| Submitted by: Edward Unruh, United States |
| Submission Date: 28 March 2005 |
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It had already been 5 days since we first set our feet on Argentine soil. Those first 5 days were a smorgasbord of self planned tours, including an overnight trip from Buenos Aires to Uruguay by hover-craft ferry, and a subway ride underneath downtown Buenos Aires to San Telmo. We utilized each and every wake filled hour, engaging ourselves in this historical European culture that candidly displayed the genuine identity of its people.
The economic collapse-merely 3 months earlier-was a major setback for the country's commerce and to all of the people of Argentina. Since public protests began on December 19, 2002-in reaction to government restrictions on public access to individual bank accounts-the government had already gone through 4 presidents, before settling, grudgingly, on Eduardo Duhalde.
The week before our arrival the decision was made to devalue the peso and allow it to run independently. United States currency had been the benchmark for the Argentinean peso for more than a decade up to that point, with the peso pegged identically to the U.S. dollar. Now the peso was only worth half as much!
Ironically-at this time in history-Argentina; meaning "land of Silver," anxiously waits, as the national currency continues a full free float. The expectations are that the exchange rate will eventually equal as much as 3.50 pesos per U.S. dollar.
Argentina is the second largest country in South America. The country has a diverse landscape including, fertile plains, high mountains, tropical forests, windy plateaus and busy seaports.
Buenos Aires is the capital of Argentina and one of the worlds greatest cities.
Most Argentina and Buenos Aires people are of European descent and the national language is Spanish.
Prior to our trip I had used the Internet for booking reservations at the Hotel Victory in downtown Buenos Aires. Little did I realize that, what seemed to be such a good price-booking on-line-in fact turned out to be more expensive than the local rate! I still believe it wise to book at least the first night in advance, simply for piece of mind. I can't imagine, flying into a country so different from any other I have ever experienced without a hotel reservation.
The eleven hour overnight flight was rather long and even though we had slept some, we were still rather tired as the plane touched down at Eziezi International Airport, near Buenos Aires. But feeling the warmth of that humid February summertime morning, as we made our way off the airplane, somehow sufficiently re-energized us.
Scarcely a moment after our arrival-a remise driver snatched us out of the sea of chaotic travelers-assertively insisting his loyalty to us, as he directed us towards the carousel for our baggage.
As we stood there at the curb, watching our hired driver, toss our luggage into his car trunk, the authenticity of where we were, was now absolutely obvious. We snapped out of our stupor when the driver prompted us in Spanish to get into his car. My Spanish-being somewhat more than insufficient-was merely a minor handicap to our driver. We realized he had dealt with many tourists before as he confidently reassured us, he knew exactly where the Hotel Victory was.
The concierge masterfully snatched up all of our belongings and whisked us into the hotel, pausing at the front desk, to allow us to check in. It became apparent to us that this country had a service oriented society.
Later that day-we explored the vast city of 16 million inhabitants-walking along-side locals, who were also shopping the pedestrian only streets of Florida and Lavalle avenues. The sidewalk cafes were great resting places when we felt the need to rest our weary feet. Occasionally poorly dressed beggars would ask us for money, and we would just ignore them to discourage their persistence. Although, I do remember giving to one old lady. She had a note that was scribbled in Spanish explaining her health problems. I told her in English that I couldn't read her note. She was prepared for my English and promptly flipped the note over to the English version. The waiter-convinced she was faking-kindly but sternly admonished me for being too compassionate. I'm sure the restaurant dealt with these people all the time.
I am absolutely fascinated with subways in large cities, so the next day we caught a train to the barrio of San Telmo. The "Supte" as the locals call it was old fashion, convenient and clean. We found ourselves in a neighborhood where many establishments sold antiques and the town square had a huge neighborhood flea market. There were some interesting items that look to be antiques, but the sellers always wanted too much. We did however find a couple of souvenirs as we wandered around, enjoying the barrio for the entire afternoon.
The next day we took a taxi to the barrio of Palermo. Palermo was said to be similar to New York City's Greenwich Village, but it certainly had a unique twist to it's American counterpart! The streets were very narrow and the buildings were all just three stories high. Bustling sidewalk café's and Bar's were on every corner. We spent the afternoon and evening lounging around several establishments, sipping on Argentine beer.
A few weeks before our trip to Argentina, we had many people ask us if we were afraid to go since the economy was disintegrating, and the media was reporting protests and riots almost daily. We only felt minor concern for our own safety-just as we would in any foreign country-where a person must use common sense to stay out of trouble.
On our fifth day, we went to "Motocare," to meet with Mariano. We were really excited, knowing our cross country trip-ultimately ending up in Vina Del Mar, Chile along the pacific ocean-was to begin that very same day!
We packed everything onto the 1100 Honda Shadow as Mariano finished up the legal documents we would need to carry with us.
As promised, Mariano exchanged two hundred U.S. dollars for peso's at a 1 to 1.7 rate. We still had several hundred pesos on hand and planned to buy everything in Peso's. We had already experienced a lousy exchange rate when we tried to use United States dollars, so now we knew how to get the best price for our buck .
Riding the Shadow out of Buenos Aires was really not as difficult as I expected. Libertador street, was a pretty good sized boulevard with plenty of traffic. It stretched out-starting at the city center merely 3 blocks from the Hotel Victory-for miles towards the northwest. Eventually we made it to the entrance of the Auto Pista ocho, or Interstate 8 as we call it here in the U.S. Now we understood more clearly that our adventure was finally indeed happening!
We stayed on ruta ocho until the small suburban town of Pilar, where the 4 lane highway turned to 2.
We were already familiar with Pilar since we had been there 2 days prior, thanks to Sebastian's hospitable generosity.
Sebastian (he is part owner of Patagonia Motorcycle Tours) along with his girlfriend, Sophia had been super nice to us that day! I do mean super nice too! Tell me how many of you would let some total stranger...namely me...ride your Harley Davidson, Road King through the city streets of Buenos Aires and for 150 plus kilometers to Pilar and back? Especially since motorcycles (called moto's by the locals), are valued at twice as much in Argentina.
Sebastian...best regards forever to you for letting me ride your Harley that day and introducing us to some of your best friends! I only hope I can return the favor some day here in Minnesota!
We gassed up the Shadow, and filled up on some food, then rode back out onto Ruta 8, to continue towards the town of Firmat, where we intended to stay-over that night. It was then that I realized that there really weren't many express highways in this country. The best news was that finally traffic had become less intense.
In many ways the countryside reminded us of the farmland back home. There were corn and soybean fields everywhere. Although, the trees were different and the birds in the trees definitely seemed peculiar.
Later that afternoon-there was a stretch of roadway for about 35 miles-that had absolutely gigantic potholes strewn about so frequently that we could only go about 20 miles an hour. I felt if I miscalculated my position even once, I could end up riding into a pothole, and was certain the impact would be enough to damage the moto's front forks.
After riding only 325 kilometers, we made it to Firmat. The lack of riding time previous to that day really showed on us, as we climbed off the Shadow at a gas station. The Shadow was going to take some getting use to.
Next thing you know we were following the gas station attendant, who so willingly volunteered to take us to the Hotel Posta Juarez. He assured us it was the best hotel in town and we believed him! His gracious behavior was another of many reasons why we were slowly but surely, falling in love with Argentina.
Everywhere in Argentina the city streets were narrow with no stop signs at the intersections. The streets in Firmat were all one-way, so once I knew which way traffic was flowing, I would look either right or left and proceed. This turned out to be the same in every small to mid-sized town. The bigger cities-due to congestion-had traffic lights to prevent accidents.
At first, it appeared that motorists just seemed to know when they could go without getting into accidents. But then we noticed big round mirrors posted at all the intersections, which people used to determine when it was clear to proceed.
Firmat-a population of around 15 thousand-was bustling with activity all night long. There were many young people out on the streets, riding mopeds and small motorcycles, as well as older people driving older American cars.
For what ended up being $25.00 (45 Argentine pesos) we had a very nice room. In Argentina--Elevators start at the ground floor levels at zero instead of one, like we do here in America. So in other words-if we stayed on the 2nd floor in a Argentina hotel-in the U.S. we would actually be on the 3rd floor. It surprisingly makes more sense, that way, as I think about it.
Another notable difference was the European style toilets. For those of you who don't know what I mean-it has to do with the second commode in each bathroom where a person is to use it simply for cleaning off with soap and water instead of wiping with toilet paper and flushing the paper down. I personally find the system cleaner.
After settling comfortably into our room, we decided to go down and check out the hotel's restaurant.
We ordered beer and were brought an enormous combination of cold cuts with cheese, olives, peanuts, pretzel sticks and some kind of yellow beans. By now, we had run into problems several times-trying to communicate with people-knowing how to say very few words in Spanish. Everyone was so nice and patient as we struggled to pronounce their espanol properly.
One of the girls who was waiting tables knew a little English and she tried to help us speak with the other girl working there, who was so excited about us traveling cross country by moto. Turned out her boyfriend had a moto and she told us how they had taken a long trip to Brazil once.
We were up early the next morning, and after a quick breakfast consisting of the same kind of croissants we had eaten every morning since our arrival in Argentina, and strong coffee with warm milk we hopped on the moto and were once again on our way.
Prior to that day, I had been warned that each provincial border had check points with guards, and I made up my mind that for the first couple of days we would stay on the smaller country roads not only to avoid check points, but also to enjoy the most rural images of the country. |
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| Copyright © - "Edward Unruh" |
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