December 14, 2011
Well, it’s been awhile. I’m currently 30 hours into my nearly 40 hour journey from Rio de Janeiro, Brazil to Nairobi, Kenya. So much happens each day that I want to remember, but I’m finding myself wanting to spend the time I’m traveling doing things other than writing, thus I’m behind. But I’ll do my best to try to catch up.
It was nice to be back in Buenos Aires after almost five years. Walking around the city triggered little shards of memory—incomplete episodes or a feeling of familiarity.
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| Giant Christmas Tree in Galerias Pacifico |
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| Invisible man on Florida Street |
Before being free to enjoy the city, however, I had to get going on my Brazilian visa. (You have to get one in advance of visiting the country. It had been hanging over my head for a while at this point, but through a combination of poor planning and decision making on my part, I still didn’t have one. While I also didn’t have a set date to be in Brazil, I had planned to spend most of my on-my-own time between Ushuaia and Africa there. And, I had my Nairobi flight booked from Sao Paulo, so I needed to get there by at least December 14.)
Anyway, I had grand intentions of getting the visa done early Friday morning, but after wanting to sleep in after a very late arrival Thursday night, and then running into Caroline, my roommate from Peru, and wanting to catch up with her, and then going with my friend Paul to several ATMs trying unsuccessfully to get cash, and then finding a place to take passport photos, it was closer to 2:00 when I arrived at the embassy. And, it turns out that address I had wasn’t even the correct place for me to be. Clearly I wasn’t the first person to go there, however, as the security guard handed me a paper with the correct address to the consulate. The paper also had visa attention hours on it. Unfortunately, they had closed an hour before and wouldn’t be open again until Monday. This was going to foil my plans of trying to get to Brazil after a couple nights in Buenos Aires.
As I was contemplating my options outside the embassy I realized the consulate nearby (and near a cash point my friend hadn’t yet tried), so I decided to go inside and see what the deal was. After passing through security, I was greeted by a very unhelpful, unhappy woman in reception. Through gesturing and broken Spanish, I was able to gather that she could not help me at all, but I could submit an online application on one of the computers behind me. After I finished it, I was then able to learn from the security guard through broken Spanish and English and a series of gestures that I then needed to sign up for an appointment online. He pulled up the screen I needed to sign up for one on the computer, but all of the appointment slots were filled until December 15. I was supposed to fly out of Sao Paolo for Nairobi on the 14th. Again, through a series of broken language and gestures, I explained my predicament to the security guard and on contemplation he sent me over to counter five.
I wasn’t quite sure what I was waiting for, but after a few minutes, a woman came out. I explained to her my problem (no gesturing needed—she spoke perfect English) and asked if there was any way I could come on Monday even though I didn’t have an appointment and see if someone who had one didn’t show up and take that spot. She said no, that I had to have an appointment, and furthermore, that people always show up for their appointments because if they don’t, their visa is automatically denied. I asked her if there was another consulate I could go to in a nearby city, or if there was any other way to get a visa. There were places a few hours away. I then explained that I had already filled out the application and would I use the same one for another consulate. At this point, she asked to see the application number I had written down. She turned and started typing things on her computer. While she was doing this, I was looking around and saw a notice saying that n addition to the photos, completed application, and passport that I had with me, I was also supposed to have proof of onward travel from Brazil, a paystub, and a recent bank statement none of which I did. Oops.
After a moment of typing, the lady asked to see my passport and a photo. She taped the photo on a blank sheet of paper and then asked me about the bank statement. I told her I didn’t have one, but that I could pull it up on the computer if she wanted. She didn’t go for that. After thinking for a moment, she asked me if I had a credit card. Fortunately (as you never know how you could lose one or how long it might take to get a replacement), I did. She looked at it, asked me about my credit limit, which I told her, and she wrote down on the paper. She then had me sign the piece of paper and turned back to her computer. She disappeared for another moment and then she came back with instructions about paying for the visa. “Go to this bank at this address and pay this amount. You must go to this branch and it must be paid today. If you do that, you can pick up your visa on Monday at noon. If anyone asks, you had an appointment.” And she turned away and went back to her office. That was it.
I pulled out the map trying to figure out where I needed to go. The security guard saw this and told me in English where the bank was—it was only four blocks from the consulate. But, it closes at 3:00 on Fridays and I needed to hurry. I looked at my watch, which said 3:00. (Fortunately, it was only 2:54—keeping my watch ahead is just a little trick I do to make sure I’m on time everywhere. Haha.) Anyway, the security guard motioned for me to hurry and exit using the stairs, which I did, and then I took off running down the street.
I have a time-stamped queue number from the bank that says 2:57:48. The bank locked the doors at 3:00 exactly. I was feeling pretty grateful at this point: grateful to the lady for processing my application, grateful to the security guard for letting me in on the closing time of the bank, and grateful I had left my flip-flops on the truck in Ushuaia and was thus wearing my sneakers—much better for running. I was feeling so grateful I didn’t even mind the 30 minutes I had to wait before my number was called to pay for the visa.
The lucky day ended with a fantastic night at a tango show. I went with Paul who had been in Buenos Aires a couple years before. A few of his friends from the hostel at that time had gone to a show and couldn’t say enough about it. He’d been telling me about his plans to see a show from the first week of the trip. The hostel suggested going to La Ventana to see tango, and if any of you find yourselves in B.A., I highly recommend it. We had a delicious steak dinner and the entertainment was fantastic. In addition to the tango singers and dancers, the show had a performance by a drummer, a musician on some sort of small guitar-like instrument, and a cowboy who performed a sort of dance which combined a sort of clogging in cowboy boots and keeping rhythm with small balls attached to a string which he swung around, clacking the balls on the floor. (My description doesn’t do the act justice—it was really impressive!)
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| La Ventana |
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| Enjoying steak dinner |
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| Casa Rosada, where the president lives, at night. |
In B.A. I also saw Marcel, the guy I dated when I lived there. It was nice catching up—funny how time passes but some things don’t seem to change much. He did joke with me that I was like Benjamin Button—getting better with age. I liked that. J Caroline and I also spent a lot of time together—I’ve met some really interesting, engaging people since I’ve been traveling—and had some really bad luck with dinner spots. I also did a bit of running, which felt great, but I can’t seem to get my feet to go back to their normal size. Oh, and did I mention eating ice cream?
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| Carolina and Micaela |
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| Freddo ice cream |
Nice visa lady.
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