Awaking just in time for our continental breakfast Andrew and I rushed downstairs to fill our coffee cups. As we sipped our Argentine coffee, the delicious beans breathed life back into us allowing us to turn our attention to finding a plan for the day. Thankfully Mauro, our Chilean savior, once again shared his plan with us. Vamos a Tigre!!! Andrew and I had no idea what or where this Tigre place was, and with it still being only our second full day, our lack of workable spanish caused us to leave the hostel still clueless about where we were going, how long it would take or what we should expect. Que divirtido! Mauro leading, with lost Americans in tow, he took us to the subte (which is what the subway here in Buenos Aires is called) for our first ride on the yellow, metallic beasts connect the cities most popular destinations.
The subway here is either amazingly efficient or we are extremely lucky; never having to wait more than two minutes for a train, los lineas worm their way through the subterranian maze of infrastructure, gridding the city. While the lines themselves extend out in a fashion closer to crazy straw then a checkerboard, the trains that ride them are fast and comfortable and carry thousands of people to their destinations, saving the busy streets from further congestion. As we sat on blue velvet cushions, where one might expect to see hard plastic or sleeping homeless in another city, I couldn't help but be impressed by the cleanliness of the cars. The C line, which connects the train station to the port, is like any other area of the city, another venue for vendors to sell their wares. As I took in the scene, a pair of socks fell into my lap, as vendor passed. Looking down the train I saw other passengers laps mirrored my own. Some pulled out cash while other just sat there, socks in lap, staring straight ahead. With only a minute or two between each station, I sat amazed at the efficiency with which the vendors dropped their wares on passengers laps only to swoop them up, or the cash that replaced them, seconds later.
Already wearing socks, I handed the pretty argentine vendor los calcines back, as she passed again on her route through the car, and hopped off at Retiro: The end of the line, and home to the train station. Following Mauro, and still not sure where the hell we were going, we entered the train station and bought tickets. First the subway and then the train! Where the hell was our little Chilean friend taking us?! Asking a few locals about which platform to wait on, he dutifully guided us to the correct platform, and Andrew and I looked at each other, knowing full well how lucky we were to Mauro there to guide us through this mammoth city.
Waiting for the train, we laughed at a cat as it sat at on the platform looking down the tracks and whipping his tail as if he too was late for work and waiting for the train. Two girls next to us, witnessing the same curiosity, laughed as well. Introducing ourselves we discovered that they were also from seattle and were living in paraguay on a brief vacation in Buenos Aires. As we conversed, we noticed a dog, sitting behind the stop designed for trains with no brakes. The cat noticing it as well, grew rigid and began an intense staring contest. Going back to our conversation we didn't notice the dog as it slunk over, looking at the cat hungrily. As the distance closed, starring gave way to hissing and we jumped back, away from the animal tiff which was about to ensue not ten inches from where we stood. Finally the cat abandoned the stand off and dropped onto the tracks out of reach of the dog.
The train came and we boarded. Our brother from a Chilean mother struck up a conversation with a fellow Chilean girl, and a few minutes later he entered her digits into his phone. Andrew and I looked at each other and in a way that required no words, and agreed that there was a good reason that we got along so well with our new friend. Mauro you handsome devil you! Riding the train for some 30 minutes, the train slowly emptied as we neared the last stop. Making our way to some seats near the front, we sat a cross from gentlemen who looked as confused and lost as we did everytime we made fleeting eye contact, which happens often to strangers crammed into tight spaces.
Arriving at the end of the line 50 minutes after boarding, we exited into the train station and danced our way to the bathroom... I guess we all had to much of that delicious Argentine coffee. hehe. Relieved and ready to explore we stepped into the daylight to see a beautiful riverside community bustling with toursits. Finally... so this was Tigre... now we knew. hehe
Tigre, 17 miles north of Buenos Aires is a town still considered to be a part of Greater Buenos Aires. Originally built on an island created by the junction of multiple rivers and streams, it now extends out to cover a larger area of the delta. Upon leaving the train station, one such river extended out before us lined on both sides with well maintained parks and shops. Flowing steadily, the brown water thick with sediment, the river was home to countless boats designed to take toursists on river tours to the nearby nature reserve.
Crossing the sandy colored bridge to the other shore and enjoying the sunshine, I looked behind us to see the gentlemen from the train looking even more lost then before. Andrew, noticing him too, looked to me saying, "He looks like he needs a friend." Chuckling, but empathetic to his situation having been lost in strange places by myself before, I replied, "Well then lets invite him to join us." In agreement, we turned to Mauro, our trusty translator and friend who invited him to join our makeshift posse: Two lost Americans, a lost Brazilian and an exploratory Chilean. English, Portugese and Chilean spanish, what a combo. Reaching the other shore and making our way to the ticket booth for boat tours we noticed the 70 peso price and decided it was too expensive, or perhaps only that we were to hungry to think about a tour at this point. Our stomachs rumbling we went out in search of food.
Finding an inexpensive all you can eat buffet, we agreed that we love to take our run at putting them out of business. Armed with our appetites we entered sitting down for what was without a doubt the best meal of the trip thus far. Chorizo, pollo, carne, empanadas, yakisoba... yes asian food too... we feasted. Sharing stories and laughing, we learned that our new brazilian friend was a producer/writer for Globo, the largest network in Brazil. Very cool. Leaning on Mauro for translation, the food coma eventually set in. Topping the meal off with three or four bowls of ice cream, we left in search of a cheaper boat.
To be continued... i dont need to write the whole book today. ;p
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