Argentina > On the Way to Buenos Aires

It’s the middle of Thursday evening rush hour as the train enters the tunnel for Schiphol station. I see many passengers waiting on the platform as the doors open. The conductor notices my luggage and wishes me a pleasant vacation. “Where are you headed?” he asks with interest. “To Brazil,” I reply as I step off the train. There’s no time to explain that tonight I’m leaving for Buenos Aires, taking the ferry to Uruguay tomorrow, returning to the Argentine capital on Monday, and joining the Brazil group tour on Tuesday. The conductor already seems intrigued by my answer. He blows his whistle to send the train on its way to Amsterdam Central. Meanwhile, I search for the KLM check-in counter. The airport isn’t too busy. I’m becoming familiar with the self-check-in machines. Even the carry-on security check goes smoothly. An officer tells everyone that nothing needs to be removed from their bags — laptops, iPads, and even liquids can remain inside with the new scanners. He even suggests my belt can stay on. Nevertheless, his colleagues at the scanner decide otherwise. Well ahead of time, I’m through all the checks. I stroll past the shops and restaurants and stop at one eatery for a sandwich and a beer. I watch all the people passing through the airport, trying to imagine where they’re from and where they’re going — an impossible task. At half past eight, I join the line at the gate. An Argentine traveler apologizes in case she’s cutting ahead. I hadn’t even noticed — I think we arrived at the gate at the same time.

Argentina - The plane is ready for the flight to Buenos Aires

She lives and works in the Czech Republic but returns to Argentina regularly to visit family. When I show her my travel route, she warns me to watch out for pickpockets in Buenos Aires. She also advises against trusting taxi drivers. When I mention that I’ll need a taxi to reach the ferry to Uruguay, she offers to give me the name of a safe taxi company in Buenos Aires tomorrow morning. “You pay in advance,” she explains. “These drivers don’t take detours, don’t speed, and there’s no risk of receiving counterfeit change.” I decide to write down the company’s name. Gabriëlla doesn’t need to wait for all my customs and baggage procedures, since she’s traveling with carry-on only. I thank her warmly. On the plane, she sits two rows behind me. I suspect she’s still worried about my safe arrival at the ferry. I thank her again and decide to see how things go in Buenos Aires tomorrow. There’s nothing else I can do for now. I sit between two solo travelers, both from Buenos Aires. My travel route comes up again in conversation, and we exchange experiences with Amsterdam and Prague. Meanwhile, the KL701 Dreamliner takes off. In the dark, I watch the lights of the Netherlands grow smaller. After just over an hour, the meal is served. I enjoy a glass of wine while watching a movie. I enjoy the seat far less. The poor seating angle already presses on my tailbone, a recurring problem I always have in airplane seats. And it’s only midnight — this bodes ill for the more than thirteen-hour flight ahead.