Morning of our trip, we wake up on time. We desayunamos (eat breakfast) of fruit and dulce de leche, we turn in the key, grab our backpacks and rush out of the hostel.
When we get to the subte station with a direct shot to Retiro, we find it closed for Sunday.
Plan B: a bus on 9 de Julio (the widest avenue). We scurry over, asking advice from an Argentine man walking the same direction.
Plan C: por las dudas (just in case), let's take a taxi. A few more pesos now is worth the security of not missing our bus.
Works out great! The tachero/taxista (taxi driver) brings us right to the platform. All set.
Only problem is Retiro is un lío (a mess). Packed full of people for the feriado weekend.
No worries. All we've gotta do is walk the range of platforms printed on our ticket where our bus might park... but that range is about 10 platforms with different bus companies coming and going to cualquier place.
Suffice to say, we've gotta pay attention.
We talk to an 8:00 bus driver going to Mar del Plata and he assures us that ours -- the 8:05 el Rapido is right behind his and will park at that very same platform. He says he'll keep a lookout for us.
With that, Katy and I relax a bit. We get to talking. We get tired of talking.
Suddenly, a wave of panic. I pull out my phone to check the time: it's 8:27. Swallowing hard against the thought that we've missed our bus, I leave my backpack with Katy and head inside to the company desk.
I hold firm to a statement I made 2 years ago that if you ever want to dislike a country, go to the Immigration office. Rings true anywhere, I'm sure, and Argentina's no exception. But in this country, it's not just that. I'm going to widen my statement to include the whole Barrio where immigration is located. If you ever want to dislike Argentina, go to Retiro! Go to the Immigration office in Retiro. Go to the package-pickup post office in Retiro. Or go take a nice, relaxing vacation starting at the Omnibus station in Retiro. Take it from me: something's bound to go wrong there.
After waiting in line, I tell the man at the desk my problem. He says, "That bus came. It left. You missed it." I tell him we came early, that we walked the range, that we were there. I tell him that we couldn't hear the bus announcements over the loudspeaker.During the whole conversation, no matter what I ask or say, those three sentences are all he responds with, in different orders and combinations.
I try the other companies. I play the tattle-tale: "El Rapido left without us, what can you do for us?"
The answer is nothing. "You missed it," they all say without a note of empathy.
I bring the bad news to Katy. We take a moment of silence to absorb it. We're both on a budget and we splurged for nothing. I pray for a solution, for a changed attitude. Not my will, not my will. In the long run, it's just money. We talk through our options: 1. give up and go home 2. wait for the 11 AM bus and try to use our old tickets 3. buy new tickets for the 11 AM, banking that there's still 2 left.
After a minute or so, another bus from a different company pulls up painted shiny black, "Mar del Plata" in red light on the front. I explain our situation to the driver. He actually listens, looking us in the eye. He says "you'd have to buy a new ticket." I turn around, dismayed, but Katy shrugs her sunburnt shoulders and says, "Let's do it." She's right. She booked the hostel, we have return tickets, and if we stay we'll have to pay anyways. He tells us to get on, and the bus is better than I could've imagined. There's two seats left, just for us. They're the expensive ones-- think: Laz-E Boy bed.
The bus ride turns out to be just the relaxation we need. Time passes too quickly. ("Only two hours left!" We pout at each other.)
We still buy the extra tickets before getting off the bus, and the man probably pockets the money, but he deserves even more than that. He listened and sympathized with us. He showed us a little kindness and it saved our 2-day vacation. And in the end, the important thing is that we made it to the sunny beach city, a world apart from Buenos Aires...
