Wrong number
The month I spent in Buenos Aires doesn't count, it went easy on me. Familiar faces, places and smells. Plenty of beef, late nights out & long walks heading nowhere in particular. Time went by smoothly and way too quickly, nothing out of the ordinary except for a couple of anecdotes left to tell and the feeling of having had a very emotionally fulfilling month.Seat number 32
As I took my seat on the bus Retiro-Rio de Janeiro reality started hitting me; with a brazilian version of Santana & Mana's 'Corazon Espinado' on the background, the driver announced we would be delayed at least 3 hours due to an accident in one of the bridges we were supposed to go through, therefore we had to take an alternative route. The 36 hour journey ended up being 45. There were 2 accidents and a strike, a long line in the frontier and no stops for food.I held endless conversations with an anonymous young couple that were taking their first trip out of Argentina, watched a bunch of lousy movies and couldn't avoid the anticipation of what was to come.
Right number
8 p.m. was the time when the bus pulled into the Terminal Station. It was chaos and it was dark. I didn't even know where to start looking for the bus that would take me to Botafogo, where I had found a half decent hostel online. 4 unmistakably Israeli guys that had traveled on the same bus where discussing where to go. I asked them if they were taking the bus but they were taking a taxi (the bus is too dangerous at this time and with the backpacks, they claimed) and they were going to Copacabana. I weighed my options: Unknown bus on my own or taxi with 4 other tourists.Raf
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