Strikes, fires, and delayed busses in Argentina
So, funny story. We never made it to Salta last night because of some bus complications….like a strike with men burning things in the street and blocking our bus for 5 hours while we listen to a guy from France call us “gringos” as if he is not a member of this category. Either way, I think Steve summed up our evening pretty eloquently in his email, so I´ll just refer to his words:
“Right now I am sitting in Resistencia, Argentina. We are on our way to Salta for a couple days, then leaving Argentina behind for good and heading north to Bolivia and the Salar de Uyuni (Big salt flats, pretty pictures, etc.). We should technically be in Salta right now, but our bus journey from Asuncion to Resistencia was interupted for 5 hours by a protest in the middle of the street about 20 miles from Resistencia. 20 miles outside of Resistencia is flat, green, and desolate… except of course for the 100 or so people camped out burning tires in the street and refusing to let traffic pass in either direction. Fortunately, they only do that about 5-6 hours a day, and we pulled up for a front row view. I know I have ranted a few times about the excellent bus rides we inevitably seem to have, but please humor me for one more. To compliment this little exercise in freedom of speech and the right to congregate, we had a very talkative Frenchmen sitting behind us. Back when we were crossing the border from Paraguay to Argentina, he was gleeking out a bit because we had our luggage X-rayed. He informed us that they do not do that between France and Germany, and I congratulated him on his faith in the Germans… He then asked us where we were from. Apparently the only “Gringos” in the world come from the United States because he began to smile like a guy with a royal flush and more or less yelled “Gringos, Gringos, Norteamericano gringos!”. We turned around and boarded the bus while he was doing his little dance. We are gringos huh?, and the crazy, bald, near sighted Frenchmen who had a caffiene enema before we left Asuncion qualifies as? Don´t ask me how this next part happened, but the bus conductor was handing back our passports, and Mr. Chirac (I will call him this only because I never got his real name) got his hands on ours. He jokingly gives me his while spewing another string of “Gringos”. Finally, upon geting our passports back from him, he seems to settle down. The peace only last until a police check point a few miles away from the border. The officer asks for ID, and while Mr. Chirac is showing his, he starts whispering “gringos…. norteamericanos…. gringos” between or seat. Fortunately, the border patrol only gave him the “what the f”&$” look and didn’t give us any trouble. Honestly, I´ve had about enough of this wise guy, but in truth I am pretty sure he was just midly brain damaged, because he wasn’t acting aggressive. This brings us pretty much back to the Strike and the middle of the road and by this time I had realized that he didnt speak english and took the opportunity to tell him a few things with a great big smile on my face that may have led me into a fist fight back home. In response, he simply related a story about how he once had to kill a goat in Bolivia for food because their bus broke down for two days in the rain. Ahhh, the joys of traveling….”
Well said
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