October 30, 2025
Transit
The departure day has come around in no time. My flight is at 06.00, an early start, so the only way to make it is to be there the day before, so I take the bus to the airport and arrive in the evening intenting to sleep in the departure hall overnight-or try sleeping. Given that Dublin airport do their level best to discourage sleeping in the terminal building with uncomfortable seating with a lack of stretch soft seats. Indeed, it feels extremely uncomfortable sitting anywhere in Dublin airport for anytime more than an hour.
I spent the evening having a recon, seeing where AirFrance is and the oversize luggage drop point, followed by an expensive plate of fish and chips, lukewarm and generally as poor a meal as it was expensive. And then I thought I'd have a beer in the bar until I saw the price list. Guinness 9.20 Euros. With such prices there weren't any others except for a couple sat on bar stools at the bar nursing pints. Making the remark partly to myself on the price the man with a west of Ireland brogue adds "you have the one and you have no more at these prices".
Around midnight-a few had found a somewhat workable reclining position to sleep and I gave up on first using my backpack as a footstool followed by stretching across two narrow seats, deciding to curl up on the floor beneath the table I'd sat at, when the police came along waking people up and demanding to see boarding passes. They didn't make it my way as I was soon back in the seat.
It would be 3 to 4 hours sat feeling dog tired and feeling groggy when going through the x-ray machine first thing. However, I napped for what felt like a half hour and was feeling alert when it was time to get moving. The AirFrance desk was already open with a short queue formed when I came along at 03.45. I mention here that a whole week had gone into sorting out all the items of camping gear and clothing that I'll need and setting aside anything which I know will be unnecessary; then weighing each item. I think it has paid off-as the bike-box containing my Kona is 25.4 kgs, or a meager 2.4 over the usual 23 kg guide weight. And my medium size backpack stuffed with all non-metallic or prohibited items is 9.2 kg. It feels good. I don't feel overwhelmed with bulk and easily walk with it to the deck where it didn't fit on the scales, but the AirFrance guy didn't insist on knowing it's weight and checking my passport, saw that it tallied with a booking to Buenos Aires and preceeds to print a label which he stuck on the box's topside; then wished me a good flight as I continued to oversize baggage, where putting it flat on a belt it went through a scanner before moving out of sight.
There was a long sit at the departure gate with a take-away coffee and when the crowed lounge eventually began to be let board it had gone 05.50. Then as I settle into my seat while the rest of the passengers filed along and placed wheellie-cases in overhead storage lockers it was well after the 06.00 take-off time. Shortly the pilot announced that due to busy skies over Paris, take-off is delayed by 30 minutes. A little into the expiry of the 30 minutes we began to back away and taxi before halting, then taxi upto steep and halt again. It had gone 06.57 when we lifted off and a little French boy in the seat behind let out a loud excited woo.
With memories of the long and convoluted walk in Paris Charles De Gaule, I made sure to memorised the Gate M24 for the connection flight. The long walk while the time of departure raced nearer, wasn't helped by having to queue to go through a scanner once again. However, this flight was delayed too, eventually taking off 40 minutes late.
I had chose a window seat because whether bus, train or plane, I like looking out the window. However as the two in the middle and aisle seat let me in, the thirtysome American man in the middle asked do I speak English and when I said that I do, politely continued would I mind swapping my seat with his wife, the smiling woman in the seat directly behind, adding that they are on honeymoon and wish to sit together; so, without hesitation, I kindly moved to the middle in the row behind.
The flight was 13 hours and even though I watched 4 films, read 2 chapters of my book and wrote a little-it still dragged. And if that weren't enough at the baggage reclaim the bike-box didn't show up. Me and about 30 others looked anxiously as the baggage belt stopped meaning there were no more bags coming. However we all were soon crowded around a lost-bagguage official with a printout in his hand listing each item of baggage including bike in big letters. He informed us that our bags will be coming on tomorrow's flight. Then there was a slow queue to a desk to submit contact details and address where I'm staying so the bike can be delivered.
At least without the bike I was free to take a bus into Buenos Aires and save money on a taxi. However, it was after 11 when I walked out of the terminal building to where the buses depart and the last bus to the city centre left at 11. The only other option was a bus to Jorge Newbury-the other airport where domestic inland fights arrive and depart which is located a short distance from the city-centre and so a short taxi ride to the hostel I've booked.
A small bus of the kind used to shuttle passengers between airports, I was one of 5 passengers including the man about sixty in the seat in front of me gabbling away on his phone the whole time in a strong Buenos Airean accent as we drove along a multi-lane highway with the shapes of trees sylloetted against the night sky to the side at the beginning. The shapes becoming high-rise blocks further as the road descended into a semi subterranean urban underpass.
Instead of taking the journey as it came, I was like the child wondering are we not there yet. It had been a long day and the long late-evening drive was dragging out. Eventually, the highway emerged out of the semi subterranean concrete world up upon the level and shortly an overhead sign with an arrow indicating right read Salida (exit) Jorge Newbury. But still it is a long drive around a huge open area with long rows of lights and many parked planes in light blue Aerolineas Argentina colours.
The bus pulled to a halt in front of a long terminal building. It was cold when I got off and the place looked deserted. I was thinking things get worse; though, hurrily walking along the front, a main entrance came into view and outside lots of yellow and black Buenos Aires taxis parked
The first available driver quoted a reasonable price and I got in to the righthand passenger side and while pulling on the seat-belt I ask the taximan is seat-belts obligatitory. He replied yes for the driver, but not for passengers.
The drive was most of the way along a tree rich park with a cycleway alongside; straightaway recognised as the Belgrano area. We curved around two roundabouts in succession with huge equestrian monuments in the centres. On along Avenida Liberadad and Retiro where the audio satnav indicated a right turn uphill along a narrow street of the old town and a turn into another street to halt at the hostel door. I paid the driver and was dismayed to see the chairs up on the tables of the cafe next-door as I was famish and was hoping for a bite to eat. It had gone midnight and supposedly it is no surprise the cafe is closed.
I checked in and deposite my bag in the room, then ask the receptionist where I may find an open eating place and she says there may be some places open late 2 blocks away by Recoleta Cemetery: a busy nightlife area, but at all the restaurants I pass, the staff are mopping the floor. McDonald's is open but suddenly I no longer feel all that hungry. Instead I stop at a craft beer bar with outside tables and have an IPA, or epa, said as a single word by the waitress serving me.
Wednesday morning I tried unsuccessfully to do a Western Union transaction. The rate is a little better than using my card. Then went on a long walk across town to San Telmo where, I stopped for lunch at a restaurant called "El Inmigrante" with tables out-front in a plaza; wherein, I ate alfresco steak and chips washed down with a glass of vino tinto with other tourists at tables around sooth by tango music and entertanted by a couple in traditional dress tango dancing.
Thursday: I get notification that my bike-box has arrived at the airport and they'll deliver it between 13hrs and 19hrs, so I wait in reception all afternoon completely fed up when it still hadn't arrived at five thirty. Though shortly before 6 it came. Yippee. The box showed signs of rough handling, mainly ripped at the hand-holes, but still intact for the bus journey to Patagonia..
I feel whole again being reunited with my bike and tomorrow morning it'll come out of the box and go for a ride.
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