On Busses

Cross country busses are not so much a thing in the U.S. I mean, I've taken the Megabus to Chicago like everyone and their mother, but the idea of riding 40 hours to California is foreign and strange. DRIVE, FLY, TRAIN. In Argentina (and the rest of South America), though, busses are the norm. In countries full of backpackers with too much gear and "sense of adventure" to fly and not enough money to drive, countries with terrible train systems (they exist but let's be real S.A. is no Europe), busses are it. And they're surprisingly posh -- even the worst I've taken has a more comfortable seat than an airplane, they always show films, and sometimes they have Bingo games or free bottles of champ. Sometimes, however, they are slow and hot and AGONIZINGLY LONG.

The trip to Patagonia consisted of five separate bus rides with varying degrees of interesting landscapes and internal misery. Bus number one from Bariloche was the first in which I was given food. Flan! Twice! and two ham sandwiches for lunch -- one with jamon crudo on a croissant and one on white bread with regular ham. This was very funny to me.

The bus also showed The Dark Knight in English, without subtitles. Great for us, likely quite annoying for the other 85% of the passengers. We arrived in Bariloche excited and fully sated.

Bus number two took us from Bariloche to El Chalten down Ruta 40. It took 30 hours. That's two overnights. Ruta 40 is unpaved, so the regular two-level bus is not an option (too dangerous/wobbly), nor is food service. We traveled at an agonizing 20km/hr, stopping to sit on the bus stop curb of Perito Moreno (note: the town is about 13 hours away from the glacier, and in no way majestic) for three hours about halfway through. Kat took Benedryl and said funny things, and a smelly man accused me of stealing his cookies. Other than that, nothing of note happened with that day and 1/4 of my life.

Our trip from El Calafate to Ushuaia began at 3am -- rather than booking a hostel, we decided to stay at a bar until 2:30 and then head directly to the bus station without sleeping. After a transfer in Rio Gallegos (which, by the way, looks ASTONISHINGLY like a medium-sized Minnesota town, Becker maybe) at 7:30am -- juuuuuust enough time to fall asleep and be woken, we began the second half of the journey to Ushuaia, set to arrive at 9pm. We had big plans to get seafood upon arrival (it was a port town, and a lenten Friday) and walk around before settling into our hostel. PLANS THAT FELL TO PIECES. Two hours waiting for an exit stamp at the Argentina-Chilean border, 25 minutes driving, then another hour for an entrance stamp, trip to the Magellanic strait, where we got off the bus then on the bus then off again in a 2.5 hour ferry-crossing process, then after more slow driving, another two-part border crossing and five more hours to the destination. We finally arrived at 2:45am, almost 24 hours after we'd left El Calafate. APPARENTly no seafood restaurants are open at 2:45.

These trips, though seemingly full enough of foibles, are also apparently nothing compared to those in Bolivia and Ecuador -- I spoke with two friends last night who had just arrived back to Buenos Aires from a month of traveling around Bolivia. They listened with polite empathetic faces while I told of the Slowest Trip in the World, then described the three broken tires, bus accident, and week-long bus cancellation they had experienced. Sooo I'll count my blessings while I'm still in a semi-developed country, I guess, and anticipate the adventures to come in June.

Tonight I take a 40-hour ride to Rio, crossing the border about halfway in (at Iguazu, though I presume there's no pit stop to walk around the Falls) and arriving Sunday afternoon. BUT this bus has cama seats and food service, and I have a charged ipod and a book to read. Plus who KNOWS what hot Brazilians will be riding next to me m.i.right??