We were on, like, the best gas station in a 50 km radius. Yet, nobody picked us up. Truckers used this really cute lie : they tell us that their cabin is wired with NSA-type snooping devices that their boss is constantly monitoring to make sure they don’t pick hitchhikers, so you see, we can’t ride with him. That’s got to be the most preposterous bullshit I’ve heard of my whole life. Yet, completely unrelated truckers used it so it must be part of the mandatory brainwashing they perform on truck-license applicant.
We spent the whole night there. Thankfully, the gas station employee didn’t mind me sleeping on a table. Weirdo and Cranky weren’t so lucky. They still got up to talk to the driver when a truck came, which happened every half-hour. They didn’t dare to stretch the hammocks because it was too cold and also because we were in an urban area and they had heard that Argentina gets dangerous. Well, that’s what Cranky said to Weirdo, he wasn’t so paranoid. He kept his mouth shut after I was woken up in the early morning hours by a bloody fight involving a handful of young men, a monkey wrench and two meters of chain. Yay for Argentina, let’s get to Uruguay quick.
The sun was already up when a truck driver that had spent the night on the station (and that had already seen us the night before) reluctantly accepted to let us ride with him. The monitoring devices be damned.
The good thing was he was on his way to our destination. 250 km later, he dropped us on the outskirt of Buenos Aires, near a big church that is pretty popular so he was sure we’d find plenty of buses.
Only problem: Pilgrimage day.
This place was, I’m weighting my words, hell on Earth. The church was besieged by a legion of merchants selling plastic virgins and horrific food and drinks for three times the market price. We had to queue in the sun to get on the bus, that was packed like an Ikea furniture. But, in time, we got to Buenos Aires. It was evening. We still had no host.
But hostels are cheap.