No time for gentle introductions today. Christi and I are in a race against time…
The hotel calls a cab to take us to the bus station. It arrives at 8.45 pm – the same time our bus is scheduled to depart. We jump in and slam the doors closed, provoking howls of complaint from the taxi driver. We apologize, but the driver is unsympathetic to our need for speed. Unused to sprinting, Christi now pays the price: she begins to cough uncontrollably. And each time a new hacking cough surfaces, the cab driver freaks out a little more. He starts crossing himself and kissing his crucifix. Swine flu is all over the news and I’m sure he thinks Christi is afflicted. Adding to our woes, the road is full of nighttime revelers and cruising cars. Our progress is glacial.
We finally arrive at the bus station at 9 pm. And while Christi rushes around trying to find our bus, I pay the taxi driver (who seems relieved to be shot of us) and chase after her, dragging two backpacks and my daypack. But our mad dash ends in failure. The platform where our bus should be is empty. We’re devastated.
At 9.05 pm, we shuffle disconsolately back to the Andesmar office inside the station and inquire about a refund or transfer. We are S.O.L. If we don’t get on the bus we lose everything (and it’s hundreds of dollars we can’t afford to replace). Remarkably, there’s a glimmer of hope. The bus stops in San Martin at 9.30 pm for 15 minutes. A taxi can reach San Martin in 30 minutes. It’s now 9.13 pm. Grab our bags and sprint to the taxi stand where, amazingly, there’s no line and a taxi is just arriving. Gently stow our bags and explain that we need to get to San Martin muy rapido. Somewhat surprisingly the middle-aged, paunchy, balding taxi driver is up for the caper. We tear out of the station and onto the nearby freeway.
It’s then full throttle in the outside lane with Christi and I hanging on for dear life, while the cab driver grins manically flashing his lights and swerving around any vehicle that gets in our way. Now it’s our turn to wonder whether this guy has contracted swine flu (it’s 9.23 pm). We stare into the darkness (although I keep one eye on the taxi meter, which is clicking over at an alarming rate), and suddenly we spy the unmistakable shape of a double-decker bus. The taxi driver whoops and screams, but it’s not the right bus (it’s now 9.30pm). We speed on; signs for San Martin begin to appear. Another bus emerges out of the gloom and as we get closer we see that it’s our bus (it’s 9.34pm). The taxi driver completely loses the plot at this point, flashing his lights at the bus, then zig-zagging in front of it, and frantically waving his arms out of the window. Amazingly, the bus pulls onto the hard shoulder and a rather surprised conductor steps off the coach. While Christi pays the elated taxi driver (including a well-deserved tip) I show the Andesmar conductor our valid first class tickets and hump our bags onto the bus. At 9.37 pm, Christi and I collapse into first class luxury; at 9.38 pm the steward brings Christi her first (of many) glasses of champagne. An hour ago we were in hell; now we are in heaven. And an hour after joining the bus we’re served a very nice steak dinner. With full bellies and droopy eye lids we finally recline our seats 180o and fall blissfully asleep in the lap of first class luxury.
At 1 pm we arrive in Bariloche, which is spectacularly located on the shores of Lake Nahuel Huapi in the shadow of the snow-capped Andes. Eager to begin the fun we grab a bunch of tourist literature and repair to the idyllic Rapa Nui artisanal chocolatiers to continue our decadent lifestyle and plan our adventures in Patagonia. We cap 24 hours of total luxury with a fine dining experience at the Kandahar restaurant. Christi chooses Patagonian lamb with plum chutney, while I go for rabbit in white wine sauce. It’s de-licious.
First class may have been a struggle initially, but boy did we get the hang of it!
Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching, heart-wrenching, laugh-wrenching ride
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