Mendoza Musings

To get to Mendoza, we took a 15 hour bus ride from Buenos Aires. The bus was decked out similar to Business class on a plane, with a seat that folded back into a bed. It wasn’t silver service, but it was actually comfortable. Fortunately, we slept most of the way, ignorant of the challenges that were ahead of us. We arrived in Mendoza, a town in the central western part of Argentina, east of the Andes, around 10:45am. We dragged ourselves through the streets of Mendoza, laden like mules with our backpacks, only to discover that our Airbnb apartment did not exist. The address provided to us was nowhere to be seen.

We asked at a nearby hotel, hoping that it was simply an error and that our temporary abode was still waiting for us. A kind woman in the hotel allowed us in and gave us access to their Wi-Fi , which by the way is pronounced wiffy in Spanish. We quickly jumped online to get the contact details of our Airbnb host and tried to make contact. A desperate message sent in an attempt to secure our lodgings for the next two days. No response. A phone call. No connection. Things now were pointing to the real possibility of sleeping on a park bench under the stars and sharing our food with the stray dogs. In a last-ditch effort, still hoping that we would be able to make contact, we kindly asked the Concierge to phone our host. Contact was made. But we did not like the response. Apparently, the non-existent apartment was no longer being rented and she hung up.

Take a few deep breathes and don't panic. You can imagine a few expletives were hurled out at this moment. After a few moments of disbelief, and a couple of “we knew this was going to happen, things are going too smoothly”, we got to work on finding alternative accommodation. At this point, we were prepared to take almost anything. Stopping short of knocking on every hotel or inn as if we were Joseph and Mary, we thought that we might have to stay in a manger because almost every room for rent was unavailable. To our surprise, we found out that a big soccer match was on in town. But persistence paid off and we found one of the few remaining rooms. Phew!

But the drama didn't end there. We had to find the last remaining bed and breakfast in town. We were told to head to Clark street. Upon arrival, we looked at the building and the picture on Airbnb and the two didn't match. Had we been given a bum steer? At this point, we were beyond breaking down in tears. Instead, we stood looking at each other in disbelief. Out of desperation, we rang the buzzer and a voice with a very thick Argentinian accent answered. At first, we had not a clue what he was saying. Then it clicked, he was telling us to enter. We fumbled about trying to communicate that we were looking for a guy called Shane. The doorman mumbled a few things to us and we got the impression that he knew the guy we were looking for. Things started to look promising but we didn't want to get our hopes up. But ten minutes later, an American guy who introduced himself as Shane entered the building. The Bed and Breakfast was actually located a few houses up the street.

At this point, we weren't fussy about what the accommodation looked like as long as it had a bed and shower. We were pleasantly surprised, and very relieved to say the least. After quickly offloading our backpacks, we set out on a mission to find a place that would print-out our bus tickets to Santiago, or risk being denied onboard. But searching for somewhere to print the tickets was almost more difficult than finding a room. Being a Saturday afternoon, on game day, there were only a few places open for business. After trying all the local places, we stumbled upon a hostel. Gingerly, we approached the woman behind the counter. Jason asked: “¿hablas ingles? When she responded in English, Ricky thought Jason was going to leap over the counter and hug her, especially when she said that she could print-out our tickets. Giuliana came to our rescue! We were so grateful for her generosity, but she wouldn't accept any money.

With a place over our heads and our bus tickets to Chile printed, we could enjoy the remaining time we had in Mendoza. Near our accommodation was a large park with a lake and mountain scenery. We walked through the park in an effort to walk off all the panchos and milanesas that we had eaten over the past few days. And of course all of the drinks! We were careful enough to avoid the Gringo Catchers, the name given to the gutters in Mendoza by the locals. The gutters are shallow channels between the footpath and the road. Apparently, drunken foreigners fall down them all the time. We eliminated the chance of falling victim to the Gringo Catcher by drinking at the Bed and Breakfast along with our new friends, David and Terrie, from Canada. At least our misfortunes had taken a turn for the better, with new friends and a gift voucher from Airbnb for the inconvenience.

Next stop: SantiagoRead more