Oktoberfiesta

It was about that time again to take a breather from BA city life and wade out into the country. The only problem was that the entire population of Buenos Aires had the same thought. Or so it seemed. This past weekend was a holiday weekend, and Retiro Bus Station did it justice. There were more people there than at the DNC, and they all seemed to want to get on the same bus. In other words, trying to a) find my bus and b) get on it was a serious challenge. Throw in the fact that my bus showed up twenty minutes after it was supposed to leave and was operated by a different company then that who sold me my ticket, and you've got a tall American running around the bus station leaving no doubt that he's a tourist. My bus was eventually found though, and my seat in the front row on the top deck made me forget all of my issues with finding it. About 20 minutes into the trip (that began only about 45 minutes late) we stopped in front of a random warehouse and were told we needed to switch buses. This was a first. I looked at my Argentine neighbors who I'd been talking with who simply just said, bienvenidos a Argentina! We upped and left, and the people sitting on the floor in the aisle behind us found some seats on bus #2. Seriously now, this bus company has some issues. I was out as soon as our second more luxurious luxury liner took off. I was only woken up by people talking about the car that was on fire as we passed it (the thing was burning like a duraflame, but it seemed like everyone was ok) and I went back to sleep hoping that I wouldn't be woken up again by the car blowing up and making me get up from my awesome front row second deck seat.

After all of the shenanigans of the previous night, I was surprised to find ourselves pulling into Cordoba bus station ahead of schedule. In any case, after dropping my bag and meeting up with friends at the hostel, we headed back to the bus station. We caught a local bus to Villa General Belgrano, a small predominantly German village about 2 hours outside of Cordoba, to see what their highly-touted version of Oktoberfest was like. Given the above average German migration to Argentina after WWII, we wondered if we were wandering the streets of a town where ex-leaders of the Third Reich called home. Maybe a lot of people have that somewhat disturbing thought, and the village knows it (and wants to avoid it), because the place looks like it belongs next to Space Mountain in Adventureland. The signs were all wood carved with painted curly-cue letters. I think if I lived there I might find a keg and pour it all over someone after about a week, but for a day it was great. We wandered the streets looking for a mug before kicking off the festivities.

We spent the rest of the afternoon in the 'Beer Park,' which consisted of several beer company stands, food stalls and a stage. The day was spent trying the wares, eating quarter-kilos of ice cream and trying to figure out what possessed us to try straw-beer (as in strawberry-beer). Pretty much everything I tried was great (except for that fruity beer stuff). The entertainment itself was decent; it began with a parade of just about everyone in the village, including the local viking. I've never been to the real deal in Germany, but something tells me Erik the Strong doesn't prowl the beer tents. But you never know. The rest of the show, from what we saw when we were paying attention, was hoppin'. They tapped a keg and let it loose to the masses, played some traditional music, and had several dancing acts. The one part of the program that made me scratch my head though was the guy playing the harp with a guitar accompaniment. Don't get me wrong, he was very good, but a harp is really the last thing I would think you want at festival of beer. I think by that point though enough people had visited enough stands to not care too much. After a day of trying different brews and just hanging out, we called it a day well spent.

Day two saw us try to find something green to walk through, so we headed out to la Parque Nacional Quebrada del Condorito. We jumped on another local bus that was to take us to the gate. I should have known it would be an interesting day from the get-go when the guy selling us the tickets said he couldn't sell us return tickets. It's not that they were full, he just doesn't sell them. So, here we were heading out into the boonies not knowing if we would be able to get back that night to catch our bus back to BA. So what did we do? We got on the bus of course. About two hours later we're driving through some very pretty terrain when the driver pulls over in a turnout and beckons one of my friends forward, who after a quick chat turns around and tells us to get off. So here we are, out in the middle of nowhere sharing a turnout with a few people with a broken down car, staring at a dirt track across the street that looked incredibly dubious at best.

We headed down the track, seeing the very black clouds not too far away and noticing that yes, this was the entrance to the park and yes, everyone was leaving. We found the forest ranger hut, and the ranger on duty was a great guy who gave us all sorts of recommendations. We hiked through a starkly beautiful landscape for the next few hours. We hoped to catch sight of one of the park's famous condors, but I think they were the smart ones out there and went home as the sky basically turned to night. No matter- the rain never really showed up, and the park was well worth the trip. We headed back to that turnout a few hours later, armed with the information to simply flag down the bus as it came down the highway. That same broken down car was there, with the same people camped in the turnout. We didn't know if the bus would stop if it were full, but we tended to think it wouldn't. When we showed up and saw about 20 other people waiting, we weren't too confident. Especially with a guy throwing a thumb out to anything with four wheels. We eventually did get on a bus though, and made it back to Cordoba in time to grab some dinner (at a parilla of course- all you can eat salad, french fries, and of course beef for 12$. And it's open 24hrs. Could it be any better?) before heading to the bus station.

I should have known that buses would be a theme of this trip from the very first moment at Retiro on Friday night. My bus again didn't show up until about 25 minutes after it was supposed to leave. Maybe I should let someone else book my tickets, since I seem to be striking out on buses that leave on time. Sleep came quickly, until I was woken up by silence. It was dead quiet. Which was a problem. There was no engine noise. I looked around, and eventually found out that we were about 2.5hrs outside of Cordoba, in the middle of nowhere, on the side of the highway with a broken-down bus, at 3:00 in the morning. After being angry for about 5 minutes, I just laughed knowing there was nothing I could do and wondered what else could happen. Since trying to sleep was out of the question with the top deck of the bus basically becoming a sauna without the air-conditioning, I wandered outside and sat in the grass and read a magazine. There was what seemed like a mechanic/AAA truck behind us with flashing lights, but I got the idea that our potential savior had no idea what was wrong with the bus. The bus driver, his co-pilot and some of the other passengers were standing around smoking cigarettes and telling jokes. I guess if you're stuck on the side of the road at 3:00 in the morning with nowhere to go you might as well make the best of it. Two buses from the same company stopped by to see what was up before continuing on to wherever they were headed. Two very painful sets of tail-lights. Eventually, though, after about 3 hours, another bus showed up and we were on our way. I only got back to BA about 4 hours behind schedule. As they say, in Argentina it works out eventually, just probably in a different way than you thought. No te preocupes!

I have to say though, the stars are pretty at night down here in the Southern Hemisphere. I only had three hours to stare at them.