March 20, 2009
Morning came to soon for my head ached and my throat was on fire I desperately needed more rest before facing a day of travel. I put on a happy face and tackled organizing our bags in preparation for three more days of travel before we would be back home again.
We had an uneventful flight from Ushuaia to the intense heat of Buenos Aires. It was a relief to return to the Babel Hotel and be able to immediately strip out of our layers of wintry clothing. Even if our stay would be a brief one night. We decided to spend the afternoon walking about a large conservation area between the city and Río de la Plata.
With the hot temperatures assaulting us we took every opportunity to walk in the shade. The park was a massive expanse of head-high grasses punctuated with scrub oaks and saw palms. Wide graded dirt roadways wound through the park. We soon noted that in the thick grasses lining road were what appeared to be small animal passageways. Suddenly, a few yards in front of us a little critter gave a distinctive hop before disappearing into the tall grass.
Wild Guinea Pigs
Steve almost hopped with joy himself at the thought that a wild pig could be in the vicinity. Just then we were distracted from our search for the pig by the sound of an approaching truck. We signaled to the driver to slow down concerned about the little pig. Silly us for during our walk we would spot over 30 guinea pigs. My estimate on the park’s pig population was over a million Steve’s was a conservative 1,000.
Wild Guinea Pig
I was beginning to feel better with two days worth of penicillin in me and a stroll in the hot sun. I summoned my reserves knowing that Buenos Aires is famous for Tango dancing I felt this was my best chance to see a performance. The hotel made the arraignments for us. The venue was a bit too touristy over all for me. The garish colors, harsh lighting and overly loud sound system smacked of being a Tango cliché. Or it could have been the affect of being sick and exhausted. Admittedly, I was in a grumpy mood.
Lacking guidebooks to the city the next morning found us without a clue as to how to spend our day. We roamed about the busy streets until I succumb to my strep throat. We settled into a proudly gay café with comfy, over-stuffed, leather chairs with the intent of lounging there until time to leave for the airport. Our delightfully, attentive waitress provided us with a steady supply of snacks and refreshing lemonade. It was difficult to pry myself away.
What Did That Say?
I had received a last minute change in our itinerary. Thinking it was merely the departure time I did not realize until we were standing helplessly at the wrong airport that EZE was not Jorge Newberry Airport. The email only referred to the airport's code and not the name.
Thankfully, I had purchased first class tickets based on other travelers’ experiences. It had helped on the trip down with our luggage and now again with this mix up. The Aerolineas Argentinas staff reassured us with big smiles that they would get us on our flight. Steve and I shared the same thought, “Yeah, like that’s going to happen.” We both knew it was impossible to make it across town and onto our original flight. Luckily, I had booked us for the earlier flight of the day. I try to build in padding in case things go wrong. This was one of those times I needed it. We had a chance to make the last flight to the states scheduled later in the day. In the mean time we had to be patient during the long ride across town to the other airport and while waiting for what seemed like eternity while the attendant sorted things out. This experience reminds me yet again that it is always beneficial to maintaining one’s composure in the face of challenges. Smiles and pleasantness tend to smooth out the rough patches.
Relived that we could fly out in time to make our connecting flight to DC the fact that we were not sitting together was of little consequence. I can say that for I sat in first class and Steve sat in coach. Steve may disagree. We landed in Atlanta, Georgia in the wee hours of the next morning. Groggily we slowly progressed through U.S. customs to be bustled quickly onto our waiting plane. Exhausted we finally arrive in Baltimore.
Who Is The Cranky One?
I was getting a bit testy as we were bumped from one shuttle bus to the next. Eventually nine passengers and 12 pieces of luggage were squeezed into a van bound for DC. Steve and I contributed to half of the luggage with our six bags. The driver loaded our bags last placing three in the passageway of the van. After loading the van the driver proceeded to organize the order of drop offs. Guess what? Yep, we were to be last.
I made a joke to help relieve how uncomfortably crammed we were about how typical it was that the ones with the most suitcases would be last. Everyone laughed except the driver. She informed me in no uncertain terms that everyone else had just as much luggage as I did. You could hear a pin drop.
I passed out on the long ride from Baltimore to DC. At the first stop I stumbled out of van pulling out the suitcases in the passageway. When the driver rounded the van I suggested moving the bags around. I was reminded that I was not going to get special treatment. Okay, fine with me.
At every stop the driver lifted all six of our bags out of the way asking each of the departing passenger if it was theirs only to return the bags back on top. No one offered to help her. A frost colder than any I had experienced in Antarctica descended on the van when Steve and I were the only remaining passengers along with half of all of the suitcases. Fortunately, we were greeted at the curb by a neighbor relieving us of the awkwardness of standing by as driver yet again lifted down our heavy bags into a mound by the curb.
Finally Home
It felt great to be back home with the first blushes of spring appearing. After being way for seven years I had been looking forward to enjoying spring in my hometown. But this was a bittersweet return for this was to be a brief homecoming in a few days we would begin another odyssey. Our possessions would once again be pack on a container headed overseas, this time to England. We don’t know how long we will be away, but eventually we will return to Washington, DC, our home.
This ends our Antarctica adventure and I will return to recording our cave dives.
Photos
Trip Map
