louder, until the parent, who’s assumedly looking for their child, navigates to the epicenter of the ruckus. When the child and parent are reunited, there’s a big cheer, and everyone goes back to their daily lives.
It’s these little cultural quirks about Argentina that stick with you. Things like this, or when you’re in a restaurant, and a table at the far end starts singing "Happy Birthday." The entire restaurant joins in, everyone singing together.
I’m reminded, in most U.S. restaurants (at least in certain chain mid-tier steakhouses), the "Happy Birthday" song has been edited down to about 2.5 seconds. “Happy, Happy b-day - cha cha cha!”
Moments like these remind me of the sense of community that sometimes feels absent elsewhere. In Argentina, there’s a shared rhythm to life, a willingness to pause, celebrate or help out a neighbor.
