2.5 Argentina : To Get to the Other Side

I'm ready to get off the damn bus. And when we do it's like someone slapped me in the face with a branding iron and left me on the side of the highway.

We would come to find out that we arrived in the middle of a heat wave. Even though the only words we can catch from the news are muy calor the graphics of people drinking water, eating popsicles, and the perpetual screening of women's bikini clad behinds give us a hint that maybe it isn't just our lilywhite skin shriveling under the the sun.

Our first steps into the actual city of Buenos Aires are nothing like the rural pastures near the airport. We are on a 12 lane "avenue" - which is wider than any interstate in Oregon.

Is this a special needs highway? everyone driving must be blind. A third of the cars driving are painted like Taxi's and that's not to say there aren't a lot of cars. There are cars for blocks, driving 60 miles an hour around pedestrians who have to take a leap of faith every time the step into traffic. If Eli hadn't been there to push my backpack once the cars came screeching to a temporary stop when the "walk" sign came on I may have waited there until night fall, or ended up like Heather Mills McCartny. The "walk" sign is basically indiscernible from the "don't walk sign" except one of the little person shaped silhouettes is on profile and the other is head on. Both might be a person walking, one for the brave or suicidal, the other for the touristas like me with 42.8 lb backpacks and the desire to live long enough to see at least the other side of the avenida.

I have a feeling that people don't laugh at "why did the chicken cross the road?" jokes here in Argentina. It hits too close to home.


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