I'd swear that there is no way that I ever sleep in places where I am sitting relatively upright (i.e. planes, buses and cars). While this time I've gone for the "cama" (bed) seat, it is still far too upright for me to think it possible to sleep. There's a lot more room than my "semi cama" seat from my last bus experience, and yes, this one definitely lays back a fair bit further, but sleep doesn't seem possible. So despite the bus leaving at nearly 11PM (it arrived late from the North), and the fact that I'm feeling quite tired, I settle in to watch the movie that is playing (it was obviously memorable – I have no recollection of what it was). When it finishes, I close my eyes, hoping for sleep, but really not expecting anything more than just to rest them.
I'm not sure that I remember a feeling of waking up at any stage, yet it feels like barely any time has passed since the movie finished and yet the sun is coming up! It's rather pleasing to have passed a good number of hours in the middle of a 12 hour bus trip without being conscious of the boredom. At least this time on the ride into Santiago, I can see the scenery for a couple of hours before we get to the terminal at 10.30AM, although to be honest, it isn't that great, nor is it bad. Just so so. I'm afraid I pass the time with nothing much more cultural than playing chess on my mobile phone (I can win at beginner level, but am thoroughly whipped at novice, intermediate and expert levels) and listening to some music.
Arrival into the bus terminal at Santiago occurs precisely 10 minutes after the connecting bus I was aiming for has departed. It's been expected, given we left nearly half an hour after we were scheduled, but nonetheless a bit disappointing. As it turns out, it wouldn't have mattered anyway, as I'm damned if I can find the offices of the company I'm looking for, despite three laps of the terminus. Eventually I resort to the asking at the tourist information office, who kindly point over my shoulder at a counter for international destinations. While it isn't with the company I was looking for, it's with my amigos at Tur Bus, so it'll do.
The counter is clearly labeled "International", and at the end of a row of counters clearly labeled "National". There's a huge queue of people in what appears to be the line for the National buses, so I take a chance and stand off to the side and in front of the International counter. The lady there looks up and I give her my best "enquiring" look, shrug my shoulders and point to the rest of the queue. She shrugs her shoulders as well, which I boldly interpret to mean "I have no idea whether you should stand in the line, but in the meantime, yeah sure, I'll sell you a ticket."
I plunge forward and begin the tricky business of explaining what I'm after. Yep, no problem, I can have a one-way ticket to Mendoza, leaving at 1.30PM. At this point, a rather haughty lady, perhaps in her 60's or so, arrives at the window next to me and begins talking to the lady. She is clearly indignant that the crazy gringo has just pushed his way to the front of the queue which she was otherwise at the front of. The sales lady smiles an apology and looks to the side of me, which I take as suggesting that perhaps I should just stand aside for a few minutes, and then she'll get back to me. No problem – I feel a bit guilty for having pushed in, but then I remind myself that the desk is International, and the other lady is buying a ticket to Valparaiso (definitely a National destination). Ha! I'm not the fool in all of this, but then again, she's the one being served right now…
After she departs, it's back to me, and a short time later, I have my ticket, and only about 2 hours to wait. I make full use of the bathrooms - you pay for just about every public bathroom here in Chile, and while that often guarantees some level of service and cleanliness, it isn't always so. Fortunately today is a good day. Despite being somewhat sleep-deprived, a splash of cold water on my face and neck, a change of shirt and being able to brush my teeth, and I only feel moderately second-hand. Some sugar-laden pastries and an orange juice later, I feel a little bit better again.
I couldn't be happier with my ticket for the bus. It's the row at the front of the bus behind the driver, but on the opposite side of the bus. I settle in, and more and more people board, yet no-one is sitting beside me. Excellent, as there is heaps of leg room, so it's looking like I might have a comfortable trip. One more lady gets on, and yep, she's moving to the seats behind me. All of a sudden, and handbag lands in the seat beside me, which is a bit strange, as it's come from the seat behind. I look around and it seems that the couple sitting behind me are about to be displaced by the lady who just got on. It looks rather like they have booked separated seats. Then she goes for the puppy dog eyes… Would I mind swapping seats with the other of them so that they can be together? What do you say? No, and then have to sit next to one of them in a grump for the entire trip? I roll my eyes, accede to the request, and move from my excellent seat… The two of them settle in and make themselves comfortable… And to add to the excitement, the guy commences sneezing about 15 minutes into the trip, followed by blowing his nose (loudly), which continues for the rest of the trip. Excellent. He has a cold and is now sharing that with the rest of us.
The road up into the mountains begins in straightforward fashion through the valleys and farmlands around Santiago, however before too long, we begin to climb and the road gets windier. It seems that suddenly we're into tight valleys, ravines and towering hills/mountains all around us. Again, it is starkly beautiful. The mountains here are somewhat different to those I've seen in the north. These ones often have sharp, jagged peaks and there is still snow dusted on them. Then the climb begins.
I'd read about this section of road with some enthusiasm. The writer recorded how he had been sick on the seemingly endless switch-backs (corner number 23, from memory), that he'd hurled into his backpack, which had in turn leaked onto his pants, and then he'd had to wait for some period of time before getting to the customs/border control point and being able to change. Any road with the capacity to make someone (who I assume was a seasoned traveler) that ill, not to mention one that has numbered curves reaching into the 30's, must be something to see.
I was not disappointed. My photo's don't do it justice. A relentless series of climbing switchbacks, the shortest of which are maybe only 100m apart, are extraordinary. You feel as though you are endlessly swaying from side to side as the bus swings backwards and forwards as it climbs. It looks as though a whole series of number 8's have been laid (overlapping) on top of each other and that you are looking at it from a 45 degree angle from the side. Another piece of road to add to my list of places to ride the motorbike. I reckon I could spend all day just going up and down here.
Topping it off was the sight of a couple of bicycle riders panting their way up the hill, getting some series altitude and climbing training into themselves! They must be serious riders, as it's hard to imagine the average person being able to put themselves through the altitude and length of the climb. The human body is an amazing thing in that which it can be trained to do.
We arrive at border control and it's fair to say I'm a little nervous. Sure, I've got a nice, shiny new passport, but my other bits and pieces are not the most official looking bits of paper – they look like crappy photocopies now, and I've prepared my speech in Spanish about everything, so as long as they don't ask difficult questions, I hope all goes well. I'm third in the queue, hoping to get it over and done with early…
I honestly don't know why anyone has bothered with all of the paperwork I've been given over the last few months and told that it was absolutely essential that I carry it at all times! Emigration/immigration consisted of handing my passport and emigration card (the new one that I was given when I got on the bus) over at one desk, getting them cursorily examined and stamped by Chile, then waiting 10 seconds while some numbers were thumped into the computer, moving 1.5m to the right, handing the same documents over to Argentina, getting the same 25 seconds of treatment, then it was done. No interest in seeing my old tourist visa or any of my other papers. All over and done with inside 1 minute. When that is complete, I'm ushered off to an area to the side of the building behind a railing, but that isn't so interesting, so it's off to find another bathroom. This one requires the user to decide how much money it's worth paying – I have to say I prefer the fixed price ones (usually around A$0.50), rather than handing over a similar amount and feeling like a cheapskate… Back to the queuing area and it seems all of the bags are coming off the bus and going through an x-ray machine. I enquire as to whether I need to get my bag and put it through myself, but no, it appears that isn't necessary. The bus operators do that for us. Fair enough.
Eventually, we're all ready and we climb back on board the bus, which pulls out of the shed and then parks up again. Taking the opportunity, I get out and take some pictures of my second visit to Argentina. The scenery is stunning. Towering mountains and deep valleys. I kindly elderly lady tries to tell me something about the mountains, but I'm afraid I can't understand a lot of what she is saying. I get to safer ground when she asks me from what country I come from. I smile and tell her that I'm from Copiapo, Chile. While I think it is very funny, she doesn't seem to get it, so I revert to reality and explain I'm from Australia. That seems to make more sense to her and then we leave each other in peace.
We're eventually off again. The lady sitting beside me has bought herself a big greasy hamburger and some other unidentifiable treats and despite being offered one her treats, I decline. Thanks, but no thanks. The road into Argentina is downhill, and there are a surprising amount of buildings along the road. There's a small thermal spring, a number of small ski runs, and plenty of accommodation options, rather than having to go the next few hours down to Mendoza, if the passport stamp was all that is required.
The road drops down and out of the mountains quite quickly once you are in to Argentina, plus given it was getting dark, means there isn't much to write about. Mendoza is sort-of at the foothills of the Andes (you can see the mountains quite easily, but it isn't really at the base of them), and with lots of vineyards around. I'd been given the word that it is very beautiful here, but although it is hard to see given the light, I don't get the feeling it is super beautiful… We'll see what tomorrow brings.
The bus terminus at Mendoza is a scene of chaos and mayhem, with people everywhere. I'm very surprised. My first mission is to obtain a return ticket to Santiago for the morning. I have decided to try with another bus company (a Lonely Planet recommended one), and sure enough, their office is right in front of where we get off the bus. Having reclaimed my bag, and been directly asked for a tip for getting it back (that doesn't happen in Chile with Tur Bus, and it comes as a bit of surprise), off I go. Given that I don't have to be back in Santiago before mid morning on Tuesday for the bus back to Copiapo, I'm hoping for a late afternoon bus. It appears that I'm a bit unfortunate in having run into a large number of Chileno's who've decided to come to Mendoza for the long weekend, and they are all catching the buses that I wanted in the afternoon, so all that is left to me is a 9AM bus, which I decline. Despite searching all of the other bus companies in the terminal, none can offer anything later than 9AM, so back I go and sheepishly ask for that 9AM bus that I recently declined. No problems, says the rather smug ticket seller…
I've made an accommodation booking for tonight at an apartment in Avenida "Alem". I was counting on being able to get some local currency at the bus terminal such that I could catch a taxi once I got here, but unfortunately both machines are devoid of cash, which causes angst to me, as well as the queue's of other people waiting behind me. It would've been nice if the others coming out of the little booth could've mentioned that… I explain to the girl behind me that it has no money, to which she thanks me for the info, then proceeds inside to try her luck anyway. Suit yourself I think to myself…
There is also no person manning the tourist information counter, which is a bummer, so I've got no real orientation information for where to go for Avenida Alem (which is rumoured to be within walking distance), no cash for catching a taxi, and I'm tired. I head out of the terminus, expecting to find the place rather like Chile, which has a bank on just about every corner along with an ATM, however here might be a little different. I walk for half a dozen blocks, worrying a little about where the hell I might be going, before I spy a Sheraton Hotel sticking out above the surrounding buildings. Deciding that there must be some sort of advice I can get from there, not to mention the chance of an ATM and a taxi, I head in that direction. As I get closer, yep, I'm in luck. The streets are getting busy, there's restaurants and shops around. Looking good, except that there still aren't any banks to be found. I walk a little further, find a very busy looking street, a pedestrian plaza lined with restaurants, and just when it looks like I'll have to ask someone where they keep their banks, I find one. And boy, what a find. I enter into a small room filled with about 8 ATM's. The choice is overwhelming. It turns out to be lucky there are that many, because the first 5 that I try have no cash left in them. There must be one hell of a party going on here this weekend, given the amount of cash no longer in the ATM's! Eventually, I find one that is working. The next question is how much money do I want? I have a sinking feeling when I realize I have no idea of the exchange rate between Australian dollars and Argentinian pesos. The I take a bit of a punt from the choices available to me that 500 pesos might be an OK amount, however given that if they were Chilean pesos, I'd have about A$1 on my hands, I'm a little worried.
After leaving the bank with a fist-full of dollars, I try to hail a taxi with no luck. They are all heading in the other direction and full of people. I head to what looks to be a slightly less blocked side street and try again. Success within two minutes and I climb in the back. I pull out my accommodation reservation piece of paper and show the driver. Avenida Alem, por favor. He turns and looks at me and says What? (in Spanish). Avenida Alem, I reply, and point out the address again. THIS is Avenida Alem, he says. No way, I reply. Yep, he says, what number? When I tell him, he points over his shoulder and says, That would be it right there. He then points at his meter and says that I owe him the flag fall amount – about 1.5 pesos. I'm deeply embarrassed to have to explain I have a little problem in that I've just been to the bank and the smallest note I have is a 20 pesos note. Get out of my taxi, he says…
The Apartments are located through a doorway and behind another building, so it wasn't particularly obvious where to go, but I eventually find my way. I'm greeted at the very hip and cool reception area by a very hip and cool Jorge, who gives me the run-down, in Spanish, which I can pretty much follow. It's a funny thing – some people I have much less trouble with than others. Anyway, I give him my usual chat and it all goes quite well. He recommends an area to go for a walk, where there might be some music and dancing, and also a restaurant. Perfecto. My room is excellent and despite the tiny shower, it offers plenty of hot water and a desperately needed shower is just the thing to freshen up.
I head off towards the restaurant. I have six or so blocks to go, and across the town centre plaza. I immediately like this part of Mendoza, at least on a Saturday night. The buildings are beautiful, lots of plane trees in the streets and there are NO DOGS roaming the streets. After Copiapo, that's a blessed relief. Despite it being around 11PM, there's an abundance of people out and about, and the whole place has a very nice vibe to it. I find the plaza with live music and dancing, and it is packed. I'll come back after dinner. One thing to note for other first-timers to Mendoza – watch out for the drains. They're deep, and you could easily lose a small child in them!
The recommended restaurant is also excellent – I dine on the footpath tables and enjoy the nice, warm evening air, and I enjoy a nice Argentinian malbec that was recommended by the waiter. The self-service salad bar is also excellent – the best one I've come across in South America (ooooh, I'm so widely travelled, aren't I – tee hee hee!). The musicians trawling the streets and looking for tips are also excellent. It's just a shame I don't have any smaller money to pass over (it seems to be the done thing here to cough up little bits of cash fairly often to the buskers and even the occasional beggars, so carrying plenty of coins is the go).
After dinner, I head back through the little plaza and watch some of the traditional dancing – the girls and boys are all dolled up in traditional clothes, and it's just fantastic to watch and listen to. It's just a shame I'm feeling so tired and given the early start in the morning, I feel a need to get to bed. Lights out, head down, and I'm out in no time at all…
Adios.
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