The Hotel from Hell

Readers Beware - this is a long, but I think a funny post.



I travel often.

I love nothing more than to hop in my car, or hitch a ride with a friend, and go to places known and unknown.

A friend of mine from Pure Romance noticed that I liked to roadtrip, she asked me, "Would you like to ride to Miami with me in a few weeks? I have a Pure Romance party to do and I hate doing those drives alone."  Of course, I said, "Hell yeah! I'm down for a road trip. I am a Roadtrip WARRIORESS!"  I'm not even sure that "warrioress" is even a word, but hey, I like coining new words and phrases.   

The plan was that she would pick me up on her way from work to Miami around 3 or 4 p.m., we would arrive at the party 5 or 6 hours later, she would do her demo for about an hour, take some fabulous orders and then we'd stay at her brother's house and then wake up early and come back to Jacksonville by mid-afternoon today (Saturday).  

Unfortunately, unforeseen obstacles at her job along with traffic coming from her work to my house prevented us from leaving on time.  By the time we arrived to the party late, the party people were more than in the festive spirit.  My friend did her demo to a large group of women.  In exchange for us driving down 5.5 hours to Miami, spend the gas and the money we spent on food, she only received a few orders and some change, probably only $150 in sales.  Nonetheless, she was able to get some potential parties or consultants, so that was exciting. We left the party at around 3:45 A.M. after everyone had left.

"Girl," said my friend, "I didn't realize it was so late. My brother has to get up early for work. I can't be calling him at 4 o'clock in the morning. His wife got to work at 8." She did try to call them, but there was no answer. I even called a few people I know in Miami, but I realize it's too early in the morning. People are sleeping.  I even posted on Facebook to see if anyone of my friends in the Miami area happened to be awake, stalking people on Facebook. Perhaps someone would come to our rescue!

To no avail, I suggested that perhaps we do one of two things:

1.  Drive all the way back to Jacksonville right then and there or; 
2.  Get a hotel room in the area.

She looked at me with tired eyes, "There is NO WAY I can make it all the way back at this time of night, that is, unless you want to drive. "

I declined as I was tired myself. I didn't want to be responsible for wrecking a fancy car by hitting a deer on I-95. No, thank you!

I mentioned that I had a few bucks saved for an emergency on the trip, just in case.  I said, "Since you paid for the gas, drove down here, paid for snacks and drinks, I'll cover a hotel room as long as it's cheap."

I was thinking maybe $50 or a eensy weensy bit more. I mean, there HAD to be a Days Inn or something like it around the area where we were at. 

She pulls up a list of area hotels up on her phone and we called eight.  All eight were fully booked due to spring break.  I mean, all we wanted was a place to rest our heads for a few hours before heading back home.

We found one more hotel on the list. The name of this place was called, "Hotel Roma Golden Glades Resort".  She called and the desk clerk said there was one room available at the oh-so-cheap rate of "$120.98 plus a $50 refundable deposit."   I said, "That's a bit pricey. Let's look for another one."  

I end up calling "Hotels.com" and they wanted to send us to a really "cost effective" hotel of $799 a night at Miami Beach on Collins Avenue.  We both looked at each other as if to say, "Hell, no!"

By this time, it was 4:15 A.M.. We're either going to bunk down in the car or we are going to call that other pricey hotel. .

We called the Hotel Roma Golden Glades Resort, or whatever that hotel's name was. The man on the phone gave us directions.

After a short, 10 minute drive, we arrive at a location that is comical at best.  Down the street, I could see bright lights and white columns. The most garish and most gaudy looking building I have ever laid eyes on came up before us.

The hotel looked something as is supposed to be depicted, but way more drab. I think in its heyday, it was a much nicer looking hotel. 

As you drive through the "stately" coconut palms of the driveway, there are a bunch of broken down fountains that greet you. There are, AT LEAST, 25-40 whitewashed Greek and Roman statues that make you think, "This is overkill." I half expected Ben Hur to come flying about on his chariot and broom-bristle helmet in front of us!

  

We parked and walked up to the front door. On the way from the car to the front door, I noticed that there was a former restaurant or entrance that was boarded up with pink plywood right beside the hotel. I remember thinking, "Oh, dear...is this a Mario & Tio hotel?"  My father and Uncle have particular knacks for choosing really crappy hotels. It seems that I am not that far off either when in a pinch.

A really bored looking security guard wearing headphones and playing with a smartphone unlocked the door for us. We walked into the lobby.

"Can I he'p yoo?" asked the desk clerk, who had a thick Asian accent of some sort.

"Yes, I called about 15 minutes ago wanting to know if you had any rooms available. Is that rate and the room still available?" I asked.  He said yes and proceeded to tell me that check out was promptly at 11 A.M. and began to shuffle some papers around, all the while staring at my credit card as if it were a piece of filet mignon wrapped in bacon.

The man asked for the credit card and ID.  He ran the credit card and then proceeded to make copies of both ID and credit card. 

While waiting for him to check us in, I took a good look at the lobby.  Behind the counter, on the left hand side of the wall were four clocks.  Each one indicated time in four different world cities.  These were New York,  Paris, Miami and Brasil.  BRASIL?!  Come on!  BRASIL is a country with FOUR different time zones, not a city.   Maybe they meant the capital, Brasilia?  

On the center wall, were three pictures of the kinds of rooms they had to offer guests. King, Executive and Suite. The pictures looked as if they were taken back in 1995.  The bedspreads in the picture looked outdated, as well as the decor and furnishings. The countertops were green granite or marble tile that needed some deep polishing.  The couches looked forlorn. Made of green leather or pleather, they sagged in some places. The cushions on the couch were cracking and flaking from wear and disrepair.  Large, terra cotta tiles made up the flooring. If I had had a bucket of sudsy hot water and a scrub brush at the time, I would have knelt down and scrubbed the dirt and grime off the floor.  The TV was a large, flat screen from the age of the dinosaurs had only three colors  - RGB. Actually, I'm pretty sure it was one of the first flat screen TVs that came out in the 1990s.  Like the ones that are flat in the front and have a tube in the back.

This is not a joke.

He told us, "Room 321. Elevator on the right. Enjoy your stay!"  At least he was pleasant enough for two very sleep deprived women. 

I noticed the elevator must have been manufactured to European standards. It was tiny and not to mention, very wobbly.  

On the third floor, immediately to the left, there is an ice machine that has "Out of Order" slapped haphazardly on the front of the machine.  Unfortunately, I didn't have my camera out and ready for that one. 

On the right hand side from the elevator are the rooms.  As you turn the corner, you are greeted with a sight all too familiar if you've seen the movie, "The Shining",  minus the kid on the tricycle and the crazy REDRUM twins.

The hotel looked similar to this.

The hotel corridor was dark, with flickering lights.  It smelled of either mold or cigarettes. I don't know which since the hotel claimed it was a non-smoking hotel. It smelled nasty.  I noticed that the carpet had not been vacuumed in centuries, as there were dust bunnies collecting on the sides of the carpet nearest the walls. I kept expecting some big dude to come out of a room with a beer gut, a bottle of Budweiser and two hookers on each arm.

We got to our room door and opened our door with the card keys.

Upon entering, we were immediately assaulted with cold, tobacco-scented air conditioning. I found the air conditioner and immediately turned it to low, but that didn't do anything except blast more cold, dusty and tobacco-scented air on me. I was not about to get a headache and cold from sniffing that nasty air.

In the room were two double beds, a heavy tube TV, a nice looking dresser with handles that didn't work well,

 and a worn looking table with chairs with major wear on the upholstery. In the dim lighting, I noticed there were some stains on the carpets.  As I knew from the photos downstairs in the lobby, the bedspreads were outdated, but VERY worn.  Mine even had a mysterious stain on it...

I knew then that I had entered the Hotel from Hell.  

You know what's even funnier?  I even laughed about it!  

I felt right at home.


That last line above was such a lie. I guess I meant to say that it all felt familiar to me.

It made me remember a time that I had stayed at a crappy hotel in Orlando. That's another story here.

My friend asked me why I was giggling uncontrollably. I didn't have the mental capacity to tell her the story right then and there. I mean, it was 4:30 A.M.!  We were both exhausted. She had been up for almost 24 hours.

I peeled back the covers, half expecting circus roaches to come flying out of the sheets or centipedes to crawl out of the pillow cases, SOMETHING like that. With nothing but white blankness from the sheets, I gave a sigh of relief.

My friend had already put her pajamas on and sank into bed. I sat on the edge of the bed trying to get comfortable when, all of a sudden, I felt as if the mattress had swallowed me. I am not joking when I say this.

I felt like I was wallowing in a sand pit as the bed sank under my weight. It took a lot of abdominal work to get back up out of bed. I had my phone with me and noticed the clock said "4:40".  Knowing that we'd have to be out of the room by 11 A.M., I tried to sleep. It took a while, but I got there.

Around 8:15, I awoke to car alarms going off outside.

The thing with me is that, once I'm up, I'm up.

I looked over my mattress hill and saw that my friend was still asleep.

I grabbed my phone and decided to post on Facebook how crappy this place was.  Of course, I didn't have to read the reviews to find out that it was a piece of crap before posting to FB.  I knew it!

Being that I thought our predicament was kind of funny, but also that I have had first hand experience in the hospitality industry, I decided, "Well, why not?! I'm here waiting for my friend to wake up. I'll go ahead and read the reviews on this place."  I mean, were we the only people who thought this place sucked?

Oh, no.

Since I travel a lot and have a smart phone, I have various apps that assist me in getting to where I need to be or finding important information about accommodations, flights, etc.  It's a shame I didn't think to use them yesterday.

Trip Advisor immediately pinged our location and this is what was found. The total reviews and pictures for this hotel can be found there, but I have highlighted my favorite reviews and photos down below.  I even went on the hotel's website just to see what they had to say. Along with my own commentary as well and other photos I took while we were there.

1) The Hotel's Actual Website  - click here to view it.

I felt anything BUT inspired...perhaps they meant to say, "revolted"?

Yeah Right! Maybe they hired a set designer from the adult film industry to create that "look" and "feel". Also, the lobby did not feel cozy. It was DIIIIRRRRRRRTTTTTAAAAAAY!!!

When I was there, the fountain didn't even work.

Well, I didn't see HER and the pool didn't look like that!

The pool looked more like this, as a fellow guest and Trip Advisor reviewer took excellent note of this fountain below. If the fountain looks like this, you can bet you'll get scurvy just THINKING about dipping a toe into the pool.

When I think of Tropical Splendor, I think of the Dominican Republic. That country has a lot to offer in terms of Tropical Splendor, don't you think?

.

Photo by Renata Vallazza. Please do not take without permission. Barahona, R.D. 2010.

Not this. Looks more of a Concrete Jungle to me, I'd say!

I'm Italian, I should know what's what.  That ain't Italian!

Oh, my! How ITALIAN!

Well, I'll agree somewhat with this one. My room did happen to have two queen sized beds.  I'm not sure what had slept on them prior.  We had ONE TV, but that didn't work very well.  In fact, I don't think it worked at all.

According to another guest review with their photo below on Trip Advisor, their room came complete with this fancy telephone!

When I went into the bathroom, I was skeptical about anything in there being clean or working right since the bed had been sketchy. Turns out, I was right!

The countertop sagged and was only adhered to the wall with badly applied caulking.

This was the underside of the counter...complete with a ROACH and masking tape!

Bathroom vent that had not been cleaned in centuries.

"Replace Filter Every 3 Months". I don't think it's been changed or cleaned AT ALL!!!

One thing is for certain - they are not "green" at all. They're dingy, dirty and smelly.  But one thing is for certain: they sure are conserving the Earth's vital resources by not doing any washing nor cleaning!

I think  they replace all the towels directly from the floor anyways.

Towels are dingy and Dirty Bathtub

Now...for the cream!!!

2) Trip Advisor Reviews

As I laid in the bed waiting for my friend to wake up so we could get the hell out of there, I tried so hard not to laugh out loud from the reviews. I had tears streaming down my face.

This first one is my favorite!

(Please note, these are all screen shots from the Trip Advisor website.)

RUN!!!!

Dead rats, open toiletries, broken irons, yucky pool and a wholesome breakfast of Mini Muffins!  Don't mind if I do!

Well then!  A dead rat!

According to the post below, you can be stolen!  Within one hour, too!

I'm disappointed I didn't get to see any wildlife in my room!  I like reptiles. They would have had a feast from all the yummy cockroaches in my bathroom or as the post below states, from under the bagel tray!

My room was also missing an iron, much like this reviewers room.

The review below states he wouldn't even wish this upon his own enemy!  He must care a lot about people, even bad dudes, to not want to send them there.

I liked the line, "Not sure when the remodel occurred, but they missed a bit of the hotel."  I have tears streaming down my face already!  Bugs having a buffet?!  Priceless!

 

I don't even want to know if our door locked or did not lock. Thank you Lord that we are home safe now.  I wasn't even aware that it was close to a strip club.  Well, I'll be!

This review needs to review some of his or her spelling techniques and grammar. I've since discovered that "matters" stands for "mattress".  According to the hotel, Subway is fine dining!  

Also, he states that he and his wife wore their socks in the shower and tossed their PJ's after use in this fine establishment.  Especially after reading this review, I think I might have to do that if hot water doesn't do it for my clothes.

I'm jealous of this guy right down here. His bathroom came complete with a 2x4!  Mine was just held together with caulking.  Boo!

"Scary. Weird. Old. Strange." has got it RIGHT!

Ain't that a fact?!

This reviewer is Swedish.

This guy below must have sub-par standards.  Ripped lamp shades, broken chairs...and not minding if other people's hairs are on the bed?!!!  YUCK....

This still sounds really bad to me.

All in all, this is a place that you want to avoid like the plague.

As everyone else happens to say in these review, my stamp of disapproval is so great, that:

A) I would not wish this upon my worst enemy and;
B) If there were a negative stars rating, I would give this place a -2.


That being said, it did give us a place to sleep for a few hours which was necessary for our return trip.  I did not utilize the shower there whatsoever. As soon as I got home, I hopped in the shower and fumigated all nastiness off of me.  It was like being born again!  (Which is what my name stands for anyways.)

I was so relieved when we left.  The place is so bad that as you walk out to the parking lot, wasps buzz around your face.  There were so many wasps nests there, it was unbelievable.

Friends and non-friends alike...please do not choose this place at all.  I guarantee you will have an experience to remember if you do, but why not live vicariously through others?

Crappy Hotels

My parents live in Kansas City, the Land of Amazing BBQ.  As such, I don't get up there very often to see them, and since they are getting older, they don't drive down much. One day in 2008, they called and said they were coming to visit my son and I.  

I was ecstatic!  They were even bringing my favorite uncle with them! They were going to a family reunion in Orlando of my dad's cousins and were going to stop and pick us up.  

 My mom had exclaimed to me that my uncle had gotten us a great hotel in Kissimmee for only $35 a night!  What a bargain!  I imagined myself being able to spend some quality time with my now-ex as he was always working and I never got to see him.  Plus, with my parents being there, I could pawn our son with them for a few hours while my ex and I would have hopefully gotten down to "business" and get some "quality" time together, if you know what I mean. Wink wink. 

Alas, that was not to be at all.  We arrived at our destination.  My ex asked me, "Is this for real?" when he saw the outside.  I didn't know if the location was correct as it looked run down.

We went inside our room and discovered some grossness.

That hotel had roaches everywhere and was positively filthy.  My ex went to pee and comes back with a horrified look on his face. "Baby, there were ROACHES in the toilet!" he said to me.  "I'm not even sleeping under the covers. This is a nightmare. Don't even have your feet touch the floor, nor your socks!" As I laughed at what he was saying, he didn't find the situation funny at all. He fumed while he tried to sleep on top of the covers. 

Since I wasn't going to be rocking the boat with him anytime soon, I went to my parents room next door.  

When I was a kid and would tag along for the road trips that my parents often took to Texas to visit relatives or other places, we had several rituals.  One of them is that my mom has a habit of wanting to soak in hotel bathtubs and read a book.  She'll stay in there for hours soaking in nice, hot water, while everyone else has to do the potty dance waiting for her to get out.  I guess it's because she assumes the bathtub is clean and that she can just soak. She probably just doesn't feel like doing that at home and taking the time to squirt the tub with cleanser and giving a little scrub even though their bathroom at home is fairly clean. Well, anyways...her bliss was cut short when black water or something nasty of that nature came chuffing out of the faucets.   My mother screamed and got out of the bathroom very quickly. 

My father began to shout talk and say "AH!  I don't know why you need to take a bath!  Just take a shower!"

"But, Mario, I LIKE to take a bath! My feet hurt!" my mother pleaded.

"No!  You wanna get some crazy shit from that water?! EH?!" My dad has a way with words. 

My mother was determined though. She cleaned that bathtub as best she could and let the nasty water run until it was clear enough to draw a hot bath.

That water still looked nasty, like someone had peed in it.  Nevertheless, she was still determined. 

The next morning when I saw my uncle, I admonished him. "Tio!  What kind of crappy hotel is this?!"

He looked at me with his signature goofy look. "Renatita baby! I got this hotel because it was the most affordable! It even came with breakfast!"

Breakfast was at the IHOP next door for a low affordable price of $7.99!

My ex woke up and asked when we could leave. I told him after breakfast. He then asked where breakfast was, and when I told him, he said he'd rather eat something at a Wendy's on the way back to Jacksonville. 

That was definitely a trip and hotel stay to remember. 

I Heart Argentina! Parte Dos

Welcome back for the second installment of "I Heart Argentina! Parte Dos".

I am your host, Vallazza-Raptor. 

As I was saying in my last post about Argentina, it is a country I hold dear to my heart. I love that country. I think it's amazing.  I've been trying to figure out different ways to see about living there temporarily, just for the fun of it. I'm all about new experiences, even if they turn out to be not what I was expecting, etc.

I could go around the country, much like I do here in the United States, and explore!  I'm out to discover!

One staple of "discovering" that you must do while in Argentina is to go shopping or go to the shopping.

3) El "Shopping"

Argentines LOVE to shop.  At least, all the ones I have met love to go shopping.  They all want to take you shopping, too.

The first year I went to Argentina, my friend, Ale, who is an English teacher, invited me to visit her classes.  She lied to her students and told them all that I spoke no Spanish whatsoever.   I had to pretend I was really dumb and play along. It was a lot of fun.

The little girls that were in her class were all tittering with excitement as they asked me different questions in the little English that they had learned thus far in their little lives.

A.S.'s students were about middle school aged and of course, into boys and shopping and talking on the phones, much like the kids here in the U.S..

One little girl with cupcakes printed on her shirt asked me, "Do you like muffins?"

"Yes," I replied.

Another girl piped up, "Do you like frogs?"

I thought to myself, "Well, no."  But I knew these kids were trying very hard to impress me, so I said "Yes. They are cool!" nodding my head.

The third question from an older girl was, "Do you like the shopping?"

I was puzzled as she had put a definite article in that sentence before the activity.

"You mean, do I like to shop?  Yes, I like to shop," I said.

All the girls in the class, who outnumbered the boys by 2/3, were elated!  The girls were squealing as if I had given them a million dollars.  One of the girls, Lucrecia, gave me her number. She said to me in English, "You must call me so that we can go to the shopping."

I ended up not calling, only because they found out their teacher's home phone number where I was staying. The girls called Ale, asking to take me to go shopping at the mall, which is literally down the street from Ale's house in Bahía Blanca.

An adult with a bunch of squealing little 11-12 year old girls who are showing her the mall is hilarious.
"Renata, do you like the shopping here?"  One little girl asked.

"Yeah, it's okay. They don't have very many clothes," I mentioned.

Another little girl told me that they call the malls "The Shopping"  in English or in Spanish "El Shopping".  It seems to be a very Argentine and Brasilian thing, as in Brasil, they say, "Eu vou no shopping".

This entire time, these kids had been asking me if I liked going to the mall, and here I thought they were asking me I merely enjoyed shopping.

Truth be told, in comparison with American shopping malls, there is none.  This one was tiny, but it had a lot of nice stores and unique items that were outrageously priced for Argentines.

Now while the "shopping" in Bahía is smaller than what I am used to in the U.S., there is one in Buenos Aires called "Galerias Pacificos" which is ABSOLUTELY beautiful!  There are four stories of all kinds of shops, all Argentine, except for maybe your random "Zara" or "Levi's" store, but it's amazing!

Take a look at the video for Galerías Pácificos here.

There are also some cafés on the bottom floor which are really nice, have decently priced food and good seating location when it's not overrun by masses of people.


4) El Estación Del Omnibus - RETIRO


The first time I landed in my hopefully soon-to-be-adopted homeland, I was intrigued by the announcers in the bus station.  The main bus terminal is in an area of Buenos Aires called "Retiro".  I assume that once upon a time (think back to the early 1900s), it was a lovely place, but it is now plagued with some shady people.

Bre (the student I took) and I found a place to sit down after having walked all over the place in Buenos Aires and we were immediately bombarded by homeless people. Also what greeted us was a cacophony of noises that were (of course) foreign to us.

We took it all in stride!

We both sat at the bus station for a good 6 hours before our bus came.  A friend of mine booked our bus tickets to leave at midnight, so we had spent a good deal of the day wandering around Buenos Aires on foot.  By the time we got to the bus station, we were exhausted.  Another friend had lent me a guide book that had crappy maps with horrible cardinal directions.  I am a Map Snob. I know my Cardinal directions and I also know where the sun lies in the sky, where it rises and sets...that map in the book was CRAP!

Anyhow...we finally tired of walking and decided to get to the main bus terminal and wait there for our bus to leave for Bahía Blanca.

Bre and I sat for six hours in the bus terminal with our luggage.  One thing about Argentines is that they love to shop, as I mentioned above. One of my many best friends, who lives in Argentina, buys stuff online and sends it to my house.  It is my job to bring it to her as I'm an American, I won't get asked questions in customs.  I don't think I've ever been to Argentina and taken less than two suitcases.  They also weigh almost the maximum of 50 lbs. That's a lot of weight for your arms to pull on each arm, in addition to wearing a backpack.

You're probably wondering what I am talking about.  Why would I need to take so much stuff down there? Don't they have it there...etc?

No.

Imagine paying for a pair of Levi's in the U.S. for, let's say $60 USD.  In Argentina, they cost $300 USD.  Insane, isn't it?  Not to mention, if you're an Argentine, you have to pay an exhorbitant tax on everything upon your return should you buy overseas if you do go abroad.

It's crazy.

Imagine two women, with four to six suitcases.  We're tired. We're hungry. We cannot leave our suitcases. We have to pee. When you go to the restroom, you have to pay for toilet paper. The line for the toilets stretches around the corner about 30 feet. No joke. There's only ONE ladies bathroom. You must take turns if you're traveling in pairs. If you're by yourself, as I was one year, you pray to the Lord that you don't have any kind of mishap with your bowels or bladder. Thankfully, I was lucky that year. Other years have not been so fortunate. :s

When you're hungry, if you don't speak Spanish, your teacher (me) has to go translate for you. You take all of your luggage with you.  The best thing is to honestly just take a bunch of snacks. Buy sandwiches and take snacks and drinks. That's what I'll do the next time I go.

After ordering your food, it arrives and you devour it.  Then you buy a soda or a bottle of water.  Plain tap water is not free at restaurants in Argentina.  In fact, if Argentines order water, they normally order "Agua Con Gas"  or in English, Sparkling Water. If you want still water, you order "Agua sin Gas".  Drinking sodas are interesting, too. They will give you an old fashioned bottle with a straw.  NEVER drink your sodas straight from the bottle. In fact, never drink any beverage straight from the bottle in Argentina. You will have no idea where that bottle has been or know who nor what has trodden all over it. Safety first! No sense in getting communicable diseases because you put your lips over a soda bottle.

You finish your meal, and you look for somewhere to sit with all of your luggage. You find the first available seats to discover that you've just camped out on top of the the Resident Homeless' abode.  There are more than enough transients in the bus station that really do make the Retiro Bus Station their home.

You move yourself and your students to another location. You are surrounded by some interesting people. I once met a former nun, a blonde haired and blue eyed Bolivian woman, a Brasilian man and a few Policemen. (Check the link for "43 Hours" for that story.)  The Blonde Bolivian lady was quite an anomaly. I have an aunt from Bolivia who is the typical indigenous featured Bolivian.  The Blonde lady was born and raised in Bolivia. She moved to Argentina for a better life and a better, but found nothing but racism and poor jobs. I thought about the irony as I couldn't have figured out if she were Bolivian by her features. The only thing that gave her away as being Bolivian was her accent.

The Brasilian guy was on his way to San Miguel de Tucumán, which is near the border with Bolivia. His bus ride was going to last 36 hours. Holy cow!

The only person I worried about was the nun. She was all by herself, had no phone and no way of knowing whether or not her niece was going to pick her up from the Bus Station. I remember giving her a kiss and hug as I was about to depart and asked her to please take care of herself while alone at midnight in a sketchy bus station. I often wonder if she ever met up with relatives.

For those of you that have seen "Office Space" and can remember the bubbly red head in the background who had a sing songish voice talking on the phone, Retiro Bus Station has one of those, too. Actually, several sing songish announcers.

Inside the bus station, there are time tables of the most recent departures and arrivals to the bus stations. Also, the announcers will announce these locations of arrival and departure over loudspeakers to the entire station.

"Un colectivo a Mar de Plata sale a las veinte horas y treinta minutos (20:30=8:30 p.m.)"
(A bus to Mar de Plata will leave at 8:30 p.m.)

The announcers do this for quite a while. In fact, they never stop.  The become less frequent in the evenings, but during the day...it's incredible. They NEVER STOP ANNOUNCING.  I feel like it's a song or like a Bollywood musical when they announce.

You finally hear them announce your bus. "En la plataforma 8, un colectivo a Bahía Blanca sale a las 23 horas y 45 minutos."  (On Platform 8, a bus will leave for Bahía Blanca at 11:45 p.m.)

This brings me to the bus...

5) The Bus

My students all thought the buses were going to be something like the ones people see in movies about Mexico -- full of chickens, covered in tarpaulin, and full of drug lords.  When I explained to them that Argentina is not like that, at least the parts I have been to, that puts them at ease a bit.   I explained to them that they were going to be enjoying themselves immensely.

The buses are actually double decker busses. They look like this:

You drag yourself, your luggage and your exhausted student(s) with their luggage to the binary and wait for the bus driver to load your luggage into the bottom of the bus. You give him a tip, since that 's a nice thing to do.  He gives you a little ticket so that when you arrive at your destination, you can retrieve your luggage.

They check your tickets, tell you where to sit and you find your seat.

Your seat has several options. First of all, you can recline or otherwise, recline the seat completely flat if you wish to sleep. You get a pillow, a blanket, a little food tray with a bottle of water and a "privacy" curtain if you want to draw it between you and your fellow seat mate.  A movie with Russian subtitles from Thailand or who knows where plays on the T.V. screen and is dubbed in Spanish.  It is one of the coolest things ever.

You then have the option of falling asleep or staying awake. I typically sleep on my way to Bahía Blanca. On my way back from Bahía, I stay awake and cry as I have just left my fellow friends and compatriots. Such wonderful people!

One year, my seat was at the front of the bus on the second level.  What a view!  It was nice being able to see the sunrise that morning upon my arrival into Bahía Blanca.

Stay tuned for the next installment of "I Heart Argentina, Parte Tres".  I will be discussing the nightlife and the jewelry in that blog.

Thanks for reading!

43 hours

This blog I originally wrote in my diary during July 2012.

I love to travel.  Words cannot express the exhilaration I get from hopping in my car or on a plane to go traveling.

This week I went to my favorite country other than the U.S. ---> ARGENTINA!

I love this country.  I have friends here. I love the food. I love the men.  I love it when Argentines use the "voseo" in Spanish.  It makes my underwear melt when those men tell me, "Vos sos muy linda". (You are very pretty.)  I may be speaking from a tourist's point of view, but I feel right at home in Argentina.  I left my son with his dad for a month, grabbed my luggage and exchange student with me and I never looked back.

Actually, part of the last line is such a lie.  I did look back. A lot.

My flight leaves Miami on a Monday night at 10pm and will arrive in Rio the next day and then go to São Paulo then to Buenos Aires.  I've packed several times over prior to my flight just to make sure that everything was okay and packed well.

Just to make sure that my suitcases are all good to go weight wise, I called the airline to check the weight limitations on Sunday night at 9pm.

I call TAM, Brasilian Airlines. A woman answers the phone, we speak for a few minutes and she tells me the information I want to hear.  I can take two suitcases up to 70 lbs. a piece for free. Sweet! She then proceeds to ask me, "Do you have a Brasilian visa?"

I knew I needed a visa in order to wander around Brasil. Since I was just going to be puddle jumping airports, and not actually entering the country,  I said, "No".

The lady then proceeds to tell me that my flights between Rio and São Paulo are considered "domestic."  I would therefore need a visa to travel within Brasil, even though I was technically not leaving the plane nor airport.  She then tells me I should go to the Brasilian Consulate "tomorrow morning".

I'm thinking to myself...this lady must be nuts.  Does she not know where Jacksonville is located?  Most people don't. FYI - Jacksonville is located in Northeast Florida, near Southern Georgia.

It's 10pm on a SUNDAY.  To get to the Consulate at 9 am the following morning, means I would have to leave my house in Jacksonville at 3 am.  I still have to repack all that crap that I'm bringing to Argentina.  I have to go to bed. I have to eat. I have to do a lot of things. I'm turning into a dragon... rawr.

Also, my escort to the MIA, who also happens to be my BFF, had announced earlier in the day that she had invited a friend to come along with us.  Not that I mind extra people coming with us. I love to socialize and I like to meet new people. It's just a little inconvenient to find out that an additional person plus the four pieces of large luggage is coming with us.  There would be no room...anyways - more on that later on.

I ask the TAM ticket agent if I can change my flight right then and there.  She said, "You have to call the travel agent you originally booked the flight with".  The travel agent is an online company that's in Maryland.  Not to mention, I think they were closed at that time of night.

I called the travel agent anyways to see if they could change my flight.

Thank God they were open at 11 pm at night!  I did manage to spend most of the night, until 2 a.m. on the phone with them and also going back and forth with the airline to get this issue resolved.

 $700 later...the issue was resolved.  My original ticket was priced at a steal for $650! In order to change my flights to only have ONE layover in Brasil, I ended up spending the original cost of my ticket plus $50.  I was not happy.

After repacking and finally nibbling on something, I went to bed around 4 a.m..  I awoke three hours later, groggy, with a massive headache. I got my suitcases ready. I started to do some work for my job.

I get a phone call from my friend who was taking us to the airport.

"So, change of plans!"

Oh dear, I thought.

"My friend invited another friend along."

Crap!

It turns out that BFF's friend had a friend who had been involved in a domestic dispute with her boyfriend the night before.  The friend had gotten beaten up, so her friend, like most sane women, took her friend to file a police report the next morning. Friend #1 and Beat Up Friend were going to come with us to Miami so that Best Friend could have some friends for the drive back.

"Okay, so where the hell are we going to put this 5th person?" I asked.

I wondered the logistics of it all.  I shouldn't complain as I am not the one driving my car six hours away. I realize that. My friend can invite anyone that she wants to come along. It's her car. But if there were already 5 people going and four 50 lb. suitcases going along, where the hell were we going to fit everyone and also put the luggage?

"She's tiny, so she can fit between you and Jackie."

"Ok...?  What about the luggage?" I asked.

She suggested that we strap the suitcases on the roof.  As she told me that, an image conjured up in my head and I saw natural elements ruining our suitcases. I also saw in my mind's eye that the suitcases flew off the roof of Best Friend's car and hit someone's windshield behind us.  Flashback times!

Ok...

"What time are we leaving?" I asked.  I am a person that likes to be beyond punctual for international flights. Especially when they are in another city five hours away.

One o'clock, she said.

 Our flight was leaving at 6 pm...

You do the math.

I eventually told Best Friend why  I was annoyed at the change in plans and how I felt that her friend and Beat Up Friend could not come.

"Hell no!  Best Friend, I'm sorry about your friend's friend. I truly would not nor do not wish domestic violence on anyone. But your friends can go some other time. I have a plane to catch and I also had to pay out the ass for a new change to my flight."

I realize now looking back on it all, I was a little hangry. You know, hungry+angry?  Equals hangry.

Why would I want to jeopardize my flight time by leaving my home town at 1 p.m. when it will take me five hours to get to the other airport?  Check-in, especially at such a busy airport like Miami International takes at least 30 minutes, if not more.  Going through security...you might as well sign up to donate your left kidney and wait for the hospital to bring you another one to you twenty years later in a beer cooler.

For me, it was the most illogical thing ever.

My Other Best Friend happened to call right afterwards.  I began to vent.

"I will pay for you to rent a car because as you and I both know, Best Friend has some pretty wild ideas." said MOBF, taking pity on me and the situation.

It came to pass that Best Friend's friend was called into work after taking Beat Up Friend to the police station later on that morning. Thus Friend #1 and Beat Up Friend could not journey with us.

We eventually left at the time that I wanted to, which was 11 o'clock and were on our way.  On our way to the airport, we ended up in a rainstorm that took us an hour to drive through.  Traffic slowed down to about 30 m.p.h. on I-95. We were still able to make our flight on time, though the ticket lady also asked me in Portuguese if I had a Brasilian visa...ugh...enough with the visas.

We arrive in Rio de Janeiro, Brasil the next day in the morning at around 7 a.m..  As I mentioned before, we weren't able to leave the airport.  The closest I will get to the Cristo Redentor and we were conveniently trapped in the stupid airport overlooking the Pão de Azucar mountain and the bay.  I was crushed.   The closest I actually got to touching Brasilian soil was walking from my plane onto the tarmac and onto an airport bus.  If my student hadn't been with me, I may have taken off running on the tarmac.  

Within this holding area was a Brasilian bookstore, two gift shops, restrooms, and a pretty expensive jewelry shop.

Jackie and I had our backpacks with us. Mine had my laptop and other peripherals, and I certainly didn't want to leave them sitting around in a chair for someone to grab. Latinos, no matter if you're Spanish, Portuguese, Italian or French, have a tendency to be kleptomanaics for wayward belongings.

Downstairs, there was a small cafe that sold some pretty delicious croquetas of ham, chicken and cheese and sandwiches and desserts.

I speak a little Portuguese, so I was really excited to be practicing my skills with NATIVE Brasilians!

"Perdón, voces tem...." (Excuse me, do you all have...?) and then my brain shut down.

Because my Portuguese is pretty rusty, I could not remember how to say "chicken". I asked first, if the lady spoke Spanish.   "Voce fala espanhol?"

"Não." No...

Crap...hmmm...  I then asked if she spoke English. "Voce fala inglês?"  Nope on that one too.

"Cómo se dice "pollo"? " She gave me a blank stare.

"Cómo se dice "chicken" em portugues?" I was mixing my Spanish and English with my Portuguese. At least I was trying!

Another blank stare.

I then began to do something that I find silly to admit, but what have you...I began to imitate chicken noises.  "Bok, bok bok!"

My student began to roll on the floor with laughter and so did the lady behind the counter.

"O, voce quere FRANGO!!!"

Sim!  Isso e o qué eu preciso. A minha estudiante não pode comer o "jamón". - Is what I told her. (Yes, that's what I want!) and I couldn't remember how to say "ham" in Portuguese.

I paid for a few chicken croquettes and a few ham and beef ones as well. Since Jackie follows Kosher, I ate the ham ones.

We ate, went back upstairs and then waited for our flight to leave at 1 p.m. in our holding tank.

I browsed around the gift shop and was pleased to see that they had 12" tall Cristos Redentores (Christ the Redeemer) statues in three shades of green, yellow and blue.  At least if I can't see Cristo Redentor in person and up close and personal, I can buy one!  Since my student is Jewish, I asked, "why don't we get one of these for your parents?" since her parents have a sense of humor.  She laughed and said no.

At 1 p.m., we hop on our flight to Buenos Aires and arrive around 6 p.m.. It's cold. It's windy. It's rainy. I'm not having fun with the weather.

We get a taxi to take us the Estación del Omnibus in Retiro.  It's a $50 cab ride there.  It took us about an hour to arrive. At least, Jackie was able to see what kind of Speed-demons the Argentines really are.

Jackie was so excited when we arrived at the bus station,  she began to chatter away like a little parrot.  I had warned her ahead of time to keep her voice down in the bus station, but she must have forgotten.

Needless to say, her chatter alerted people around us that we were

• A) Foreigners and 
• B) English-Speakers and by the way were dressed, 
• C) Americans.  

According to most of Latin Americans,  Yankee's have lots of money.  That meant we were sitting targets.

I am a woman of Faith, so I kept praying the entire time that we were there that we would not get accosted.  While no one robbed us, we were interrogated by the local police after they realized that were were not Argentines.

Jackie was wearing a bright red sweatshirt, jeans and had two huge suitcases.  I was wearing a big red coat and carrying two suitcases.  One suitcase had a palm tree scene and the other had a scene of Paris.  Argentines do not really wear or do most things that call attention to themselves when they are out in public.  I am quite the exception.  I want to make sure no one is going to steal my stuff at the airport nor at the bus station.

The police men saunter by and seeing that I am the older of the two, ask me in English, "Ladies, do you speak English?"

I roll my eyes, and respond in Spanish. "Si, hablo inglés.  ¿Qué necesitan Ustedes, señores?"  (Yes, I speak English. What do you need, sirs?)

"Can we see your passports and bus tickets, please?"

We fork over the passports. I cock my eyebrow at them. They look at me and smile.

I then ask "¿Para qué necesitan ver nuestros pasaportes y boletos?"  (Why do you need to see our passports and tickets?)

I was trying to fly under the radar and not get noticed. These guys were jamming my vibes.

I think once they saw I really did speak Spanish and that I was annoyed, they left us alone.  They thanked me in Spanish and wished us a good trip.

Finally, at 12 midnight, our bus came to get us.  We were finally able to sit down in the lap of what I call Argentine luxury.

Buses in Argentina are amazing, especially the overnight ones.  They are double decker buses that have seats that can fully recline. You get a pillow and blanket, a packet of food, you can watch a movie pirated from the US with Russian subtitles and dubbed in Spanish all night! You can draw a curtain between you and the person sleeping next to you for "privacy".

It's amazing!

The bus ride was a total of 8 hours and we arrived at around 8 a.m..  I awoke on the bus.  We got off the bus, got our luggage and bid Jackie farewell at the bus station and she went off to her host family for two weeks.

And that, my friends, was the 43 hour trip I took just to go see some friends on the other side of the world.

I would do again in a heartbeat.

(This trip took place in July 2012)

I Heart Argentina! Parte Una

I am an aficionada of all things Argentina.

I just love that country!

My Argentine friends think I am nuts when I say I love their country and that I want to live there eventually.  I mean, what's not to love?

Most people are familiar with Argentina simply because of one of the greatest soccer (football) players ever, Lionel Messi.  They think, "Oh, Argentina! That's where Messi is from."

Most others will just simply stare at you with blank looks since they're that ignorant on the location of said country.

However, there's more to Argentina than just soccer players.

1) Argentina.

Most tourists that go to Argentina can probably say, without a doubt, that that country is pretty awesome.

Argentina is like the U.S., but obviously they speak Spanish there, and maybe a few other languages, such as Italian, German and Amerindian languages.

You have 23 provinces

that stretch from the tip of South America all the way to the middle of the South American continent. Within them, you have a varied landscape (just like the U.S.) that goes from

Great Plains-like open land

That looks like Kansas to me!

to picturesque, snow-capped mountains and forests like Bariloche

Where are the Von Trapps?

to amazing waterfalls

to bustling metropolis

Buenos Aires is really a beautiful city. 

 and also some whale watching experiences at Puerto Madryn

FREE WILLY!!!

.



 If you hold wine close to your heart, you will really enjoy the Mendoza area.

Mmmm...Malbec

Argentine wine is so flavorful. Malbec is a favorite of mine. We have an affair every so often.

Gotta be classy!  Drink my Malbec in an international mug.

Drinking wine brings me to the...

2) Food.

I went to Argentina for the first time in 2011.  I went in June and for part of July. Before leaving the United States, I had packed all of my warm winter clothes that had fit me in January 2011 into my suitcase.  Please remember that while Argentina may be in South America, they will have cold weather when it's hot up in the U.S. because of the differences in location above and below the equator.

I remember the day that I left, I threw on a pair of my size 10 jeans.  I had no idea that they would not fit me. I couldn't button them. At least I could zip up my fly and wear my coat over my pants so that no one would notice that I was wandering around with open pants.

My trip was to last for 3 weeks.

My best friend's mom, who has been to Argentina many times, warned me that the first time that she went, she gained about 20 pounds in the 3 weeks that she was there.  I remember thinking, "That's not going to happen to me."

You might think it may not happen to you, too.

WRONG!

I gained 12 pounds. If you thought I couldn't zip up my fly GOING to Argentina, I couldn't even fit into my pants AT ALL while I was there. I had to buy three pairs of new pants that were a size bigger so that a) I wouldn't freeze my butt off and b) so that I could have something decent to wear instead of a pair of track pants. I felt like such a fat ass while I was there. LOL.

The food is SOOOO amazing.  Let me describe for you the deliciousness of these delights.

Breakfast

Argentines don't eat big breakfasts like Americans do.  While a traditional, American breakfast will comprise of toast, juice, pancakes, cereal, bacon and eggs, or whatever else My Fellow Americans eat when they sit down to eat the most important meal of the day, in Argentina it's much different.

They will simply have a roll with butter and jelly.  Or perhaps they will have a "factura".  These are the most delicious pastries in the world.  They are your typical bakery items with flaky crusts.  They are doused in butter, then baked to golden, crispy, flaky perfection.  As you hopefully noticed, I said, "Butter", Paula Deen's favorite ingredient.

Pasta

Now, their pasta...UGH!  YUM!  Argentines may speak Spanish, but the majority of the families that immigrated to Argentina are Italian in origin.  I know this because I have extended Italian relatives that moved to Argentina at the turn of the 20th century.  My great-grandfather was the only one who chose to keep going to Ecuador, but that's another story.  So...as I was saying, Argentines are just Spanish-speakers with Italian accents because they are 90% Italian origin.

The Italians brought their language, their customs and their food.  Any American who has been to an Italian restaurant can say they've had spaghetti, or lasagna, or ravioli, gnocchis...  Let's just say that in Argentina, all the pasta is FRESHLY made...that same day!  You go home and cook it...it's light and airy...the spaghetti sauce is real too, freshly made that day as well. The sauce can be creamy with milk based ingredients, or tomato saucy. Yum!

Raviolis with chopped walnuts...YUM!

Asado
This next topic of gastronomy is an Argentine staple.  Argentina has the best beef in the world.  Hands down-- THE BEST.  Since I've not been to Brasil (at least, not INSIDE their country as opposed to being trapped in one of their airports--that's another story here), I can't compare Brasilian beef to Argentine beef. I think they fight over the title of Best Beef Capital of the World.  Kansas City would be a distant third.  Kansas City (shout out to my homies!) has pretty amazing beef too (that in turn is another story).

Since by birth, I am an American, most everybody wants to throw me an asado when they discover my origins.  "¡Hola, che! Queremos hacer un asado para vos!"  ( Hey Man! We want to have a bbq for you!)

Let me just tell you -- I feel like the Queen of England with all of this attention!

Argentines will take anything that had four legs which walked the earth and will barbecue it.

No joke. They will take a cow, pig, sheep, and anything else I didn't mention, split it open, put it on a spit or a grill over wood, and cook it until well done.

They also will take the intestines and make sausages out whatever leftover bits of meat and fat the animal had.

They are like the Native Americans. They will take all parts of the animal and make something with it. You can have cutlery with bones or hooves for handles. You can wear boots, jackets or purses and wallets with the animal you just ate.

It's amazing.

My friend in Argentina, I will refer to her as A.S., her family is pretty worldly since they go to the U.S. quite a lot.  They have had American BBQ sauce and like it a lot.  However, most other Argentines would be INSULTED if you slapped BBQ sauce over their meat.  What you want to eat over your meat there is "chimichurri sauce".

This green sauce is made up of olive oil, parsley and garlic.  It's pretty amazing too. The longer it sits, mixing the ingredients together, the better the flavor.


Argentina gastronomy is pretty banging.


Mate

Mate is a type of drink similar to tea.  However, it is brewed differently.  You heat the water until almost boiling.  You then pour the hot water from a kettle or a thermos into a mate gourd or metal cup with chopped yerba mate leaves.  The way this drink is consumed is through a metal straw with a sieve or special mesh filter that filters out the leaves.

RVallazza_2012

Drinking mate is a ritual amongst Argentines.  It is consumed with family and or friends, or even strangers.  The person who pours the water must take the first sip, as it is the most bitter.  He or she will drink the water from the gourd until you hear a slurping sound.  This is okay as it means that you will now pass the mate gourd back to the pourer.  He or she will pour some more and pass it to the next person.  This goes on until everyone has had a long, slurping sip of hot mate and either a) asks for more or b) you say "gracias" which tells the pourer you don't want anymore. They will then pass it off to the next person until everyone has satisfied their "thirst" for mate.


Most people consume it without sugar, but some consume it with juice (during summer), or with a little sugar or honey.

The first time I tried it was in 2006 when my roommate offered me some.  His dad was from Argentina and he drank mate every day.  I thought he was nuts for enjoying this drink, but sometimes, you just keep trying.  Then you learn to like it.

I help run a cultural student exchange through a non-profit organization with a friend of mine here in Jacksonville, Florida.  One year, some of the Argentine students broke out his mate and hot water in the cafeteria and began to sip and pass around.  The principal of the school sought the student and his homies, believing they were indulging in cannabis.  Now, I do not profess to be an expert in the consumption of illegal substances, but one look at mate and most people will realize that IT IS NOT a hallucinogenic narcotic.

They offered this principal, who abstains from anything considered illegal, such as alcohol (oh my!), a sip.  She politely declined, but not before she had the school resource officer confirm that mate was indeed a tea-like beverage.

Parte Dos to come soon... I will be talking about Shopping and long distant transport within Argentina.  Nightlife and Jewelry in the third installment.