La llegada y Adventura #1

Traveling never goes exactly as planned. I don't expect it to. It would be unnatural for a series of flights to arrive on time, for each international airport to find your luggage on the first go-round, for the cross-town cab to get you to the other airport early, etc. I think of traveling as the art of rolling with punches. It requires a somewhat un-American, zen-like acceptance of whatever may or may not happen. "Venga lo que venga".

So you can understand my discomfort when all of these things fell into place perfectly on their own - all flights on time, all cabs friendly and early - with little effort on my part. Somehow my traveler's karma seemed imbalanced.

Cue landing in my final destination, San Carlos de Bariloche, Argentina. After retrieving my bag from the sole terminal of the quaint, two-runway airport, I walked into the lobby. I scanned the line of welcoming poster-bearers. I did not see my name. On the second pass, still no me, though each one of the namecard-holders stared intently, waiting for me to lock eyes. But still no me.

No problem - it's a beautiful day, early afternoon, and I see a pay phone. Plan A is to call the approximately 18-digit cell phone number of Vilma, the lady who was supposed to pick me up. The problem was, I had just changed money and didn't receive a single coin. No cambio. The lady at the counter wouldn't let me do a buck-for-four-quarters deal, either. She sort of shrugged and pointed and mumbled something, which I deftly deciphered as the universal sign for "I don't care because my job is to sit here behind a counter at an airport". Other than that she was very helpful.

Right then, before I had to think of a plan B, I see Sylvia. During the 2 hour flight from Buenos Aires to Bariloche, I made friends with a very nice, 60ish lady from Bariloche who was coming back from visiting her son in Houston. She was very patient and helpful with my Spanish. I detected absolutely no anti-tourist sentiment, a good sign for Argentina, and she seemed genuinely interested in what I was planning in Bariloche. She even gave me her phone number and told me to call if I needed anything.

As I realized I couldn't use the payphone, I saw Sylvia and her husband leaving the airport. She lent me her phone, and even talked for me when my Spanish failed to get me past the point that Vilma seemed to have no idea who I was or why I was calling from an airport. Long story short, Sylvia ironed it all out. Vilma did know who I was, and a lady named Fernanda was coming to meet me at the city center.

Sylvia's husband approached, put his arm around me, gave me a nice kiss on the cheek (it's an Argentinian thing) and insisted I share their cab. It was a tiny Fiat. There was already luggage in the backseat, so Sylvia and I crammed into the right side, brand new stranger-friends, practically in each other's laps. Pressed against the window, I had the perfect view of the incredible mountains surrounding El Lago Nahuel Huapi. I told them we don't have mountains like this on the east coast. They laughed at my amazement, "Aqui, hombres son hormiguitas". I smiled - the lesson of the day. Save for the kindness of Argentinian strangers.

Long story short again, after much thanking and hugging, they turned me over to Fernanda. Fernanda was very nice and apologetic, gave me a quick city tour and paid for one night in Periko's youth hostel for me. I had a long overdue shower, met two really cool guys from Australia on gap years, and we went to the supermarket to buy some steaks to cook for dinner. My steak was perfect, tender and juicy. Day number 1/2 over, I slept like I was in my own bed.