Preface: This post is clearly LONG overdue which will have the following effects on your reading: 1. It will be significantly shorter than if I were a good blog- mom instead of a selfish neglectful lazy blog-mom 2. It will be significantly less funny since this trip happened over 2 months ago and 3. It will be photo-less. Sorry for sucking.
Now, where did we leave off? Ah yes. I believe we were discussing the night out in Paris where I made about 376 French friends while drunk. Photographic evidence tells me the last friend I made was the gentleman at the front desk of our hotel.
The next thing I remember is awaking to a loud banging on our door. As it turns out, I’m an equally awkward conversationalist when drunk in Paris as I am when sober in Dallas and decided this guy needed to know the details of our flight time the next morning. When we hadn’t checked out in time, that nice young man sent a maid to wake us up. Margaret and I realized we had about 27 seconds to get to the airport and head off to our next destination. Now, those of you who know me well know I’m not the most adept user of public transportation. It once took me an hour to realize I was going the wrong way on the el in Chicago. Sober. Imagine my prowess when drunk in Paris. Thank the Lord for Margaret.
We figure out the right train and I take my place seated on top of BashBag in the rear of the traincar with my head in my hands and my pride on the Champs Elyssee. We disembark the train and head toward the AA ticket counter which, unbeknownst to us is about a 64 mile walk from the train station at Chuck DeGualle’s airport. After our trek through various groups of smelly travelers wearing sunglasses and sing-songing “Bon Soir” to anyone we pushed out of our way. (Note: as it turns out, “Bon Soir” does not mean “Good Night” AND “Excuse Me”)
Bon Soir?
We are greeted at the ticket counter by a flurry of angry agents. My first reaction to their crass behavior is to attempt to figure out just which muscle i would need to use to get my foot to their faces, but then I noticed that one of them was waiving two Business class boarding passes to Miami in our faces. Not to mention the fleeting thought of, “Hey, I work here and battery charges filed against me by a coworker in a foreign country is a sure way to end this free flights business. Also, this is my fault for being late.”
We gorged ourselves on yet another First Class meal and bottomless beverages before we deboarded in Miami feeling (but not looking or smelling) refreshed and singing “Bienvenidos a Miami”.
Next stop: 4 hour wait at the gate for a flight to Beunos Aires. For those of you who don’t have AA’s flight schedule memorized, American flies a 777 to EZE in Buenos Aires. That’s right, a three class configuration. And the blondetourage? We’re ticketed in first. We essentially have an apartment in the sky to ourselves, and aside from having to watch the newly engaged couple in front of me make out while I ate my rare steak and jumbo lump crab, the flight couldn’t have been better.
My Cubicle in First Class. A Place I Could Get Used To.
Wheels down in EZE. No place to stay. No plan. Less of a grasp on spanish than my college diploma would lead you to believe. Problems, we had them. Fast forward through 6 hours of “problem-solving” (read: freaking out) and we landed in hotel #1. In the rain. Day one in BA? Wasted.
The next morning we took a walking tour around the city including the Cemetary in Recoleta where Eva Peron is buried, a tango show while sipping Fanta, and lots if shopping for art and leather. We wound down the evening with a barrel of red wine and half of a cow for dinner. Buenos Aires is totally a place I could get used to. Our Gout-inducing dinner left us fueled to take on dancing in the club until the sun came up.
The Pink House
Our Art Gallery/Hotel
Church in Buenos Aires
La Recoleta Cemetery
I Know She Said Not To... But I Totally Cried for Evita
Cafe Tortoni
Theater Turned Bookstore, El Ateneo. Notice, They Have the Same Logo as SMU.
Did you believe that last sentence? I thought it sounded good, however, it ceases to be true around word number 3. I wish I could tell you that we experience all that the clubs in Buenos Aires have to offer, but it turns out jettsetting for the summer takes it out of you. All we really got from our short trip to BA was:
1. Cemetaries and churches can be works of art.
2. The dogs are VERY obviously not fixed. Also, all male.
3. Blue eyed blondes are an oddity
4. Lenticular Porn is not only an industry, but a thriving one.
5.. Western Union is closed on Sunday. (Unless of course you find one in the back room of a cell phone accessory store, fully equipped with one way glass)
All in all, my internship with American Airlines was everything I hoped and more.
Lucky for you, there’s more in store. Not only am I headed to Turkey with Margaret for a mid-semester rendezvous, but I’ve accepted a full-time offer with AA! Let the bidding for my registered companionship begin!
Lamb on the Run 