Crying about Argentina

I have decided that I am not fond of Buenos Aires. It's a very gritty place. But then, I landed hard. I got off the ferryboat with only 250 uruguayan pesos (about $12). I figured, no problem... there's an ATM inside the terminal. I'd tried in Uruguay to get US cash but BROU (Banco de la Republica Oriental de Uruguay) ATM's generally don't make nice with US bank cards and I'd not had time to hit a Banred ATM before leaving. Banred is the ATM network that's all over Uruguay, just not in the Montevideo ferry terminal.

Ok so no working ATM to get Argentine pesos. Uruguayan cash is pretty useless in Argentina. However did I mention having only 250?

BROU (the Uruguayan bank) has a little branch, more like a little bunker - inside the terminal. Its main purpose is to sell Uruguayan pesos to people going TO Uruguay. They had posted limits in their window showing that 300 pesos was the absolute minimum that they would change. I got in line anyway. The discussion went "Sir, you only have $250 I cannot help you."

I swallowed hard. The American urge to connect with that large inner black woman that every gay man has trapped inside him must be suppressed at all costs. "Sir, I attempted to use the BROU machine in Montevideo to get US dollars and avoid this. As often happens, it did not accept my American bank card." (As often happens? Shit... more like never happens... although I think that's because my bank is on Plus and not Cirrus. I seem to recall success with Cirrus but that's years ago.)

"But our limit is $300 pesos. You have $250." He gave me that expression that says, I'm going to follow the rules to the letter.

I double-swallowed hard because deep down I was pissed. But I will grovel if I must... "Sir, it's very close. Can you please make an exception?" I looked at him imploringly and hopefully not showing how pissed off and seething I was about their stupid minimum.

"Ok, give me your passport and the currency."

I'd won.

I got $25 argentine pesos and a few coins.

Then I waited for a cab for an hour. The cab driver was WAY too 20-questions for my taste. The vehicle license number matched the placard on the hood which matched the painted number on the door - so at least I was in a pretty good copy of an offically licensed cab. There wasn't room in the trunk for but one of my bags due to the bomb that all cabs carry - they run on propane so a rear end collision can be potentially spectacular. He wanted to plan out every frickin minute including "somewhere nice for dinner with girls" (oh boy not my cup of tea) while of course guarding my bags (danger!) in a parking lot and then taking me to the airport. I insisted that he take me to a limo terminal where there is a bus to ezezia airport. Much easier... Well he basically screwed me out of my $25 arg pesos but I could use a credit card for the airport cab. I'm 99% certain I came out ahead.

The ride to Ezezia was nice enough once we were outside central BsAs and on the freeway. The tolls from downtown to the airport are like $3 USD which is pretty high, but it's gotta repay the private company who built the freeway. The government sure as shit didn't build it!

The airport checkin process was positively soviet-style.... Take bags to counter. "You have one extra bag." "Yes, I know I need to pay for it." "Well we can't give you a boarding pass until you go over to the Delta office and pay the hundred bucks, they'll issue it there."

Go over to Delta office. Pay the extra $100 and get my boarding pass. Ok, so the three big-ass bags are gone. Now souvenirs for my neighbor's kids. Yeah I know I really should have gotten something in Uruguay but it never quite happened... better to just get something far more expensive in the airport in BsAs. I haven't looked at my bank statement yet to see what the shirts really cost but whatever. I signed for 'em.

Airport tax. For the privilege of driving on a nice freeway to the airport as well as all the soviet-style bureaucracy, $18.00 and a wait in a half-hour long line. Of course it can be paid with a credit card BUT if you do that it has to be paid in ARG pesos (which winds up being 56.70 of that itchy 'n scratchy money.) That also means you get to pay 3 more percent to your bank because the transaction is not in US dollars. Nickels and dimes...

Had I known the credit card charge for the airport tax was going to be in ARG pesos I'd have hit a machine and gotten the cash. Oh well. I knew full well that the only entity that accepts cards inside the transit lounge is the duty free store - but they don't give you your purchases until you board the plane. It's not like they have anything truly edible anyway unless you count chocolate, nuts, candy etc. I knew there was a cafe but that it was cash-only.

"Security" was next. I didn't intentionally do this but discovered AFTER I'd arrived in Atlanta that a whole full .5 liter bottle of water had made it through.

Immigration. Going from Uruguay to Argentina on the boat does not necessarily generate the required info in the Argentine government's computer. At least not same day thats for sure. "When did you enter Argentina?" "Three hours ago." I got left with some Argentine government document that I'm not sure if I'm supposed to retain for my next entry or what but I got stamped as OUT of the country.

I didn't ask. Too tired and run down. I threw it away. Problem solved.

Check in at the gate. Get seated, manage to get connected to the airports overly fussy wifi for ten bucks for two hours.

15 minutes into sitting at the gate happily surfing the web like I'm actually in the first world, there's another "security check". They cordon off the whole gate area and kick out everyone who's seated. So much for using the wifi. I cuss out the girl who's asking me to move and get in line. Now at this point I've gone from suspecting I might have a cold with fever to being pretty goddamn sure. When you already have your papers in order and the person doesn't have to approve you or not - just root around your shit in a cursory manner. Oh yes, this is when you PUTEAR long and loud. It evoked some chuckles from the locals and confused expressions from the non-locals. When I got to the front of the line the woman searching my bag got a quick whispered warning about me and I had my best "just stepped out of a Stephen King novel" look on my face. The look through my bag was cursory - again, a half liter of water (god forbid) made it all the way to Atlanta.... But finally I could sit down and use another five minutes of my two hours before we had to board.

The flight back turned out to be full of mormon missionaries coming home. Uggggh. Later on after the flight it was particularly nauseating to overhear their conversation as they were waiting to clear immigration in the USA - tons of nice conversation about girlfriends back home, temple marriages I just wanted to ask them - how much money does your cult extract from those poor countries you visit? Of course there was a giant mormon temple right outside the international airport in BsAs, visible from the freeway, complete with a couple of American-style houses inside the razor-wire fenced compound. Blecch.

It would have been very easy to vomit on the missionaries' shoes. I was sick as a dog anyway. When the plane took off I realized I was feeling more than sheer exhaustion - it was the beginning of probably flu. I had a fever for sure but I wasn't going to say a damn thing to the flight attendant other than asking for another blanket. God forbid they decide I have a medical emergency and land the plane somewhere en route. Potential landing spots could have been Lima, Peru or Asuncion, Paraguay or Bogota. Not so much. Better to just deal with the fever. I popped a couple of advil an hour or two before landing to hopefully drop it enough to pass by any infrared camera in customs - with my luck, landing in Atlanta home of the CDC it'd kick off some Patient Zero scenario. Nah, all in my head. I always gravitate towards the worst case scenario.

But finally on Tuesday Dec 11th I cleared customs into the USA part of Atlanta airport and got me some breakfast and a blanket for the next flight.