Traveler Purgatory, the Big Bailout, and some Big Water

Wow, so today I decided to be beaver-eager, and got up with the dawn, despite my very reasonable rationalization that you can't have an oceanside sunrise (remember, east coast) without ocean access or... the sun. It's interesting, porteños (Buenos residents) are rather the opposite of San Franciscans: weather-wise, they prepare for nothing, since in the heat, it can't really hurt you, and it won't last anyway. Thus, almost no one wears sunglasses, though it will be glaring for a few minutes a day; and no one carries an umbrella, though it's constantly on the verge of spilling a few drops, and usually does.

Deal with it. My kinda people...

Anyway, after some nicely productive time blogging away, prepping the sports show you see beautifully linked at right, and otherwise catching up with the northern hemisphere, I was ready for my big date with the Brazilian consulate... check. Passport, complete with visa, back in hand. (Don't ask me about vacunas -- no, not the speedy alpaca substitute, but rather, yellow fever shots; they're preventing me from seeing the Brazilian side of the falls. But I'm getting ahead.)












{That's vicuña, buddy.}

Where were we?

Anyway, long story short, ("Too late!") I spent a solid couple hours in the AmEx office (yes, there is one -- very nice, actually, though in my case it's just a connection to an un-helpful, overly secure American system via the magic of telephone) and a backwoodsy telecentro, where I was trying to get my cash money to come when called.

Finally, I paused in front of a travel agency poster of Iguazú Falls -- I'm not gonna post photos until I have my own, so look it up yourself, but suffice to say they're apparently much bigger and more impressive than Niagara -- and ended up spending a solid three dehydrated hours in there, with a friendly, helpful ultra-rookie. (Better than AmEx? Ugh, I guess.) At this point, I'm almost too tired to tango... but when you've given yourself a lone night left in a town like this, you do your best to throw down.

So: what am I doing here in the hotel lobby, typing at you? It's once more down into Boca and San Telmo, where I hope to do better than last night (ask me about why I found myself back at the cemetery at 2 a.m., and why I had to walk home from a Recoleta juicy-girl club -- not my idea, as I tersely told the hotel desk jockey who set me up with it...) Anyway, did I say tango?

Tango.

And one last steak wouldn't hurt.

Travel tip of the week: Booking.com will take your credit info and hold your reservation, but they never run the card. So I was able to bail on the last two days of my well-located (if slightly cramped) hotel two days early, guilt free. Of course, next week's tip will be advanced planning, wherein you save time and money by flying north out of Buenos Aires once, not twice...