Goodbyes & Hellos. Welcome to Buenos Aires.

Beach of Carilo on the Atlantic Coast of Argentina south of Buenos Aires.

Sadly, my time in Bolivar had to come to an end. But Daniel and I agreed that we would meet sometime soon in Buenos Aires.. There is a sold-out Roger Waters concert sometime in April for which Daniel and Pedro already had tickets. We’d try to find another and perhaps meet then.

Tomorrow morning I’d meet Tim at EZE, the international airport in Buenos Aires. But for our last hurrah in the province I would join Daniel and Victoria for a trip to Carilo, an exclusive beach resort town on the Atlantic a few hours north east of Bolivar. Daniel’s daughter Victoria would stay in Carilo with a friend who’d then take her to Buenos Aires for her first day back at school after summer vacation. Daniel and I would race back to Bolivar for one last night and I would get an early start in the morning for BA.

Waking up for the 7am departure the next morning after a “night at the asado” was pretty tough. But a trooper, Daniel blazed through the campo to the coast as Victoria nodded off in the back seat and I let me head drop against the passenger window up front. The first stop in Carilo was for an alfajor and café. The it was to the beach. Carilo itself is a wooded community with large architecturally rich houses dotted through a slightly dense forest and a netowrk of dirt roads. The local zoning here prohibits asphalt and pavement for the roads. Even the center of town is understated with finer shops, stores and restaurants. Trucks, jeeps, quads and motorcycles pass quietly through the maze of streets. But the beach is a striking constrast with dunes and pournding surf. Quads race over the downs while trucks and dune buggies ride on the beach. You’d hardly know Carilo was a beach town until taking a sandy path which as it rises onto the dunes the Atlantic Ocean comes into view. It’s not in the guidebooks and barely on the map. Pinovar, Carilo’s neighbor is more well known but seems to have been overrun with commercialism and traffic. Carilo’s planners have done a good job to keep it tranquil.

We’re back in Bolivar by early evening and I pack and make sure all systems are go for an early morning departure. That night on final futbol game and dinner with the family. In the morning it’s long goodbyes and one more stop to see Willie and the guys at the service station. Daniel rides with me to the edge of town and with handshakes and hugs we depart but agree Buenos Aires would be our next get together and at sometime, perhaps a short weekend motorcycle trip to Cordoba province.

Goodbyes: The team at Petrobras who cleaned my bike and filled me up. Daniel rode with me to the outskirts of town.

I make it to the airport almost to the buzz of the bell when Tim’s plane landed. But complications with one way roads and confusion with signs means I’m about 20 minutes late.

But Tim emerges from the airport sporting his infamous smile and infectious enthusiasm. In tow is Fernando, the brother of one of Tim’s co-workers in New York. Fermando’s family has offered to let us stay in an apartment in Buenos Aires and Fermando cheerfully will help us acclimate to the city and show us the sites. When we arrive at the apartment, I feel like we’re at a suite at the Ritz. The refridgerator is stocked, there’s a six-pack of boutique Argentinean wines, an exotic fruit selection, cheese, cured meats and more. We soon learn that our schedule for the next few days has been determined, including a futbol game with one of Buenos Aires top teams, RiverPlate.

Hellos: Tim & Fernando guide me through the streets of Buenos Aires.

Making sense of the madness of the streets of Buenos Aires (photo by Tim Amos)

No time to waste. We’re finally in Buenos Aires.