Saturday, 19 January 2019
Colonia, Uruguay
Grumpy little ogre this morning. There’ll be blood on the walls before the end of the day. Not much sleep. Don’t do mornings. Alarm call at 0600hrs.
To the Buquebus ferry terminal. Catamaran to Colonia the other side of the River Plate in Uruguay. Rather surprisingly, have to have my right thumb fingerprinted upon exiting Argentina. Uruguay passport control is in kiosk nearby so won’t have to faff with that the other side. Only takes 1hr to cross the river on a high speed cat. When I say river, think English Channel wide type river. It’s incredibly wide.
After disembarking, all bags have to be X-rayed by Uruguayan customs. Which adds to the chaos in the arrivals hall and those descending on escalators into said queue is quite amusing as everyone is falling over each other trying to alight escalators.
Car hire a short walk from the ferry terminal. Meet the car hire guy. Think Dave Gahn out of Depeche Mode but wearing braces on his teeth and a bit weedy looking. That’s the car hire guy.
Go through the paperwork. Walk to car. Have booked a Group E, automatic saloon so I that I will have plenty of leg room.
It’s a knackered old Chevrolet with plenty of dents and scratches. Just about to sign it off when I notice the driver’s windscreen wiper blade is literally hanging off. There’s a reason for that. It’s completely broken. The bit that connects blade to the arm is severely dented and crushed. Oh, he says. No worries. We’ll change the car.
Great.
Thought I.
Back to the counter. He puts a key down on counter for new car. See that it says group C. A typical group C car on the list of pictures on the counter is a VW Gol (Polo sized thing). And a few grades below what I’ve ordered.
That’s a group C car. I say.
No. It’s a group O. It’s the same size as the one you’ve booked. Says he. And points to a picture of the group O car on the list on the counter.
But it says group C on the fob. Say I.
No. It’s the same size car.
He’s lying through his teeth.
Full on grumpy ogre mode now.
No. It’s a VW Gol size car. That’s what the fob says.
I’ve paid for a group E. I want a discount then.
No. It’s the same size car.
Still lying.
You have to speak with Montevideo if you want to change.
I can tell it’s way above his pay grade to do anything.
Walk out into another car park to check out the new same sized replacement car. That’s a group O.
And there. In front of me. Is…a…
WV Gol.
You are taking the whatsit sunshine!
It’s a group C car.
Oh. And exceptionally small.
I’m kicking off. He tells me there’s nothing he can do. It’s the only spare car.
I have to go to Montevideo if I want a different car. He says.
My reply is not printable.
Montevideo is over 2hrs away. And is where I’m dropping car off at the end of the week. So will not be going there now, he is told.
I try contorting myself to get into the Gol. Admittedly, I’ve got size 13 hiking boots on so that doesn’t help but my knees are up to my ears and touching the steering wheel such that if I try and turn my hands are stopped by my knees.
There’s simply not enough leg room.
We’re still arguing that I won’t be going to Montevideo to change the car and that there’s nothing he can do about it, when all of a sudden he just turns and leaves with a, ”I have another customer”.
I’d like to say I leapt out from the car and continued the argument. But the problem was that I couldn’t. Because, dear reader, I was stuck. With my legs wrapped around my ears and the steering wheel it was a struggle.
I can tell it’s a one car type of car rental place so not hopeful any further discourse will achieve anything. Drive to hotel very carefully. Ponder my next move over a drink. Will put on my normal shoes and see if I fit in car wearing them. Then I’ll get him to sort out Montevideo.
Slightly improved driving position with normal shoes rather than size 13 hiking boots. Not ideal for driving. But I can tell I’m going to get leg ache with all the angles I’m having to contort my legs to drive.
Return to car hire place.
Round 2.
He’s not at his desk. I wait. And wait a bit more. Eventually he returns. He’s seen me standing there from afar but as he walks towards me he’s pretending to nonchalantly look in the other direction for about the 15 seconds it takes to cross the concourse and walk past me.
As I said at the start. There’ll be blood on the walls before the day is out.
I could crush a grape right now.
He blatantly ignores me and goes about shuffling papers on his desk when a young blonde woman appears and sits down at the computer. Dave says something in Spanish and then goes to speak with another customer. Ask Blondie if she speaks English. She puts the palm of her hand out towards me. This doesn’t rile me at all.
Dave finishes with other customer and returns to speak with Blondie. Still ignoring me. She’s now on the phone garbling in Spanish. Then she speaks with Dave. Dave, finally, speaks with me. He says he can get a new car by 1400hrs tomorrow.
Nope. I want a new car tonight.
More Spanish intercourse between Dave, Blondie and other person hanging on the telephone (see what I did there?).
We can get a new car by 1000hrs tomorrow.
Nope. I want a new car tonight.
Repeat the process.
We can get a new car by 0900hrs tomorrow.
Nope. I want a new car tonight.
More Spanish conversation. Hear a lot of ‘Si, si, si’ (yes, yes, yes) and phone is put down.
Dave explains. We can get a car tonight for 2100hrs tonight.
Good. That’s more like it.
But it means that either Dave or Blondie have to drive to Montevideo now and drive back, in that, it’s a problem for us type of way.
Not my problem. Get on with it.
Chop, chop.
Oh. And you can drop the car off at my hotel as well whilst you’re at it. I’m not turfing out again.
Can tell he’s not happy about doing this but that’s the price you pay for presenting a car that’s not fit for purpose mate.
Swap WhatsApp details so he can text me when he’s arriving.
We shake hands.
Off I pop, squeezed into my Gol, back to hotel. It’s all of 5mins away but when I jump out of car see that Dave has texted. I’m to go back now. He’s got a new wiper blade sorted and original car is fixed.
Hmmm. That was a bit quick and convenient.
Back for a third time.
Do all the paperwork and he cheekily checks the Gol over. Change the paperwork again. Return to Chevrolet to do the handover. He sits in driver’s seat and washes the windscreen to prove it’s working. But in doing so, I get squirted with washer fluid from a wayward nozzle. It’s not been a good morning so far.
Inspect the blade. It’s not a new blade. It’s the original blade that he’s just fixed. It’s a bodge job. This is pointed out. As I take it apart to show him. I’m then accused of damaging the car and told to leave it as it is. Blood. Walls.
He rams the blade in as best he can so that its fixed. As it’s unlikely to rain and I can see that the blade is relatively firmly half fixed in position I decide to take the car.
What a palaver. It’s now 1130hrs by the time this rigmarole is done. Just under 2hrs of faff.
Back in Colonia.
Lunch in the old town. Pay the bill with someone who wasn’t my waiter and nip to the loo. As I’m exiting loo and walking back waiter accosts me in a jovial manner saying, “Tip not included, Sir.” Oh right. Will do. Subtly does it.
Colonia old town is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and it’s easy to understand why. Set out on a grid basis, the old cobbled streets are a delightful meander. Especially as there are cars and lorries from the 1950s dotted around, much like you would find in Cuba. The buildings are single storey and the streets lined with trees providing the required shade from the fierce sun. A small yacht marina looks quite enticing and assume it’s a weekend play ground of Buenos Aires’ rich.
The old port town on the River Plate houses a lighthouse at one of the points. Steep climb up but the things I do for you, dear reader, knows no bounds. No one told me that at the very top, to gain access to the gangway around the light that you had to squeeze up a very narrow ladder, clunk your head on the metal bulkhead and through a tiny hole in the metal plate. But, you know me, I persevere. You actually enter the lamp room and then through a diddly little access point in the window frame. Was hoping to see tiled roof tops of the old town but it’s just a mass of green from the tree canopy. Buenos Aires’ skyline can just about me made out on the horizon through the late afternoon haze. That’s how wide the River Plate is at this point.
Refreshing mint and ginger lemonade in the beer garden of the Charco hotel overlooking the river. All rather relaxing. So much so that I book in for dinner later.
Return to my hotel, the Don Antonio Posada, a former mansion house built in 1875, the other side of the old town. Enroute, pass a cannabis shop. Apparently, it’s legal here. They have a cannabis plant growing in a small greenhouse under a purple light in the corner of the bar.
Dinner at Charco Bistro. Maltik Irish Red beer in the garden beforehand followed by al fresco dining watching the sun set over Buenos Aires and the River Plate.
The bright blue sky gradually morphing into oranges and reds.
Very pleasant end to the day.
