Heading for San Antonio de Areco for an overnight stay in the Campo, the country.
My bus ticket (return) for the 1 hour 45 min journey cost 68 pesos, 17 Can Dollars. The Retiro was a hub of activity at the loading docks. Almost a hundred bays, and a constant coming and going of buses from and to all over South America. These buses draw into their assigned bay, stop long enough to get everyone aboard, and then draw out again.
Apart from being on Argentinian Departure time (somewhat delayed) everything runs with almost military precision and racing speed.
Dozens of overhead screens, just like in aiports, advise of the latest gates for arrival and departures.
After being dropped at Areco's bus station following a few intermediate stops, I asked about direction to the 'centro'.
Five blocks to the Historical Center Plaza. It felt almost like a five kilometer trek in the desert, as the midday sun had reached it's zenit, and even shady streets felt like tunnels through a furnace.
The Antigua Casona, a bed and breakfast, had been noted as a good place to stay, so I headed for it.
A historic facade, with a couple wrought iron covered windows and a locked wooden carved door: Ring the bell, it said.
So I did, and was welcomed by the owner.
They had room for one person for one night - Monday is a slow day.
Charming courtyard furnished with wrought iron tables and chairs, lush with greenery and relatively cool, and backing onto a two hundred year old brickwall with built in asada (BBQ)
Tiled outside terrace, which turned out to be my proverbial downfall.
The breakfast room
The kitchen passage way - to my room in the background.
My room - after I succumbed to a siesta.
The bathroom
I take it! One night for 150 Pesos (about 37 Dollars) with breakfast in the morning.
As soon Is I stepped out from the wooden floorboards of the house onto the straw mat on the polished tiles outside, the straw mat turned into a speed skate and I found myself looking up at the brick and beam ceiling sheltering the porch.
My shin developed a baseball sized second knee, just below the original one. Within seconds. I thought the skin would burst stretching over this marvel of subcutaneous explosion.
Here goes my tango and here goes my wandering about historic Areco, I thought.
I had never seen anything so grotesque and it hurt!
Well, one drinks a glass of water, checks for any broken huesos (bones) - negative. I took a photo of this thing, but out of respect for reader's delicate sensibilities I won't publish it.
I could walk, and postponed the offered icepack for later, so walk I did.
Of course, being siesta time, all was closed. These photos were taken after the town rose again from its midday stupor.
Saddle frames in a leather craftsman's shop
Hand crafted mate bombillas with silver adornments
A silver smith's work shop beside his show room
The only cafe/restaurant open during siesta time.
I treated myself to a Quilmes cerveza here to cool down the inner burnings of my external injury.
Then for some serious exploration of this wonderful little relic left over from a couple of centuries ago.
