Here’s something about traveling alone that I don’t experience when I travel with friends: I am solely responsible for my own safety.
I had a tour of Mendoza arranged for this morning. It was to be a car tour that was designed to show me the sights. I had tried to find other things to do, but wasn’t able to find anything given schedule constraints, so ultimately had asked the hotel, and this is what they found.
The clerk at the desk had phoned somebody and said he could set something up. I asked for more information, and he texted me a few paragraphs. The price was to be $80 for this. I continued searching for an alternative but ultimately agreed to this plan even though it felt very unclear and I wasn’t certain who I was dealing with.
When I asked for a 10 am start, the clerk acted like the time was strange, which struck me as unusual.
This morning I checked out of the hotel and a different clerk was working. She didn’t know anything about the tour.
At 10 am nobody had arrived to greet me. At 10:15 I almost set off on my own – that would have been the better choice.
At 10:20 the driver arrived, unkempt and frazzled, and never introduced himself.
I got into the car and was immediately unimpressed. The car was clean, but he didn’t have any credentials and just roughly described the layout of the city on the palm of his hand as he drove. He apologized for the tardiness – he had forgotten until his friend called him.
He drove fast and erratically. He was distracted.
When he pulled into the parking space at the Plaza Independencia, his tire bumped the curb and the fascia of the car scraped the sidewalk loudly. He didn’t care.
We got out and walked briefly. His knowledge of town was cursory. He didn’t really show me the Plaza, just the big Mendoza sign. We got back into the car, but I was already uncomfortable.
As we sped around he he kept giggling without good reason. We were headed well out of town and I didn’t know why. When I asked where we were going he pointed to the map on my phone. The destination was 6 (large) blocks to our right and already 2 blocks behind us. I pointed this out and he said it was a “shortcut.”
I would have been more reassured had he not been giggling inappropriately — and if there had been any traffic at all anywhere.
I wasn’t happy and didn’t want to keep doing this. I didn’t know where we were headed and I said we should go back.
Back in town he continued to weave, almost hitting other vehicles on several occasions.
When next we stopped at a park I informed him I was done and walked away. We were only 30 minutes into the 2 hour tour, and I had had enough. He was confused and asked if I was supposed to pay him, to which I replied (honestly) that the clerk had indicated to me that the hotel would process the charge.
At the hotel he was waiting for me demanding payment and I immediately went inside. The hotel had arranged this and should intercede. Today’s clerk inquired as to what happened, and I explained everything. Ultimately we agreed I would pay him $40 for his time.
Later, his “boss” came and apologized (after yelling at him).
I’ve never done anything like this before – walked out on a guide. At best he was a terrible guide (I’ve had taxi drivers do a better job for lesser price). At worst (which I suspect), he was intoxicated. In between those are some other possibilities I’ve considered.
Regardless, I felt unsafe in his car and I’m comfortable with my decision. I have had many questionable moments over my years of solo travel, but I have never felt unsafe in the way I did today. I’ve ridden on the back of a moped in Hanoi with cars so close I could touch them on either side. I’ve dared the streets of Rome, Naples, Cairo, Marrakech, and Istanbul and seen driving so aggressive it would curl your toenails. Yet I’ve never felt that those drivers lacked control of the vehicle the way he did today.
This experience left me feeling uneasy and in immediate need of a change. Therefore, I decided to scrap my plans for a day of seeing Mendoza and instead called a car and went to the airport where I was able to change to the next flight for Buenos Aires (which was boarding when I got to the gate).
I remained on edge for the rest of the afternoon.
The cappuccino and dessert I had on the street helped (I’d missed lunch).
At Plaza de Mayo, now that the rain wasn’t falling, I was able to properly evaluate the Cathedral. It’s an interesting structure in that it doesn’t look much like a church from outside – it more reminds me of a bank or government building.
At the eastern end of the Plaza is the Casa Rosada, the presidential office building. It is a monumental structure, painted a unique shade of pink. The pink is said to represent the colors of the opposing factions (red and white) but the paint itself was likely originally tinted by mixing white paint with cow’s blood. Eva Peron addressed addressed her adulating throngs of crowds from this balcony.
This is the Cabildo, which, in the middle of the 18th century, was the town hall.
Along the way I saw this statue of Don Quixote, his horse frantic, with nose flared and hooves extended wildly.
And of course the Obelisco, rising 67 m above the Plaza de la Republica. Commemorating the first Spanish settlement in the area, this is where locals gather to celebrate soccer victories.
Calmer than I had been, I returned to my hotel to begin my search for dinner.
butterblogger 