Christi and I had planned a busy day of sightseeing today beginning at Plaza de Mayo, but this was derailed almost immediately. The staff at our useless hotel who said they could organize onward bus travel now insist that we have to purchase tickets directly from the central bus station, which is a 20-minute subway ride to the north in the Retiro neighborhood. There are literally hundreds of kiosks in the bus station. We have little choice but to inflict our miserable Spanish upon the staff at the nearest kiosk and hope they can help us. The assistant shakes his head and ominously points deeper into the gloom. On our third attempt (at kiosk number 140) we finally find a company that services the town of Mercedes in the far north-east of Argentina. Semi-cama seats on Nuevo Expreso bus depart daily at 6:30 am. It’s a 10-hour ride, but at least it isn’t overnight. We leave Buenos Aires in two days.
We subway back to Plaza de Mayo to begin our tourist activities for the day when disaster strikes. The subway carriage is so full that my arms are literally pinned to my sides and my pack sits invitingly on my back (there is no time to switch my pack to my front, which is probably the simplest of all safe travel tips). I never stood a chance. In the two minutes it takes to reach the next stop, my pack is rifled through. Gone are my Killer Loop sunglasses, my reading glasses, and over US$300 in cash. Happily, my passport and debit cards are still there. If I’d lost my passport, the nearest processing center for British nationals is Washington DC with a minimum 2-week turnaround time!
Fortunately, our ever-handy LP guide even lists police stations, so off we trudge to the nearest tourist police office, where the duty officer, sub-inspector Figueroa, proceeds to informs us that they only provide information to tourists. To report a crime we need a real police station, although the inspector is confident the staff there will not speak English. Gee thanks. The Central Police Station is nearby and we wait patiently (the police in Buenos Aires are not noted for their speed) to make a report. Sub-inspector Figueroa is correct; the duty officer does not understand us, beyond the words robado (robbed) and ladron (thief). Using sign language he says he will call someone to help. Ninety frustrating minutes later…bloody sub-inspector Figueroa arrives to take our statement. What ??? It takes another 45 minutes to complete the report: 6 sheets for the police and half a page for me (…in Spanish). Goodness knows whether my insurance company will accept this. What a frustrating morning.
We attempt to be tourists again after lunch and begin in Plaza de Mayo, which is the site of the May 25th 1810 revolution that ultimately led to independence from Spain. Many famous buildings border the plaza, including city hall, the Metropolitan cathedral and the Casa Rosada (the Pink – Presidential – Palace). There are always lots of people hanging out here and with the Jacaranda in full bloom it’s a great place to while away an afternoon. Next we wander down the pedestrianized Avenue Florida to the Pacific Galleria mall. It’s as if we’ve suddenly been transported back to southern California. Everything is very familiar, albeit in Spanish, including the Christmas decorations (despite the fact it’s only mid-November). We also find a bookstore and well-hidden behind several displays are a few novels in English. Christi is ecstatic and feeling rather festive so she calls home from an internet cafe and phone center. The news is not good, however. Christi’s mother has broken her shoulder in two places and may need surgery. Christi is very upset and we seriously discuss returning to Los Angeles, but Christi’s Mum insists we keep traveling. All in all not a good day.
Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching, heart-wrenching, laugh wrenching tale.
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