Thus I promised the itinerary for today. I flew from Montreal to Buenos Aires, and that's a story in itself. After 5 days there, moved on to Montevideo, on personal motivation. Maybe that will be the next blog. On to Cordoba (in a cama ejecutivo bus -- that deserves its own chapter). After just one day in Cordoba, went to Salta on another night bus, where I spent 3 nights, and that was about 2 nights too long. The best thing that happened to me in Salta was a flu shot, more precisely, a shot to treat the flu -- and that tells a lot about Salta. The next stop was charming Cafayate and its wineries. Then, onto Tilcara. On Flecha Bus back to Salta, then on Balut Bus onto Tilcara. I ate lunch at the bus station. Ordered two cheese empanadas. On a plate similar to those used under espresso cups, two tiny things arrived. Even 14-month old Barnabas (my youngest grandchild) would've considered them an insult. They looked so fragile, I didn't dare to touch them, I feared they would just crumble and evaporate, and I would be left with an empty plate. Thus I asked for fork and knife. Then came the next assault. They were filled with cheese whiz. That yellow thing from the bottle. I remember the empanadas of Peru and Ecuador, filled with sweet or savoury cottage cheese. Or the pastel from Pachuca, filled with rice pudding, spicy potatoes, you name it. Wake up Granny, you aren't in Mexico, and you are still hungry. I opt for a postre, dessert. This is a bit bigger than the empanada, but is filled with a marmelade that my late grandmother nicknamed "Hitler's bacon" -- it was sold in blocks, like bacon, and I guess replaced the latter during the war and the years after. When I knew it the name could've been Stalin's bacon already, but somehow that one didn't take root.
I was looking forward to Tilcara, until yesterday. As I knew that I would be arriving late, I sent a courtesy e-mail to the hostel, telling them the exact time and the exact bus. I did the same in Cafayate, and got a charming response, thanking for my thoughtfulness. From Tilcara, I got a response, telling me that HostelWorld cancelled the reservation. Letter the Hostelworld, what the hell? Letter to the hostel, what the hell? I didn't cancel, why would Hostelworld? True, the reservation is still there, in HW's records. Don't worry, go, they tell me, your reservation is confirmed.
I arrive, find the hostel in the pitch dark -- and there is no room. They repeat the story, that HostelWorld cancelled it. Then the story changes to "We never received it" and "Hostelworld made a mistake". And it turns out that a group from Buenos Aires rented the entire hostel. Just they probably forgot to tell it to Hostelworld. I have been using these booking services a lot, they don't make mistakes that frequently. Actually, I don't remember any other case. And it's quite clear that the hostel people are lying. If true, why does the story change at every turn?
When I insist, they show me a room. It has 3 beds, no private bathroom. The shared bathroom is so disgusting that I rather turn on the camel factor and decide not even to pee there. Never mind a shower. In the room there are paper thin blankets, and no sheets. The receptionist can't give more blankets. "But you can use all three," she says, encouragingly. She promises a discount, but wouldn't quantify it. A peanut, probably, like in Salta after the re-routed trip. I don't want to stay in that shithole, not even for free. I will freeze to death, even if wearing everything I have.
I go out to eat -- I can finally use the bathroom in the restaurant. The ravioli is great, although it tastes like coming straight from Presidents' Choice, but at least well prepared. The waiter is friendly.
I walk back to the shithole, by an open bookstore. In despair, I go in, and ask for advice. Is there a better place in town, than my reserved hostel, Pucara? The owner nods. "Go to Waira, across the street."
I do. It's essentially empty. They have a private room, with bathroom, for not significantly more than the Pucara. I will loose the Hostelworld deposit, that I don't care, although if HW would be totally fair, they would reimburse it, but if they charge the card, I will go and kill them. It wasn't me who broke the contract.
So much whining for today. Tomorrow I will enjoy the landscape, hopefully.
The roving granny
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