Back in Buenos Aires for one night only

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Day 151 (cont): A dinner date with an old friend

The flight back to Buenos Aires passed without incident, and I arrived at Hostel Firulete in the city centre (the one with the chair stackers) at about half-four. I still wasn't feeling so good and was resigned to curling up on the sofa in the hostel and watching England play some atrocious football and losing to France.

A bit gutted that I was feeling lousy (and that England can't play football), I got ready to go out, and walked down to my old residence to meet Marianne. It was a lovely evening, and so we walked down to Puerto Madero for dinner at an Italian restaurant. Despite my ailments, I still managed to polish off a plate of pasta, half a bottle of wine and pudding (there seems to be very little that actually affects my appetite). We had to cut the night short though, as by eleven, I was feeling shattered, and although we'd had a really nice evening catching up, I needed to go back to the hostel to sleep.


Day 152: Difficult departures

Unable to shake off my general malaise and lethargy, I spent the morning hanging out at the hostel (where all the staff now know my name - definitely time to move on), before heading into town for a spot of shopping. Although I failed to find any music or DVDs I wanted to buy, I did invest in a Boca Juniors shirt, making me an official supporter of the team, although leaving tonight, I'm going to miss a much anticipated home game against Colo Colo (Chile), and given that it would be a forty hour round trip from England to watch home games, I don't think it's worth getting a season ticket!

It started to rain in the afternoon, and I was pleased that I'd arranged to meet Marianne again for coffee. She's leaving on Monday after two months in the capital and so was in wind down mode as well, and we spent a lethargic hour drinking coffee and eating tostadas in a cafe watching the rain outside.

Back at the hostel, I had fifty minutes until my bus left and thought this would be plenty of time to get a taxi to the bus station and catch my bus. Unfortunately, it being the rush hour, and there being countless protests against high government taxes for farmers on the streets outside, there wasn't a taxi company that would take me to the station in time. I left the hotel, assuming I'd have more luck hailing a cab on the street, but they were all either occupied, or (in the case of the two I found that were free), refused to drive to the bus station. Furthermore, the queues for buses to the station were on a par with those seen during a London tube strike. With not so many other options, I subsequently had to run across town carrying all my things (remember I'm not feeling so well), barging through hoardes of commuters. Amazingly, I managed to get to the bus station and find my bus with ten minutes to spare.

Since it was marginally cheaper, I'd booked a seat upstairs on the bus in cattle class. This turned out not to be so bad since there were only about ten other people on the top deck, and with comfy seats, a blanket, and having remembered to buy a bag of croissants and scones to supplement whatever meaty offerings were presented to me, I was sure that the journey wouldn't be too painful. Although the bus left on time, what with the Boca game and the farming protests, it took a little while to clear Buenos Aires, and it was around about then that I discovered that my suncream had leaked inside my handbag, covering everything, from camera to spanish dictionary. There followed a happy half hour of trying to clean all my things, and transfer everything out of the soggy handbag and into my rucksack. Not the greatest start, to the journey, but I soon perked up after some cake (replacing the ham and cheese sandwich, ham and cheese roll, and hot meaty dinner provided on board), and a game of bus bingo. Well on our way, I settled down to watch the film, hopeing for a quiet and painless journey.

I think I'd just got off to sleep when the bus stopped and I became aware of the increasing commotion on board. It was soon apparent that we were in a long traffic queue. It's come to my attention, that everything in Argentina is a quite a bit bigger than back home; this includes the lakes, the mountains, the steaks (and cows), and the portions of cake. Unfortunately, it also includes the protests and subsequent traffic jams. We subsequently found ourselves sitting near the end of a rather long traffic jam (twenty kilometres of lorries owned or held up by farmers protesting against the increasing taxes levied on farm produce). Why the driver/bus company couldn't have found out about it long before we got there, I don't know, but we were told to expect to be there for 'many hours'. There followed a couple of displays of latino rage, including one guy, who I'm sure would have thrown a seat through the window if they hadn't been fixed to the ground. The woman behind started lamenting that she wouldn't be able to get to work the next day. All in all, the mood was not good. I was the only gringo on board, but starting chatting to a girl next to me, who as one of the calmer people on board, was able to explain everything a bit more slowly so that I was in the picture too!

It took a couple of hours for things to calm down, but after a while, general acceptance of the situation gave way to sleep, as everyone on board settled down to get a few hours rest.

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