The weekend in Pinamar was so lovely, and that should not be forgotten, which I why I separated these two posts. This one is more so I don't forget why we´re moving out of Argentina.
When Brent got our tickets, he asked the clerk how long the bus ride was. She said four hours. He chose a 1:30 departure time to allow me to sleep in after my night at work and so we could take our time in the morning and walk to the station.
As we got on the bus, the man checking the tickets informed us that we would arrive at 8pm.
"Wait, what?" said Brent, in irritated Spanish. "The woman told me it was a four-hour trip!"
"That's the early and the late bus," he replied, clearly having had to explain this before. "This one takes about seven hours."
"Why didn't she tell me that?"
"They're supposed to. But they usually don't."
So, we settled in for the long trip, trying not to grit our teeth every time we got off the highway to drive several kilometers out of the way to pick one person up in a little tiny town.
But we arrived safe and happy, and we checked into our hotel.
When we checked out two days later, the woman told us how much we owed.
"No," Brent said, totally calm, "that's not what you told me on the phone."
She launched into a lengthy explanation of why the price had risen by nearly 200 pesos. We continued to look at her until she stopped and said, "It doesn't matter, you're right."
Luckily, we somehow got on the express bus to get home, so we were planning on a four-hour trip. It turned into four and a half, because we had to exit the highway at one point and get back on. A handful of protestors (we think -- there were no signs, so we have no idea what they standing for) had lit a bunch of branches on fire in the middle of both lanes and one of the on ramps. The police were there, watching and directing traffic around it while the fires burned and the pyros sat on the barriers between lanes.
And so it goes.
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