My kids tell me I can never complete a trip without an unexpected adventure. Of course, it happens when I least expect it. This time, unfortunately, it had to do with the precious vouchers we needed for land transportation, pick up, hosterias, meals—all of which we had paid for back in the states.Without the vouchers, our trip could have turned into a time-wasting fiasco, never mind the potential mini-disaster of having to pay twice for all those services.
As the bus careened around the curves of the gravel road back to Ushuaia, I said to Jean, "We need to find our vouchers. The guide and vouchers have completely disappeared."
We agreed to hunt for the tourist company's office once back in Ushuaia since that business was responsible for planning this part of our trip. We possessed just a name on our itinerary, the Canal Touring Company. What happened next I can only describe as an interesting Argentinean odyssey---or a very bad dream. Take your pick.
We were dropped off in the heart of the town. I had noticed an information booth on the main street during the morning ride. We walked down main street, asking local people unsuccessfully for "information?"
Finally finding the information booth, we then asked for the address of the tour company and followed a map to find it several blocks away. There we explained our dilemma to a pleasant young woman. We absolutely need to have our vouchers which were in one of her vans and held by an unknown driver, we explained.
Nicely, she made several phone calls. She couldn't locate the van or the vouchers but promised she'd find them and get them to our hosteria that night.
We insisted we must have them that night since we were leaving the airport at 11:30 a.m. for El Calafate. "Si," she said placidly.
Jean trusted her. I didn't. Guess whose intuition proved right?
The vouchers didn't arrive that night. Jean said surely they'd arrive with our early breakfast. That was on Sunday morning. I reminded her no office is open on Sunday morning.
Don't worry, she said.
No vouchers at breakfast. We called for a taxi into town. Along the way I tried to explain our dilemma (en Espanol). In fact, I learned more Spanish that morning than on the entire rest of the trip. The taxi driver seemed to understand our concern. "Don't worry," he said. "I will help you."
Thus began the odyssey. First came a useless search to the tour office. Closed. We wandered around the empty Sunday morning streets nearby trying to find anyone who knew somebody to call. Finally, we found the name of a restaurant located halfway back to where our hosteria was. A second office supposedly was located in the restaurant. Ten kilometers later, we found the restaurant. Nobody knew anything.
However, a nice young woman there told us where the second office was actually located. She called for us and said someone answered and said we should go there. We did. It was closed. We doubled back to town to the first office. I was getting very anxious, to say the least.
Back in town, our driver made more calls to try to find the business owner. The airport was far from town. Time was growing critically short. The taxi driver finally located someone who arrived with a key to the office. Inside, we couldn't find any vouchers.
By now we had just one hour to catch our plane! The key holder promised he would call someone to find the missing vouchers. Somebody would meet us at the airport and deliver the vouchers, he promised.
Oh yeah, I mumbled, but we had no recourse.
Our good-hearted friend, the taxi driver, clocked 100 k getting us to the airport.
Glumly, we checked in and sat waiting for our departure call.
I was thinking unhappily about the hosterias, drivers, and excursions we now had no evidence of having paying for.
Then, as if by miracle, a middle-aged gentleman walked up to me. He tapped me on the shoulder. How could he possibly have recognized two mature (to say the least) Americans in that crowded lobby, you wonder? So did we.
In his hands he held a folder. It contained our gold plated vouchers! Hallelujah! I almost kissed him. Our worries were over.
Jean took my picture with the smiling delivery man.
[Go to Patagonia Part Twelve]
