Jet Setters

A friend of mine recently referred to our weary band of travelers as a "jet setting family." Which made me fall on the floor and howl. Because, seriously, if you could see our crowd of mini-sherpas shlepping through an airport you'd not be thinking "Ah, jet setting family." More like "Heavens, do those people bathe?"

Me. "Jet Setting." Maybe Honey Badgering would be a more apt description.

And so I shall chronicle for you our least favorite night in Argentina. We arrived, as planned at around midnight at the Buenos Aires International airport. Like many large cities, BA has two airports: domestic and international. I don't know about you, but I've had more than my fair share of pucker inducing gallops between Domestic and International airports. 

Were I to write an open letter to say, Moscow, NYC, or maybe Bangkok, I might request, gently, that perhaps putting all flights in one place might be more efficient for the foreign traveler, who really would like to see your country, but finds the desperate race between airports, fatiguing. 

In this particular case, all of our ducks were lined up, and we had full awareness of what we needed to do, so while it was shaping up to be a ghastly night, at least we were all prepared for a ghastly night.

We failed, however to take into account the mirriad ways travelers around the world may be relieved of their excess cash. It was late, we were tired, and our taxi driver, a chap I shall refer to as Conman Ed (Con Ed for short), saw his opportunity.

As I was hauling the tired children and our luggage out of the taxi, Jeff paid the fare. We knew how much it should have been, Con Ed had confirmed the amount prior to loading us all in his yellow buggy, so it seems a simple transaction, don't you think?

Except, as Jeff handed the man two 100 peso bills, Con Ed did a quick-y switch, flashed two 10 peso bills and told Jeff he was short quite a bit of dinerio, and pay up, dude.

Now, Jeff is not a stupid man, nor is he a dishonest one. He knew instantly exactly what had happened. His crisp, fresh, straight from the ATM 100s had been jammed somewhere safe, these rumply 10s made an appearance and Con Ed was thinking he was going to score big.

Poor Con Ed. Little did he know that we had what most travelers do not have on their side: time. We had all night to wait him out. We were upfront with the dude: "Look, you were paid properly, you are scamming us, and you should be clear, we don't leave here until 5:30 in the morning. We. Will. Wait. You. Out."

Ed did not take us seriously. I packed the kiddles inside, set them up on the luggage for nap time, called the police over and hung out.

 Photo below: me on the other side of the glass window watching the action. Although, there really wasn't much in the way of actual action. The police came. They didn't speak English, they called in a few translators, who brought their friends, because there isn't a lot going on at 1:30 in the morning at the Buenos Aires domestic airport, and then everyone sat around waiting for someone to call "UNCLE." Because, really, it was Jeff's word against Con Ed. There wasn't any 'evidence.' So, what exactly were the police supposed to do?

It took about a hour. Which I would guess gives you a general idea of how much Con Ed makes an hour, because one assumes he finally gave up when he realized that he was losing more than he stood to gain. And, frankly, I think Jeff would have missed the flight rather than fork over money to an extortionist.

Post Con Ed incident, the night past quickly (there wasn't a whole heck lot left after that), although perhaps not in the most restful of slumbers.

And then, at 4:00am, we got in line. No kidding. Check out the line for check in. This seemed fairly typical of anywhere we went in Argentina. The lines were un-believable. Although to be fair, it was something like two days before Christmas, and one assumes even the Toledo airport gets busy at that time of the year. 

Our goal, though, was in sight. We were going to pick up our rental car, drive four hours and arrive on the estancia, to be surrounded by horses and sheep and goats and be fed awesome food, do a little riding, eat ourselves silly and generally have a relaxing, summer-time good time for Christmas.

Which is just about how it all worked out.

 

Comments

[Debbie Hanson]

*snort* What a glamorous band of travelers you are. Honestly, some of the folks waiting in line look a little suspicious. Oh...where's Lamby?

[Ellen]

One imagines under Hope somewhere. ;-)

[Katherine]

Ah, but you disprove your own thesis. How many non-jetsetters would have the knowledge/nerve to face down an airport taxidriver? Speaking on behalf of ripped-off tourists everywhere, Thank You!