Camila asks to make a stop.
She gets off the bicycle, opens that huge, orange trunk that hangs on her back and looks for
a towel to dry her soaked face, and her bottle of water that is still fresh
.
She drinks greedily first and disconnects the app - so as not to receive orders for a while - later.
She suggests taking shelter under a tree with little shade.
This reporter joined, after noon on Friday, a delivery of merchandise from Camila Sifuentes (22), who has worked for the Rappi application since September.
"
I started at eight in the morning to avoid this loneliness, but I started taking orders and never stopped
," she explains with visible agitation.
We went to look for a package in Ayacucho and Córdoba that had to be delivered in Godoy Cruz and Paraguay, a trip that took us
an endless 25 minutes by bicycle
.
Camila's training and age give her greater physical strength, although there seems to be no youth to withstand this temperature.
"Look, 36.3 - she shows her phone number - hers.
This week I downloaded the AccuWeather app to make my head better
," she flashes a mini smile.
"I'm cool with the heat, I'm usually optimistic, but this is already too much."
We are in the Plaza de la Ciencia, on Soler Street, under the fragile shade of the only tree available.
The sun is merciless and around us there is no other place to take shelter.
It's half past one in the afternoon and Camila empties her half-liter bottle, which she carries at every stop she makes.
"This is the fifth one I've taken, one for each trip I've made so far.
I've been pedaling for two hours, the orders have poured in, but now I can't give any more
, if I don't rest, I'll faint. I need the money, but if I I'm not in a position, it's of no use," says the young woman from Buenos Aires who is peeling a banana with a thin voice.
He says that in Rappi he found the work space he was needing after working ten hours a day, for a year, in an ice cream parlor.
"These months I was doing very well, working hard, feeling great, but this week the heat killed me. I underestimated it, I thought it wouldn't affect me that much. I
feel listless, my legs weigh tons and my skin burns
," she describes her regret to
Clarín
.
Camila Sifuentes (22), swept away by the heat, drinks a soft drink in the middle of delivering merchandise.
From that backpack for which he paid 8 thousand pesos in October, which doubles the size of his back, he takes out a knob of cream.
"It's the last dose of sunscreen on my neck
, look how I have it," he stretches the shirt to shoulder height.
He looks red, visibly irritated.
"I bought it on Monday," he says about the cream, "and there's almost nothing left...
It cost me nine thousand pesos, which is equivalent to two days of work
," he snorts.
Camila lives alone in a studio apartment that she rents in Almagro.
She points out that in the eight hours that she works from Monday to Saturday, she can earn about 45 thousand pesos per week.
"These days, I have a hard time sleeping, not only because of the temperatures, but because
my head is pounding a lot, it must be because of the sun's rays that overheat me for hours
. "
She thought about working less, or doing it at night, but due to the imminent payment of rent next week she decided to keep everything the same, she says, somewhat more composed.
She connects the application and we get on the bikes heading to Rappi Turbo, a stop on Humboldt Street, which concentrates rappintenderos
(
the app's delivery people) because from there there are usually trips for everyone.
Rappi Turbo: the place where the app's delivery drivers wait for orders to deliver them.
A dozen bicycles and motorcycles line the sidewalk.
Their owners wait for the trip mating, sitting on planks and some improvised beach chairs.
"I wish the sea were there, and not the numbers they call us to go out with," whispers a boy who throws water on his head.
"112", says a metallic voice from the premises and a person rushes out to pick up a package of groceries.
Clarín
approaches him and asks if he can accompany him.
Gesture of perplexity from Francis Fernández - this is how he presents himself -, which he ends up accepting because the prevailing overwhelm prevails.
Let's go to Dorrego and Alvarez Thomas.
We follow Francis, who begins taking Nicaragua Street in the wrong direction.
He walks two blocks like this, taking advantage of the fact that traffic is light.
Meters back, he is suggested to go down a one-way street and take Carranza.
With a lot of effort, this
partner
gets on par but
the intention of dialogue is suffocated due to lack of air.
Francis on his beach bike is a true tightrope walker: he drinks water, looks on his phone at what route to take and leaves the handlebars loose for a few seconds.
Francis Fernández (29) accelerates his pedaling to deliver the order on time: "The heat doesn't matter, you have to be punctual."
We took the cobblestone Freire together at the same time.
A conversation begins.
"This week I should have easily lost four kilos.
I feel lighter but also weaker, the heat is inhuman," she slides while the GPS announcer is heard.
She says that she lives in Loma Hermosa, that she takes the San Martín train with her bicycle and that she works in the city between twelve and 8 at night.
"I don't want to take the train later because it gets heavy
. Plus with this backpack you will never go unnoticed."
With more confidence, he comments that it is "new", that it began with deliveries on January 2.
"I can't complain, especially because it came with a lot of work. I was in a motorcycle warehouse and they cut me, then I started cutting the grass in several neighboring gardens and the mowing machine broke until
a friend lent me "This bike to start with Rappi and I feel good despite this unbreathable week
. I am close to 200 thousand pesos the first month, working eight hours a day."
Francis Fernández delivers the order on time on Dorrego Street.
We arrive at the established address and the hostess is waiting downstairs.
"Is it ice cream?" she asks enthusiastically.
Francis hands them to him and we head back, but first he checks if they left him a tip on the app.
He makes a gesture of annoyance, showing his sunburned left arm that contrasts with his white shoulder.
"He's so burned out that he could drop me at any moment."
He takes a bottle of water out of his backpack, takes an endless gulp, and uses the rest to cool off that tanned arm.
"My old lady was right, 'she wears long sleeves' she told me and I didn't give a damn.
I would have to buy a protector, but you end up at a loss
and if I'm working on a day like today, I only want profits."
Francis Fernández is convinced that in this week of heat wave he lost no less than 4 kilos.
On his way back to the Rappi Turbo, he notices a problem with the chain on his bicycle.
He takes a few minutes to try to fix her;
His face looks soaked and his hands are blackened.
"I'm demanding a lot from the bike, today I went to Once, Constitución, Palermo and Colegiales," she lists while she doesn't drink, but swallows the water.
"I think I lower the blinds earlier today so I don't get home so late.
I swear I'd only pay for a shower right now
."
We say goodbye.
On the way to the terminal where other brave "peddlers" meet, a few blocks later a boy appears who, due to his intense pace,
does not seem to be aware of the thermal sensation above 35 degrees
after 5 p.m.
A joke provokes the smile of Jonathan Lassaga (28), who gladly accepts the company.
"Do you know that I forget to drink water? It's crazy, sometimes I feel like a beast and I don't realize the wear and tear I've been doing."
"The heat doesn't affect me, I stay focused on my goals," says Jonathan Lassaga (28).
While chatting "freshly" with this embarrassed reporter, he doesn't take his eyes off his cell phone screen.
"Can you locate Manuel Ugarte Street?"
He is told that it is in Belgrano, somewhat far away.
But his spirit does not discourage him.
He has to move sushi and there is about twenty minutes of time depending on the app.
He pedals and with one hand he takes out of his backpack pocket something like a sandwich and a towel that he puts on like a scarf.
We face Luis María Campos Avenue, which has many bus lines.
On the road, when we are even, he appeals to his talkativeness.
He assures that
"the heat is a bad thing, I am convinced
, just as I am not going to deny that there is a stench that is difficult to bear. But I am so focused on what I do, so focused on the next trip that It has to work for me, I don't think about obstacles.
The heat is an obstacle, but I prefer this temperature and not work in the cold
, because I suffer it more. I do slack off a little there," confesses Jonathan, who works twelve hours a day and He only has free days on Tuesdays.
His interlocutor cannot utter a word.
Time to hydrate.
"I've already had two two-liter bottles of water," says Jonathan Lassaga.
Clearly extreme temperatures are not an impediment for the
rappintender
who lives in Barracas.
"I have two twin sons, 5 years old, and a two-year-old girl. I have to make money, I have no excuses and it is a pride for me to be able to bring bread home with only my bicycle. I have been working as a delivery boy for eight months and I go in clear progress.
I started earning five thousand pesos a week and today I earn 100 thousand
," boasts the former gastronomic.
There are more than twenty blocks to go to Ugarte and we are already thinking about the endless return, which determines the abrupt abandonment of the chronicler, who turns around, greeting Jonathan in advance.
A sign on the door of a bar advertises
"an ice cold lemonade" with mint and ginger for 2,500 pesos a jug
.
The reward is gratifying but getting back on track is difficult.
With the sensation of pedaling in the Sahara
, your neck and legs feel numb
.
Near the Mosque on Bullrich Avenue, a young man in muscle shirts and shorts with the Pedidos Ya backpack rests on a bench on the wide sidewalk.
Joel Rossi (22) gives himself encouragement to fulfill the last three orders he has left.
He is asked how he is coping with the fateful day which, after 6:30 p.m., continues to be exhausting.
"I can't move," he says, lying down. "I think the worst of the day is over, but it left me without gas...
Let's hope it starts to ease up, but there isn't even a breeze
," says Joel Rossi (22) somewhat smug.
While he speaks, he tries to locate himself in the remaining directions to complete his daily task.
"Is Peña and Billinghurst closer than Guardia Vieja and Sánchez de Bustamante?" asks the boy who lives in Congress and earns about 50 thousand pesos a week.
He comments that he worked at Pedidos Ya last year, but left because he was pressured by timely delivery.
"I kept the backpack, which helps me make deliveries on my own, independently."
He gets back up, athletically gets on the bike and rides towards Peña Street, but first he loads the bottle into a drinking fountain.
We accompany him a few blocks until he stops at a pharmacy.
"I'll buy a solar Dermaglós because tomorrow I won't be able to move
," he says while he shows his reddened arms and shoulders.
"Seven lucas this pomito, can you believe?"
She smears her arms and shoulders and asks if
there is any financial compensation for this talk with
Clarín .
The response is a wry smile and we pedal in silence.
"I wanted to know if I could recover what I spent on the protector," he justified his request after a while.
The sunset anticipates that another muggy day will come,
but Joel celebrates that he will only work half a day.
He gets on the bike, adjusts his backpack, takes two sips of an energy drink he bought and, stimulated, accelerates and disappears.
ACE