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Published: January 29th 2007
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Yup, that´s me...
Tourist shot at Lago Lacar. Proof I was here... This city is what inspired me to get the heck off the coast and head toward the Andes. Ah, Bahia Blanca...rolls off the tounge like a charm. Believe me, it sounds much prettier than it is. I stepped off the bus and immediately started sweating. The heat and humidity beat that of Buenos Aires and Mar Del Plata combined, which is impressive in itself. I called a hostel from the station that I´d read about in some guide and found there were rooms available. Splendid. On the local map, 2km didn´t seem too far of a walk at all, so I walked. This is the only time I have regretted walking under the weight of the sun, humidity and pack, because by the time I reached the hostel I was drenched in sweat. I probably lost five pounds in water weight in those 2km.
I approach the front desk and the smell of stale ciggarettes immediately hit my nose. As my eyes adjust to the dimness of the room, I notice the walls are poorly painted a nasty shade of pink, and alongside the wall there´s a green couch. The silence is eerie. The woman saunters up to the desk
San Martin´s Roses
They smell as good as they look. and qotes me a price of 48 pesos/night. The other places I´ve stayed only charged 25-30, so I asked to see the room, and she said I have to wait 15 minutes. Very well, maybe they have to clean the room or something. Besides, I could use a rest, so I drop my bags and plop onto the green sofa. The woman goes back to the kitchen, pours herself some mate, and lights up a cig. She does nothing for that 15 minutes, no joke. I must have had the audacity to interrupt her during siesta hours. When the clock struck 3, she slowly gets up and leads me down a dingy hall and presents a room with a low ceiling, yellowing walls, and a sketchy looking bed. I politely said No Gracias, and got the hell out. On my way to the other hostel, two women on the street gave me dirty looks. What is up with this place?? It had nothing to offer but a few trendy shops and a sad central plaza.
The next day I booked myself for a 3am bus outta there to San Martin de los Andes. Forget the coast, I´m headed for
the hills. I am 30 minutes early for my bus, so I make myself comfortable as possible on a bench, and am soon joined by a family of six. 3am comes and goes. A little late. No problem, this is south america, that´s the way it goes. 4am comes and goes. Other bus lines pull in and out, people coming and going. I overhear the family say something about an accident, so I decide to ask the ticket vendor what´s up. Sure enough, the bus had a collision with a truck. I hope it wasn´t serious, but the man didn´t say anything about that. He said it would be another 40 minutes. I found it amusing that there was no announcement made about this whatsoever. The bus is 3 hours late and everyone is left guessing. No problem, this is south america, that´s the way it goes.
At last the bus arrives and everyone is releived. Yay, I get to sit on this thing for 13 hours! Thankfully, the busses here aren´t the Greyhound. They are very comfortable, so sleeping isn´t too much of a problem. Eight hours later the conductor announces that we have 15 minutes for a stretch, so everyone gets off. I memorize our platform number and hit the baños. No more than five minutes later, I come back and there is no bus in platforma 7. I blink, and it´s still not there. A little light flashes in my brain that says ¨WTF???¨ Everything I own is on the bus except for my wallet in my pocket. The adreneline starts to rush and I force myself to stay calm. I look round and found the boleteria to ask the guy where the hell the bus is. Except I don´t know how to say that in spanish, so I go for the more textbook version: ¨Perdon, ¿donde esta el bus que era en platforma siete?¨He politely explains that it went around the corner for a bus wash and will be back in ten minutes or so. Of course the conductor fails to mention this, but the ticket guy´s explination makes me a very relieved girl. I give him an idiotic smile and say Ohhh, gracias! I´m still low on the learning curve.
Eventually, we arrived at San Martin de los Andes, and am so glad to be here. I made a lucky reservation at a pretty cottage-style hosteria, where I get my own bathroom with bathtub (!), a large clean bed, and wooden beamed ceilings to give it a cozy feel. The window opens to a tree with birds in the morning. They serve hot breakfast and the desk lady owns a cat who sucks on her ear. Sheer heaven. At 115 pesos a night (approx $38) the splurge is worth it!
San Martin de los Andes is a quaint mountain town tucked beside Lago Lacar. The people who live here mow their small lawns and trim their rose bushes. They maintain their homes nicely, and put collars on their dogs. The sidewalks are clean and Argentines come here to ski in the winter and camp in the summer. Unfortuntely, their ¨camp grounds¨consist of a large fenced in area that has plenty of trees, but little privacy or free space. Not my style. Over all, it´s a relief to be here.
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