I’d rather be in Ischigualasto than La Rioja bus station for 12 hours, Day 76
We know there is a bus to Mendoza at 7:40 am, but after our recent night bus adventure and yesterday’s long excursion to Talampaya and Ischigualasto (6 am to 11 pm), nothing short of a natural disaster will drag us from our beds before the 11 am check-out.
We pack and take a taxi to the bus station on the outskirts of town. There’s some confusion as to when the next bus to Mendoza departs. Apparently one goes at 1.40 pm and another at 2 pm, which of course makes no sense. The kicker, though, is that both are full. The next bus to Mendoza with seats available is 11.15 this evening – 11 hours away and another uncomfortable overnight bus journey looms. Reluctantly, we buy tickets and remain at the station since there is a restaurant and an internet café. We have a brunch of empanadas with Pepsi and then waste a few hours on the internet trying to arrange accommodation and tours for the future. The local kids are most unhappy that Christi and I are monopolizing the only two working computers. When we do leave they jump on and start playing violent, gory video games – and these kids look about 6 years old.
Back in the café we order dinner (it’s a terrible grisly beef and mash potato), write our diaries, and watch music videos. Nelly Furtado’s Manos Al Aire (Hands in the Air) is replayed time and time again. And even though it’s sung in Spanish I can’t help humming along after a while. Plus she does a mini-striptease, so what’s not to like! Having said that time drags horribly. Sods law the bus to Mendoza is late and there are further delays as the bus company, AUT San Juan, has lost a passenger’s bags. All hell breaks loose, which makes me wary about the ultimate fate of our packs as I watch them being deposited into the hold. We have the last two semi-cama seats at the back of this mediocre bus – and mine won’t recline. Christi magnificently takes one for the team giving me the aisle seat, which does recline. Across the aisle a mother holds a grumpy, wining child of 7 or 8 years of age on her lap when he clearly needs his own seat. It’s just one of those days – and one of those nights. A long, long night when Christi and I would rather be anywhere than sitting on an uncomfortable in the middle of nowhere in Northwest Argentina. Talampaya and Ischigualasto are now distant dreams…
Blog post written by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart, a gut-wrenching, heart-wrenching, laugh-wrenching tale
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