go back to go ahead

My grandfather told me that life is like baseball. You’re part of a team, but frequently you have to stand up to bat alone. I’ve got a new one for you, Jim: life is like soccer…often you have to make some backward passes in order advance the ball.

Retroceding helps you find channels to advance / make progress that weren’t open the first time around.

Case in point: travelling to Mendoza, Argentina.

Friday evening I get home from work around 8 after having taught a class that ran longer than usual across town in Providencia. A skilled procrastinator by nature, obviously I hadn’t packed for my 10:30 bus to Mendoza, nor did I have even one pair of clean undergarments for the aforementioned journey. Laundry’s a drag, and knowing I wouldn’t want to do more on the way back from Mendoza, I did it all which took me a little bit longer to get done than I had anticipated. In spite of the lack of preparation I got everything for the trip squared away and “ON TIME”, or so I thought. It takes 25 minutes to get to the bus station and I left giving myself 35. What ensued left me more frustrated than Kanye West after he got snubbed at the Grammys.

In my last entry I gave extensive praise to the excellent Metro of Santiago. Somebody who works for the metro reads my blog, took insult to what I said about the women of Chile and messed up my night…just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean people aren’t out to get you, right Dad?

I hop on Santiago’s formerly stellar now re-categorized as slightly above average Metro and we go from Santa Ana to Los Heroes no problem, Los Heroes to Republica as smooth as can be. I’m feeling easy looking at my cell phone clock with 18 minutes to spare thinking I’ll arrive at the bus terminal with ten minutes left over, already putting Jimmy Eat World’s 16 minute, melodically deambulating “Goodbye Sky Harbor” on my mp3 quicklist to put me to sleep on the bus. We take off from Republica at normal speed and 5 seconds later the metro comes to an abrupt halt. Everyone’s looking around confused as this NEVER happens on the Santiago Metro. After five minutes a woman gets on the loudspeaker and thanks everyone for their patience while the complication is being resolved without giving an explanation as to what’s going on. So we sit for 10 minutes and my once serene expression gradually turns to one of obvious perturbation. Unable to resolve the problem they put our train in reverse, backing into Republica. The doors open and I’m out, up the stairs and onto the street looking frantically for a taxi. One stops I tell him the bus station and “pisalo”, step on it. As the long distance busses (the equivalent to our Peter Pan or Greyhound) always run late, being five minutes late I was still hopeful to make the bus. As I walk up to lane 22 where my bus should be my heart sinks as the bus for Puerto Montt is sitting where mine should be. The driver of the bus tells me that they probably parked the bus somewhere else and to ask at the information counter which I do. They kindly inform me with a very short and bitter explanation about the whereabouts of my bus, “ya fue”, it already left.
I then ask the garrulous gentleman what my options are and he just looks at me with a blank stare. “ya fue, lo perdiste”, the bus left and I lost my money. He turns away, and after a second his words hit me, and I ask him with flames shooting out of my eyes what do you mean I just lost 70 bucks? Not wanting to argue he tells me to take it up with the man at window one, window one handles the complaints. So I explain the metro situation to a very disinterested man at window one who tells me that they can give me a 50% discount on a new ticket to Mendoza, to which I ask him what kind of scam TUR BUS is running where a guy misses his bus by 5 minutes and you gouge him for 50% on his next ticket. I told him that Pullman Bus, their main competition, had refunded 100% of my ticket when I was late with them in the past. Not making a new friend with the man at window one insinuating that his is a company of scam artists he then informs me that legally they don’t have to give me any sort of discount. As it turns out he was correct, but the way he said it just really rubbed me the wrong way. So I turn around take two steps and yell at the top of my lungs “Concha su f****** madre” (an odd mix of English and Chilean curses which left everyone with puzzled looks on their faces, though I’m positive my frustration came across). So I pace around the terminal for 5 minutes and go back to window one with my tail between my legs begrudgingly agreeing to pay 50% of a new ticket to Mendoza. It only ran me an extra 15 bucks but being a stubborn Irish / Pollok hybrid, the principle of it all really chapped my rear end.

It was now 11:20 and I bought a ticket for the next day at 7:30. I leave with plenty of extra time in advance the next morning and arrive to the bus a half hour before departure. As I’m sitting, waiting for the bus to fill, a man occupies the seat next to me, and as is common courtesy when you are going to sit next to someone for a long journey I greeted him. “Como estas?” I say and he just gives me a blank stare and sits down. “Great” I’m thinking, “I’m leaving a day later than I wanted to and I’ve got Juan Friendly sitting next to me for eight hours.”

I put on my headphones and conk out for the first 3 hours. I wake up as we’re arriving to customs at the Chilean / Argentine border. Suddenly realizing I need to fill out that little piece of paper explaining the purpose for my trip to Argentina, if I have any fruit or live animals with me etc., and that I don’t have a pen with me, I ask Juan Friendly, whose real name is Felipe I came to find out, for a pen. He says no sorry, but to my surprise he gets on the task of asking one of his buddies a few rows back for the pen. He hands it to me, I start writing and I realize the damn thing is leaking all over my hand. A little annoyed, this turns out to be a good way to break the ice with my fellow passenger. He apologizes, offers me a candy to make up for the fact that I have ink all over my hand and asks me where I’m from. It turns Felipe is an alright guy. We spend the next five hours talking about a wide range of topics. He’s a tour guide from Mendoza and offers to show me around the city since I was going alone. Upon arrival we catch a cab to his house so He can leave all his bags before we walk around the city and book me a hostel. His elderly Mom opens the door and gives me a big kiss, completely uninhibited with the curiosity to know who this mysterious American is showing up with her son. She fries up some meat for us and serves it with fresh tomatoes and bread, really delicious and unexpected. We book me a room at a hostel four blocks from his house and immediately meet up with two of his girlfriends who have a car. We all drive around the city and eventually end up at a massive park at the far end of the city. Literally the park encompasses almost one fifth of the entire city, and it’s a social center for the people of Mendoza. The girls were pretty, in shape, friendly, funny, and full of personality, basically the antithesis of the typical Chilena except for the fact that they too speak Spanish.

the rest of the story when I have time to write more...