Adventures in Argentina Part II: POS

In Argentina, Anna and I thought it would be a good idea to rent a car. We had an entire week to kill in the northern province of Salta, so we planned to get the car for four days to travel south to wine country, and north to high mountains.

We were staying in a hostel in Salta and had seen at least a dozen rent-a-car places around in our day there, so we decided to ask at the hostel where they recommended. So far they had done a pretty stellar job recommending things to do, places to eat, etc... This left us fairly confident that they could point us in the right direction for renting a car, which is pretty much their job, right?

In fact, they did one step better. They said, wait here, and we will call a car rental company and have them send someone over to talk about car rental with you. Sweet, right?

Skip ahead a half hour, and meet Christian. He is about 5'8'', and half his teeth are missing, supposedly from chewing too much coca (not the cola variety). Anna and I are only a little sketched out, because while Christian looks sketchy by American standards, he looks very normal for Argentinian standards, such as I know of them. Christian tells us all about what car he has, and adds that he will drop it off at the hostel and meet us at the airport in four days to pick up the car. He quotes us a rate very comparable to what we'd found online. Then he says he will return in the morning with the car, the contract, etc... So far, so good.

The next day, Christian returns and we fill out the paperwork, and part with our money, and gain access to a key and a car. It looks like a pretty normal car. It is a Ford Fiesta, black, with a handful of little scratches:

The only confusing thing is the presence of a massive tank in the trunk, which Christian explains is for the gas, by which he means compressed gas, not liquid gasoline. The gas has a tank for liquid gasoline too, in the normal place. Unfortunately, the car is empty of both gas and gasoline, so we need to fill it up at the station down the street.

The clutch is a little heavy and the brake's a little light, and the lack of stop signs or traffic lights makes intersections exciting (if possible death is exciting), but we make it to the gas station okay. Phew.

In Argentina, we discover, most gas stations are full service. So when I got out of the car, the gas station attendant standing nearby looked at me, somewhat confused, while I looked at him, also confused. I finally realized he wanted my key (which he needed to open the gas tank), which I handed to him, and I proceeded to stand around awkwardly half stretching.

It probably took me about thirty seconds to notice the liquid gushing out from underneath the car. And I mean gushing. I gaped for a second, trying to recall the correct translation in Spanish for "WHAT THE FUCK GAS IS LEAKING ALL OVER THE PLACE" and also alternately rushing forward to get the gas station attendant's attention and rushing back to avoid the giant hazard that was liters of fuel all over the ground.

Finally my frantic arm movements and concerned expression attracted the interest of the gas station attendant, who promptly stopped pumping gas into the car/onto the ground. He looked puzzled at me, and at the ground, and I'm fairly certain my concerned expression worsened. Finally I managed the only Spanish phrase I could think of that was remotely appropriate to the situation: "Que paso?"

Unfortunately "What happened?" didn't have quite the frantic/distressed/angry connotation I was going for. Which might explain the gas station attendant's reply of, "No worries, this happens all the time when you overfill the tank."

Really? All the time? You spill gas all over the ground all the time? And you're okay with that? And customers are okay with that? That's like10$! Ten very flammable dollars!

All of which I would have said if I spoke better Spanish. Instead I settled for wild arm motions, concerned expressions, the occasional angry glance, and looking around for Anna. She eventually came back from getting some coffee, and we managed to get the car started, and I was only somewhat terrified that the whole thing was going to explode.

Next stop: the other side of the gas station, where they sell gas, not gasoline. We drive around, and this time I am all prepared to wait in the car. I'm chilling and the gas attendant is looking at my like I'm crazy, and saying some words in Spanish very quickly, and I am just smiling and nodding, which works a lot back home. Moments later Anna convinces me that we actually have to get out of the car, and stand 40 feet away while the car is being filled with compressed gas.

This makes me nervous, on top of the nervous I was already feeling from our gasoline leak moments earlier. I am busy envisioning our Ford Fiesta exploding like in a James Bond flick with us burning to a crisp inside, our blackened and melting fingers smearing against the glass windows.

I try to push these thoughts away as I get back in the car and start to drive. Finally, we are on our way, and I'm driving, and I'm trying not to think of the pressurized gas in the trunk and the gasoline that could still be leaking for all I know and the possibility of the entire vehicle exploding in a giant fireball.

But it is super exciting because we are on the road and we're in Argentina and we're going to see vineyards and pretty mountains and other unknown things! This is the mood that carries us for the next 100km or so.

Unfortunately, I notice that the longer we drive, the more trouble the car has going faster. It's not slowing down exactly, but not really accelerating either. 60km/hour is the new max speed and changing gears doesn't seem to affect the RPM at all and stepping on the gas is having little effect.

At first I think that the car just has a small engine and I was too concerned earlier with the possibilities of exploding to realize it, but then I think that there really might be a problem with the car. We pull over and discuss our situation. We finally decide to keep going, since we're about halfway to where we're going anyway, and the car is still running, albeit a little weirdly. We'll just be gentle, right?

Fifty kilometers on, and another forty until we reach the next town, and we are on the side of the road, in the middle of the desert, surrounded by mountains, a few scraggly bushes and not much else, without cell phone reception.

The first thing I do is go pee behind a big rock, because I've been holding it in for the past two hours, and I can't wait any longer. Then I watch Anna climb an even bigger rock to try and find cell phone reception. Later, some nice people in their car stop and speak a lot of Spanish, and I get the impression that they are going to call a tow truck when they get service again, and it'll only be an hour or so. More people stop, and I take pictures of our car, stranded, and more people stop, and we push the car a bit, and some people try to drive it, and someone diagnoses the problem for us (it's the clutch, or embrago, as I learn), and I throw rocks for a while, and we tell stories, and eventually a tow truck comes.

There is a fair bit of haggling since we are not at all inclined to pay for the tow truck, since this isn't our car, and it's the responsibility of the car rental company. Thankfully the nice Argentinian tow truck man accepts that and gives us a ride anyway. It's around this time that I realize my camera is missing. This is totally unrelated to the car story, except that now I have no pictures to show you of the car stranded on the side of the road.

Luis (the tow-truck man) drops us off at the hostel, which is coincidentally around the corner from the car repair place where he works. I guess it's not really that coincidental because the entire town consists of about three streets and five corners.

Anyway we spend the evening trying to relax and also trying to get in touch with Christian, who is even harder to get in touch with by phone than Brian (those of you who know him get this). We finally manage to reach him and explain the situation, and the bargaining begins.

Initially we were going to simply leave the car and catch a bus back up to Salta later on and try to get our money back. However, Luis tells us he can fix the car and it will be ready in a day and a half, so we agree to take the car and finish the second half of our trip, and just get our money back for the two days we couldn't use the car when we get back to Salta.

In the meantime Anna and I spend an awesome day and a half in Cafayate, biking to vineyards, doing wine tastings (free), eating, shopping, sleeping, and looking at pretty mountains. Overall we decide that much worse things could have happened.

To be continued in Adventures in Argentina Part III: POS Continued.