Making the Flight

I just got back from a six day excursion away from Buenos Aires. I´ve showered for the first time in a few days. I´ve brushed my teeth with a faucet, the first time i´ve done that in a few days.

As some of you know, my emotional state has not exactly been what you would call stable as of late. So when I make decisions, I should probably sleep on it or at least give it some time before I act on an impulse. Well, I haven´t really been that logical recently.

On Friday, I decided to visit my friends in Santa Cruz de la Sierra in Bolivia. I made this decision at 2:15 in the afternoon. I knew there was a flight leaving EZE, the airport in Buenos Aires, at 4:00. As many of you know, once I make a decision, it´s tough to pry the idea out of my head. So I gathered my things(I brought a small backpack that I had purchased here in BsAs), asked that the attendant at the hostel retrieved my passport out of the lockbox, and was on my way at 2:30.

I immediately waved down a cab. I asked him how long it would take to get to the airport and how much it would cost. 45 minutes he told me and 40 pesos. I told him I would give him 50 pesos if he could get me there in half an hour. He turned off his meter and we were off.

I made the decision to try to go to Bolivia this weekend because I wanted a chance in Buenos Aires of putting together some semblance of a life, of continuity, for the next month. I had originally scheduled to go to Santa Cruz next weekend, but I was concerned that by doing this, my time in BsAs would be too fragmented, and that I would never have a fair shot of having something of a life here. So I tried to make it.

Mind you, there were a multitude of reasons that going to Bolivia was a bad idea. (1) I didn´t yet have a ticket. (2) There was a good chance that there either wasn´t space on the flight or that I would not make the time of departure (3) My friends in Bolivia didn´t know I was coming, and there was a possibility they wouldn´t be there. (4) I hadn´t gotten any vaccines and I´m pretty sure that the goverment or some health organization recommends that you get at least a yellow fever vaccine before you enter Bolivia. So all in all, not my best decision. But that didn´t stop me from going. Like I said, I´m in a very emotional state.

So the taxi zooms through the streets of Buenos Aires then along the highway on our way to the airport. As we´re about 5 kilometers away, the taxi driver informs me that the gas meter indicator is below empty. I ask him if there are any gas stations around the airport. He says he´s not sure. I figure there must be.

We end up arriving to the airport at 3:10. I ask an airport worker where the counter to Aerosur (the company of the flight) is located and I am off. When I arrive, I see that the check-in for the flight to Santa Cruz ended at 3:00. I ask a worker at Aerosur if there´s any chance I can buy a ticket for the flight. He tells me no. I ask again, and he tells me to run over to some office to see if they will permit me to buy a ticket. I run over to where he directs me, but can´t find an office. I run back to the man I spoke to before, pleading with him to let me on the flight. He talks to someone else who finally informs me that there is space on the plane and that he will consult with his boss to see if I can buy a ticket.

Remember, this is Argentina. No rules are unbreakable. Buying a ticket for an international flight and boarding the plane inside an hour of departure is not as bad as the same would sound in the US.

So the guy consults his boss, and finally he lets me buy a ticket. He informs me of the price. Pretty expensive, but the same as I would pay if I had bought the ticket a month in advance. All in all, not that bad. Roundtrip.

The guy gets my information, prints out my ticket. It´s 3:30. I get my ticket and then rush to the gate. Security takes a minute. Paying a tax to use the international terminal is another minute. Glad they take credit card.

I board the plane and am sitting in my assigned seat by 3:35, less than 90 minutes after I had made the decision to go. Feeling pretty good.

As I´m sitting in my seat, I think about if I paid for the flight. I used my credit card for the tax, but never gave the airlines that information. They told me how much it would cost, but definitely never collected said amount. Hmmm. Nope, I definitely didn´t pay. And I´m sitting in my seat. Should I tell anybody. No.

Didn´t really matter, because apparently the airlines realized their mistake and a stern-looking airport official ordered me to deboard the plane and hand over my credit card, which I did. He told me that I could reboard the plane when it turned out that the card went through and he went off running, and I waited at the gate outside the plane.

3:50. Still not back. Shit, I might not make this flight now if this guy doesn´t return soon. Finally, at 3:53, this guy returns and informs me that my card went through. He makes me sign the receipt. He then informs me that there´s another tax that I have to pay to the airlines for an international flight and that this must be paid en efectivo (cash). I have pretty much no cash on me. No American money (I realized during this trip that not having American money on me was a huge mistake - it would save me later on). 12 pesos. This tax was 40 pesos. Mi falta 28 pesos.

At that moment, it seemed as though i might not make this flight, very sad after all that i had been through in the past couple hours. There were no ATMs around, and it seemed as though there were no options for me.

Then, something incredible happened. One of the airport employees, out of the goodness of his heart, felt sorry for me, and pulled out his wallet and paid the 28 pesos that I couldn´t. Bless this man´s heart. Taken aback by this man´s charity, I tried to thank him as best I could in my Castellano (Spanish) and asked him if he would be here on Monday when I returned so I could pay him back. He told me yes, and to get going or I would miss my flight. So at 3:57, I reboarded.

Minutes later, we were off to Bolivia...