THE TRIP FROM HELL

LESSONS FROM AN OVERNIGHT BUS TRIP BETWEEN MENDOZA and CÓRDOBA

  

      1. Do not believe everything you read on the Internet. 

 

An allegedly comprehensive Argentine website, Plataforma 10, provides clear information in table form about all inter-city bus trips, organized by time of departure and listing all bus lines with service between two points. 

I found CATA had exactly what I wanted:  a bus trip leaving Mendoza at 20:00 and arriving in Córdoba early the next morning.  It said there were three options for seats: “Cama” which is a regular seat with a 140 degree recline; Cama Ejecutivo, which is plumper, has more leg room, and a 160 degree recline, and Cama Suite with a work station/desk and 180 recline.  I wanted the Cama Ejecutivo for my husband, two friends, and me.

It was impossible to buy tickets on line, despite what was advertised.  I tried for two weeks before leaving home, then asked a travel agent in Lima with whom we have worked for six years to try.  He had no better luck.  He could get to the point of entering the credit card data and then it was rejected, without explanation.

So, when we got to Mendoza I went to the bus station and talked with a very nice agent at the CATA ticket office to whom I showed the information I had written down from the Internet. To my relief, there were four seats available on the desired bus. 

The information from Plataforma 10 had specified that the bus departed at 20:00 and had two classes of seats, Cama and Cama Ejecutivo.  I also had the price written down for the latter. 

No problem, he said and showed me the seating diagram with the remaining seats.  I NEVER choose lower seats on a double-decker bus because there is much more noise and vibration from the wheels.  I asked if the front seats were directly behind the front windshield, then said I would take seats further back to reduce the amount of light—from headlights—during the night. He smiled and agreed that was a good idea.

He printed the tickets and highlighted the details.  I did not look closely at the print-out.  BIG mistake.  I departed, happy that I had been able to get the trip and seats I wanted only two days before departure.

 

2.       Confirm that what you thought you were getting is what you have been given.

We arrived at the terminal at 19:25, 35 minutes, we thought, before departure.  Our bags were immediately loaded, tickets checked, got on board, and were barely seated when the door closed and the bus pulled out.  For a moment I panicked, thinking we were on the wrong bus.  But the agent had carefully reviewed the tickets in front of me so I pulled out the stubs and confirmed that departure was on time. Oops.

As our tickets were being checked I asked the agent if there were many stops.  “Muchos”, he replied—not the answer I expected.  I assumed there could be stops in the main cities between Mendoza and Cordoba—3-4 at the most.  “Many” was not good news.  It had not occurred to me to ask how many stops because I just assumed the number would be limited.  This was not a naïve guess but based on a rough calculation of the distance between the two cities and the time required to drive the distance. 

As I stepped in the bus I turned to climb the stairs when the agent said, “Abajo”. Downstairs.  And our seats were directly over the rear wheels.  And they inclined only 140 degrees.  If I had been in a room with china, I would have begun throwing things. The president of CATA is going to get a letter.

3.       Read carefully the ticket.

If I had carefully read the ticket I would have known that departure was at 19:30, not 20:00, as advertised.  That might had led me to ask other questions. 

  

4.      Confirm every detail of what you think you are getting. To wit: 

a.       Are the seats up or down? (Arriba o abajo)

b.       Are these seats cama ejecutivo? 

c.       How many stops are there?

d.       What are the services on board? As in food and drink—and maybe even WiFi.

I would have known that we would get alfajors  (the great Argentine pastry) and Pepsi or water       to drink soon after departure.  That, and a stop at 23:00 would give us dinner (only Argentines eat dinner at 11 p.m.) consisting of grated carrots, a small piece of white bread—no butter, mashed potatoes, a breaded chicken cutlet that my husband told me I really didn’t want to eat on a bed of French fries, another alfajor, and more Pepsi.  Or water.  

5.  Bring earplugs. 

 Then there are the movies. David wanted to bet me that they would be really bad, violent flicks—as they are on the buses between Guatemala City and San Salvador.  I refused because I didn’t want to lose. To my surprise, however, they were both dramas—not that I was paying enough attention to tell what they were about. Our friend Wayne later said that the second film was—probably—“Rocky IV”—30 years old.  Shortly after the first movie began, with the sound blaring, I yelled, from the back seat, “¡Baja el sonido!”  Lower the sound.  The attendant did.  

With the second film it was even louder.  This time I climbed out of my seat, marched up the stairs and told him to lower the sound. “One can’t think, much less sleep, with this noise” I said in Spanish.  “OK, OK”.  And the sound went down once again—not enough but at least not deafening.  Mercifully, there were no more movies.

So there I was, barreling along on a bus heading east but with no idea where we were or what the route was.  I knew only that a mostly sleepless night stretched endlessly before me, which meant that our day in Córdoba would be spent recovering instead of enjoying some of the pleasures that this lovely city has to offer—like three museums. 

ANDEAN ADVENTURE - Part II

The trip began promisingly. We left Uspallata on a road bordered by ancient trees, some of whose trunks three of us could not have gotten our arms around. Less than a kilometer along the road was partly blocked with signs. “Danger!” “Rough Road” Wiser heads would have turned around. We did not.

Soon after I spotted a group of shrines on the hillside and, having told our friends, Susan and Wayne Hidalgo, about the three "popular saints" of Argentina--Gaucho Gill, the Difunta Correa (dead courier), and Ceferino--here suddenly were shrines to two of them: Gil and Correa (see their stories in another post).  

Less than two minutes after leaving I saw something I had been seeking for five years: a shrine to Ceferino Namucurá, the son of a Mapuche chief in Argentina who went to Italy to study for the priesthood but, tragically, died of TB at age 18. Ceferino is the only one of the three with any relation to the Catholic Church and was declared venerable by Pope John Paul II in 1972—the first Latin American to receive this honour. This was a lovely shrine with interesting gifts--one a giant, stuffed Snoopy. 

After Ceferino the road alternated between decent gravel surface, occasional pavement (very briefly) and washed-out areas of the road that forced us to follow existing tire-tracks and occasionally make our own.  David is nothing if not determined and we drove 28 kilometers until we came to a wash-out that we could not ford. For much of the way, we were in the Villavicencio Nature Reserve, as signs periodically reminded us. 

 

We're lucky we weren't arrested.

Along the way I kept wondering where the guanacos were and we were finally rewarded. First a group of four, then a herd of almost a dozen. We would later see a female with her baby, too far away for a picture. 

We also passed a mine—apparently in active operation because of the new signage but with no evidence of activity and a few dozen meters further along a stone frame with two wooden sluices jutting out.  

 At a cross road we encountered a Via Crusis--Way of the Cross--with giant crosses planted in the ground stretching over a half-kilometer. In the opposite direction was what seemed to be an observatory--but pictures revealed to be a large microwave transmission station. 

Further on I spotted a red blob in a tree--a Zorro--one of the magnificent raptors that grace the Andes. 

Then there was a wide, dry river bed—with a red car half-buried in the sand. It did not survive the flood. 

 As we were making the decision to turn around, two pick-up trucks appeared, one with Argentine the other with Chilean plates. They carefully but easily crossed the washout--emphasizing the impossibility for us.  I went to ask about the road and, alas, they had been forced to turn round by an impassable wash-out.  I asked if we could accompany them back, driving between the two trucks...just in case. They readily agreed and we made a U-turn.  Little did we know how fortuitous the arrangement would be. 

The cyclist is a Brazilian who thought he could make it all the way through. Wrong. He, like us, is on the way back to Uspallata.

The two middle-aged men were jolly, outgoing, roll-with-the-punches sorts. A young man was nice and charming. There were also two women and two children.  We couldn't figure out the relationships but more pressing issues developed.

The first was that thee lead truck took a wrong turn and found itself around a bend it had difficulty backing out of.  We had followed and got half way around the bend, then had difficulty backing out.  We finally made it with a lot of help and direction from our friends. I told them the Pisco Sours were on us when we got back to Uspallata.  The truck took longer because the narrow road made it difficult to turn.  But, finally he did and we were on our way again.  

Wayne Hidalgo directing traffic.

Until.... David swung too far to right and plowed into a small berm left by a recent Caterpillar. David's later comment: "He must have been drunk when he plowed this road." It took two of us shoveling out dirt from around the front right tire, then three men and one of the women pushing as David put it in reverse to free the car.  "OK," I said, "it's up to 10 Pisco Sours!" Everyone laughed. And we were back on the road. 

No more near disasters befell us and just outside Uspallata the lead truck pulled over and stopped.  I got out and went over to the driver's window and asked them if they had time for a Pisco Sour.  "I never had one!" he said, laughing., "but I'm willing to give it a try!"  

We found a restaurant on the highway in Uspallata (there are several) and pulled enough tables and chars together for what turned out to be a party of eleven.  And what a party.  We all introduced ourselves. It was two brothers and their wives with the young adult son from one family and two pre-teens, a boy and girl, from the other.  

To our astonishment. the restaurant didn't serve Pisco Sours.  But, not to worry.  Between the great Malbec wine that Mendoza produces and Quilmes beer, no one went thirsty. Introductions gave way to riotous banter about our adventure and travel in general. 

One brother and his son are architects, practicing in Córdoba.  At my request Simón, the son, gave us the names and location of three museums in the city--where we will be in two days.  The other brother, his wife and two children live in Santiago because his work took him there three years ago.  We hope to see them on our next trip to Chile--just two months from now.

So, a trip we had thought would take seven hours ended up taking 13. We fell into bed exhausted, but still grinning over the extraordinary encounter that came out of an ill-considered road trip.

David’s pronouncement at the end of the day:  We will never again drive on an unpaved road in anything less than a 4x4. Lesson learned.