I get this whim and there I go. It was like that when I applied to university. It was like that when I moved out to Lake Tahoe. It was like that when I moved to San Luis Obispo. And now, it was definitely feeling like it as I sat, restlessly, in the La Guardia Airport awaiting my flight to Buenos Aires, Argentina.
Yet, quite honestly, I am not like the Fool in a Tarot deck , who leaps before he looks. I actually relish pre-trip planning. It has always brought me much satisfaction.
I mean, it wasn't like I had no idea where I was going... I spent months researching various locations according to my World Points Rewards destinations. I knew that I wanted to go some place warm, some place I could improve my Spanish and some place where the infrastructure wasn't too alarming for a 'gringa' like me. After much deliberation, I chose Argentina. Ironically, it worked out quite well for me financially, because historically Argentina was always more expensive than Chile, but due to the "Crisis" in the late 1990's, Argentina became much more affordable for the international traveler; and I would soon discover, that there was a kind of unique 'renasance' occurring organically in a country with such cultivation and appreciation of the 'new' and 'beautiful'.
On the flight, I sat next to an Argentinean woman who lived in Buenos Aires, but traveled frequently between there and the US. She was remarried, living outside the vast capital city of 13 million, and had a daughter, approximately my age (much younger) who was attending the Universidad de Buenos Aires (UBA) as an engineer. We had an engaging conversation until I divulged my plans to essentially assemble my road bike in the Ezezia Airport and ride into the city. She vehemently opposed. She said, that, God-forbid should I be her daughter and she was my mother, she'd only hoped that some woman would do the same for her daughter. She insisted that I accompany her and that her husband would then take me into the city to find my hostel.
There I was, inside a very small, foreign car (sorry, guys, I don't know the make of the freakin' car!!) but it was like a Fiat or Seat.....anyway, there I was, my HUGE bicycle box and I sardined into the back of the car with them squabbling in (what at the time, to me, was a completely foreign language). Then at times, they'd look back over their shoulder to engage me, "Jill, there is the blah, blah, blah" or "Jill, where is your hostel again?" and, my favorite, "Jill, why did American re-elect George Bush?"
So, at their 'quinto' which means, 'house outside the city' they gave me an 'alfajor' (small chocolate cake-like treat...think Little Debbie Cakes) and a Coke. Then, her husband took me into the city. It was strange to drive into a city so grand, so busy, so beautiful. There were these amazing avenues lined with trees and tall buildings with architecture similar to France or Italy. I admit, I had never seen anything like it. Upon reaching the hostel I had registered for, we discovered that it, in fact, no longer existed. (This apparently was common in the new era of international tourism here). We rang and rang the bell without luck. So, I picked the second hostel in my guide and they had a room available. We drove over there and with that very move, that very, variable in time, that very alteration in my plan, my entire life changed.
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