Day Thirteen: We had to be up before the sun on Thursday, the 21st to catch a flight from BA to Mendoza. The plan was to fly to Mendoza, and then take a bus through the Andes and into Santiago so that Brandon and Chris would not have to pay the 131 dollar reciprocity fee levied at the Santiago International Airport. Also, it was cheaper to fly to Mendoza and then bus as opposed to flying straight into Santiago. Thus, early that morning, we landed at the tiny airport outside Mendoza and were immediately greeted by the majestic, snow-capped Andes looking more spectacular than I'd ever seen. Vanessa accuses me of putting too much "Jesus stuff" in my posts, but I must say that if ever there were a natural reflection of the glory of God on earth, it is the peaks surrounding Aconcagua (highest mountain in the southern hemisphere) in the winter.
We took an extremely inexpensive taxi straight from the airport to the bus station where I preceded to seek passage to Chile. It turned out there was a bus leaving that afternoon at 13:30, which would theoretically put us in Santiago by 20:00 or so that night. Thus we bought tickets and sat down in the cafe over the station for a hearty, but rather uninspiring lunch. The bus was on time and we boarded with no problems. I was immediately struck by how much more leg room there was than on a Chilean or Peruvian bus (Argentinians I suppose are taller on average.) We then began the wonderfully scenic drive past the famed vineyards that surround Mendoza (now dead in winter) and into the mountain pass. We were all awed by the beauty of the scenery in the snow gilded mountains and I absolutely must recommend taking the trip by bus (or car) at least once in life. We had the rather dubious distinction of getting to see that stretch twice.
The problems arose when we reached the Argentine side of the entrance into the pass. It was closed, and the bus attendant informed us over the speaker that we would attempt to wait it out. An hour later, without ceremony, we turned around and drove back into Mendoza. Eventually the attendant came through and explained that we had to go into the office at the station and exchange our tickets for a bus leaving tomorrow, and pray that the pass would be open. It was then that I learned from one of the other passengers that the pass had been closed for three days, and this was her second failed attempt. We made it back to the station and Brandon brought to my attention two other Americans on the bus who had asked, as we arrived at the station mind you,
"What's up? Is this immigration?"
It turned out the two young men, Mike and Nick, spoke no Spanish and we had to fill them in on the situation. Taking them under my wing, I arranged for the tickets to be changed. There was a kid waiting by the bus hawking a hostel, and we decided to just go with him as he had a van to take us to the hostel and it seemed cheap enough. Thus the five of us ended up at some random place in Mendoza, the name of which I forget, to unexpectedly stay the night. The hostel was owned by a man named Ariel, who spoke self-taught English and was helpful enough, even if his house (which is what the place was) was not exactly the nicest of stays. He offered us free Malbec wine (the famed vintage of Mendoza) from his brother's vineyard--all we could drink--but we weren't there for wine (though later that night we could here another group of young Americans defiantly taking advantage of the offer.) He did suggest an amazing restaurant that was much like the parrillada buffet we had encountered in BA and, despite our set back, at least had one last incredible meal in Argentina.
Day Fourteen: We repeated the arrive-at-bus-station/board bus/travel-into-the-mountains routine we had tried the day before. However, this time we left at 10:30 because I had been told that if the pass were to be open, our best shot was morning. We arrived at the checkpoint and there was a long line of traffic backed up, which I took for a good sign. That morning, Brandon and I had prayed together that God would let us through, though I honestly would not have minded being stuck in Argentina for longer. I personally did not desire to return to Chile, but as Chris and BT had flights they needed to catch, it was best that we make it through. The wait at the checkpoint was long, but we did make it through. Then we stopped again for another hour. Then we drove for an hour. Then we stopped a second time somewhere else for another hour. By the time we made it to the actual border crossing, at the very top of the pass, it was already16:00 and we were at the end of a line of three day's worth of backed-up traffic trying to get through immigration. There was thick snow everywhere, and we could feasily see why the pass had been closed.
We got out of the bus at one point and took pictures in the snow, but for the most part it was a four hour waiting game trying to get in and through immigration and customs. If you'll recall, getting into Argentina had been a breeze, and we hadn't even needed to pass customs. Chile, on the other hand, is so mired in bureaucracy that of course there were three lines to stand in along with multiple baggage checks. The real bummer was that, once we finally passed the border, we still had another three and a half hours to Santiago. It was near 22:00 by the time we made the main bus station and debused. Mike and Nick had no plans, so they tagged along with us to our hostel, where we had made reservations the night before.
I led the group onto the Santiago metro and down into the Providencia district, which is one of the nicer areas (a step up at least from Barrio Brazil, where I had stayed when first arriving in Chile) and is right next to the famed Cerro San Cristobal. We found the hostel no problem, and were very pleased to discovered that it was new, extremely clean, and staffed by excellently helpful individuals. None of us had eaten the entire day, save for a few chips and cookies, and as such the first thing we did was set out to find something open. Our options were slim at 23:00, and we settled on Telepizza. Now, I had seen Telepizzas all over the place since first arriving (we have two in Calama) but I had at that time not yet tried them. We each got a person pizza combo, complete with pie, fries, and bebida, and settled down to sample Chile's attempt at delivery. After the first bite I realized I had finally found something in Chile that tasted like it should, and it felt like a small triumph. The pizza did not disappoint in the slightest, and BT even exclaimed that it was the best pizza he had ever eaten. Granted, he was delirious with hunger at the time.
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