I realize, in retrospect, that trying to figure out what makes the Argentinean tick through recounting my trip to Argentina was quite a lofty endeavor. Not because I can't solve the enigma that is their erratic personality, but because really, why bother. The fact of the matter is that I love the Argentines. I love their food, I love their accents, I love their sense of humor, I love their footie, I even love their nonsensical hairstyles. So trying to figure out why Argentines can be simultaneously wonderful and awful is like trying to figure out how Cheney can survive multiple heart attacks; both a fruitless and beguiling endeavor.
So as a means to wrap up the recount of my trip, and since I'm sure you're all dying to know what happened after we landed on Punta del Este and thoroughly oogled the natives like a plymouth pilgrim, I'm going to give you the highlights of the trip (in chronological order).
1. Thanks to a comedy of errors we miss the bus from Punta del Este to Montevideo, thus missing the ferry that takes us back to Buenos Aires. The main culprit of this debacle is the time difference between Punta and BA, or more specifically the fact that there is no time difference. Let's examine. In December Argentina puts in effect a "summer hours" daylight savings time (DST), pushing clocks one extra hour forward on the normal daylight savings time, thus increasing the amount of hours in the waking day. Punta del Este, on the other hand, does not have these "summer hours", and instead favors regular DST. To make matters confusing, Argentina is 3 hours ahead of New York under this new time, and Punta is ALSO 3 hours ahead of NY despite being under good ol' DST. However, and thanks to sleep deprivation, we assume that because Uruguay is so close to Argentina, that Punta is on Argentina's old DST. You see? But as we come to understand, it's wrong to make assumptions. And basically, for the three days in Punta del Este we were living on our very own make believe time. Which thinking about it now makes me feel somewhat renegade.
2.Once we finally arrive in Buenos Aires, we have to rush off to visit with the brother in-law, as his band is leaving on tour and he won't be around to bid us farwell when our sojourn comes to an end. The in laws live in a stately mini-mansion in a suburb of Buenos Aires close to the Rio Plata. The house was built by a Spaniard at the turn of the 20th century and has all the discombobulated features of a Cerevantes novel. Which is to say that, twists and turns of corridors lead to random enclaves with wooden ladders that lead to loft spaces and other sorts of dead-ends. It was acquired in the early 70's by the sister in laws family.
It's a beautiful place, as you can witness from these pictures.
However, the in-laws are, as commonly referred to by family, "bohemian". Which is to say their kind of dirty. And because of this, the house is in various stages of disarray, with crumbling walls that breed strange molds and house pre-historic insects that make audible noises.
That said, staying at the in-laws is a trying experience. And for a first worlder such as myself, I feel that a home should be a haven not a veritable camping experience.
Anyways, as the evening grew longer, we realize that the options were to make the harrowing trip from the suburb of Martinez, where the in-laws live, back to Buenos Aires via mass transit, or stay over the night. Naturally, I opted for mass transit, but my companion opted to stay the night. And of course, I lost this argument, despite having pointed out that the last time we stayed there I came home with head lice. Actually, and quite amazingly, I took these lice back to the US with me, and didn't even have to declare it. I amuse the notion of some kind of lice pandemic every time I recall this incident, but that's tangential.
So we're staying the night. And Fernando, the in-law, is kindly pulling the mattress from the foyer (yes, they keep a mattress in the foyer) into the living room. Well, I'll tell you, firstly, the mattress was stained in the way that can only conjure the image of a drunken bout of explosive diarrhea, and of course, it smells as if it were found in a thicket by the river. Indeed, it probably was. And secondly, as Fernando is pulling said mattress there appears, cowering behind, a beat up and emaciated white cat! To which Fernando states, "hm, that doesn't belong to us". And this cat is no joke my friends. It has one cloudy eye that is scarred half-shut, probably after getting into a fight with some other feral creature.
3. Its always the same when you leave in laws. Something akin to being sprayed with a fecal mist, that while invisible to the naked eye, makes you feel dirty, sticky and smelly. But despite that feeling, we make the journey back to BA with spirits high, what with the prospects of a decent shower looming in the distance. Plus I'll have to admit that I love to take mass transportation in any country, as that is most indicative of national character. Especially when mass transportation involves a bunch a people sitting in the back of truck in folding chairs with the back door open, like this:
That said, once we arrive safely in Buenos Aires, back at the flat, and into the shower, I begin to have an irritable sensation on the left side of my head. An hour later I notice several small bumps on my jawline, which thereafter, begin to itch and burn like the dickens. Naturally, I chalk this up to some sort of spider bite that I must have received while sleeping at the in-laws. And of course, I regale anyone and everyone about my horrific sleeping experience, showing off my bite as proof. Until, that is, someone mentions that this spider bite is curiously shaped like a teeth marks. In which case, my trash talk of the in-laws intensifies. Of course, we are leaving back to the States the next day, and I decide that waiting for rabies to incubate another 24 hours won't kill me, will it?
4. Did I say we were leaving the next day? I actually meant that we were supposed to leave the next day, which in Argentina means that you will most likely be leaving in two days. This is because Argentina's bureaucratic machine runs with kinks. And by kinks I mean robust protesters. See, Argentines LOVE a rousing protest. And in Argentina, there is plenty to protest about. For example, when the government runs out of money they cut off water and electricity. This is done using rolling outages, whereby one area of the city looses power or water for a bit (anywhere for a couple of hours to a couple of days) and then the outages move to another zone. Now, this seems kind of fair, no? After all, the Argentinean government isn't run by a bunch a savages (any more). Well, the citizens of Argentina don't think so. And they will go out of their way to air their grievances by protesting in their neighborhoods, effectively cutting off streets and creating traffic congestion.
Generally these types of protests work by being irritating reminders of the injustice at hand. And the government deals with the these nuisances much like one would a mosquito hovering above the bed while one tries to sleep - by ignoring it. And in the end, the only people who are affected by these protests are the other citizens who are just minding their business and trying to get home after a long day at the call center.
That said, the ariport strike that we had to endure at Ezeiza was more than ridiculous. It was downright insane, and if I may, a little frightening. The first day we arrived at the airport, we were greeted by 500 travelers crammed in the departures terminal. At that point I thought, we're not leaving tonight. And within minutes we learned that there was an airport strike. Apparently a couple of outgoing domestic flights were cancelled, and after waiting nearly 24 hours to get a flight, the passengers of these flights started to protest, which of course inside an airport is never a good idea. Enclosed spaces and protesting should be banned. At any rate, this protest got a little out of hand, as the passengers started to throw furniture and even rip computers out of the check in desks. The airport workers, fearing for their lives, ran out of the airport calling a strike. So you see, in this spectacular event, we were blessed with both a protest and a strike! At any rate, we went back to the flat where we were staying and waited until the next day, when we were advised to return to the airport to see if the plane would be leaving.
The next day comes, the airport is a little less crowded, except for the nearly 300 passengers who had to sleep at the airport and looked like shit for it. Including a good handful of passengers who somehow managed to get super-shit faced over the course of the night. There's no bar at Ezeiza, so who knows how that happened. At any rate, we entered the airport and immediately I get into some line. While waiting in this line for a good 20 minutes I tell my companion to go check out where this line leads to. Turns out this line is 30 people standing behind one guy who is all by himself looking up at the departures sign! Which just goes to show, humans crave organization, and when there is no organization, they will create it themselves. This revelation alone is enough to merit an extra days worth of travel. That said, we arrived at the airport at 6am, and got on the plane at 1pm. So in the end, we got to leave our beloved Argentina, but not without the trying aftermath of a protest/strike and having to rub elbows with smelly, disgruntled Argentines, pushy and rude Americans and a couple of very edgy Bolivian nuns.
5. After a total of 28 hours travelling we arrive back in the states and immediately I go to nearest infectious disease doctor. For all I know I may have the Dengue, although I am still suspecting a good ol' case of rabies. However, after being thoroughly inspected, and by that i mean, lifting my chin and turning towards the light, the good doctor proclaims that I have Shingles. So basically all of my trash- talk of the in-laws was for naught. Luckily, I have manners, and all of my bad-mouthing was done behind their backs so I didn't have to do anything silly like apologize.
So that's it friends. That's Buenos Aires over the holidays in my very little world. I hope you all learned a lot about something, and probably nothing about Argentina.
