Javier´s international rescure service
Plaza de Mayo - Buenos AiresAfter the usual mêlée at the baggage carousel we - Michelle, Mike & I - wander though customs into an area crammed with small kiosks offering car hire, combio money changers, hotels and cabs known here in Argentina as “remise”.
We are going to be staying at Dakar Motors, run by Javier & Sandra and show their address to the person in the kiosk and arrange a price. The remise agent gives us a ticket for the journey and we stroll outside to the rank. We find a line of black remise with yellow roofs snaking into the distance and approach the car at the head of the queue. The driver at first seems slight unhappy when I hand him the piece of paper with the address on, as it’s quiet a distance away from the down town city centre, but once the car’s loaded up his mood mellows and in Spanish he soon begins to smile and joke with us as we leave the airport to join the mornings rush hour traffic, his main source of material being the loco – crazy - motorbike riders screaming past us in the two foot of space between us and the central reservation. His award winning mime of the car swaying into the path of a motorbike, followed by his finally showing the collision makes it clear that many of our biking friends have come a cropper taking this short cut.
We pass through the final exit toll leaving the highway, entering the suburbs, passing modest single story houses with small front yards, iron railings and gates up to the level of their guttering. The houses are occasionally separated by small parades of shops, petrol stations and garages. A mix of very European and Latin looking people go about their daily business, walking dogs (lots of dogs), unloading picking up truck (with huge disproportionate improvised rear shells) or relaxing shooting the breeze on street corners & outside shops. Occasionally the taxi would pull up at the numerous sets of brightly painted yellow traffic lights or we’d wait in line at a train crossing as the bells chimed and then suddenly a big red diesel train would roar by.
After driving around one particular suburb for a while, we noticed that we seemed to be retracing our steps, as the driver slowed and peered at the crossed road signs at each junction. The driver continued to joke and through gestures alone advised us to sit back, relax, he had it covered, he new where we were going and we’d soon be their. Sitting back we enjoyed just looking out at every day sights, which all though the same as back home, look completely different, as the architecture, design, logos on shops and layout of everything is slight askew to what we´re used to.
About an hour into the journey, the driver asks to look at the address again, smiles, swings the car around in to the path of an on coming truck, breaks, waits for the truck to pass and we tear off in the opposite direction. After a few more circuits, the “map-less” driver pulls up to the curb to ask the passer by for his view on the situation & after some consideration he shakes his head, everyone smiles, the driver double checks the address & we drive onward.
Patience is your friend in life, but especially when you’re travelling, so we are not worried as we continue to see more and more of the city of Buenos Aires. In other circumstances people may fear that the driver is employing the old bump up the fare routine, but our price is fixed, the driver is relaxed, so our tour continues.
Eventually after a few more pulling over interludes we suggest to the driver that he calls Javier, he holds his arms out slightly bent, palms up, shrugs his shoulders, smiles and gets out his phone, punches in the number and after a short conversation we are back on the road. The area starts to change and becomes much more industrial, with high graffiti covered concrete walls with huge gates, masking the secrets beyond. Cars and trucks parked on the curbs become wrecks to the point where some have no wheels, doors, windows, engines or interiors. We cruse up and down for a while, asking a few people directions, then after a couple more laps the driver is back on his mobile. This time the driver has a twinkle in his eye as we pull away in search of our final destination, I sense we are now just a breath away.
We are going to be staying at Dakar Motors, run by Javier & Sandra and show their address to the person in the kiosk and arrange a price. The remise agent gives us a ticket for the journey and we stroll outside to the rank. We find a line of black remise with yellow roofs snaking into the distance and approach the car at the head of the queue. The driver at first seems slight unhappy when I hand him the piece of paper with the address on, as it’s quiet a distance away from the down town city centre, but once the car’s loaded up his mood mellows and in Spanish he soon begins to smile and joke with us as we leave the airport to join the mornings rush hour traffic, his main source of material being the loco – crazy - motorbike riders screaming past us in the two foot of space between us and the central reservation. His award winning mime of the car swaying into the path of a motorbike, followed by his finally showing the collision makes it clear that many of our biking friends have come a cropper taking this short cut.
We pass through the final exit toll leaving the highway, entering the suburbs, passing modest single story houses with small front yards, iron railings and gates up to the level of their guttering. The houses are occasionally separated by small parades of shops, petrol stations and garages. A mix of very European and Latin looking people go about their daily business, walking dogs (lots of dogs), unloading picking up truck (with huge disproportionate improvised rear shells) or relaxing shooting the breeze on street corners & outside shops. Occasionally the taxi would pull up at the numerous sets of brightly painted yellow traffic lights or we’d wait in line at a train crossing as the bells chimed and then suddenly a big red diesel train would roar by.
After driving around one particular suburb for a while, we noticed that we seemed to be retracing our steps, as the driver slowed and peered at the crossed road signs at each junction. The driver continued to joke and through gestures alone advised us to sit back, relax, he had it covered, he new where we were going and we’d soon be their. Sitting back we enjoyed just looking out at every day sights, which all though the same as back home, look completely different, as the architecture, design, logos on shops and layout of everything is slight askew to what we´re used to.
About an hour into the journey, the driver asks to look at the address again, smiles, swings the car around in to the path of an on coming truck, breaks, waits for the truck to pass and we tear off in the opposite direction. After a few more circuits, the “map-less” driver pulls up to the curb to ask the passer by for his view on the situation & after some consideration he shakes his head, everyone smiles, the driver double checks the address & we drive onward.
Patience is your friend in life, but especially when you’re travelling, so we are not worried as we continue to see more and more of the city of Buenos Aires. In other circumstances people may fear that the driver is employing the old bump up the fare routine, but our price is fixed, the driver is relaxed, so our tour continues.
Eventually after a few more pulling over interludes we suggest to the driver that he calls Javier, he holds his arms out slightly bent, palms up, shrugs his shoulders, smiles and gets out his phone, punches in the number and after a short conversation we are back on the road. The area starts to change and becomes much more industrial, with high graffiti covered concrete walls with huge gates, masking the secrets beyond. Cars and trucks parked on the curbs become wrecks to the point where some have no wheels, doors, windows, engines or interiors. We cruse up and down for a while, asking a few people directions, then after a couple more laps the driver is back on his mobile. This time the driver has a twinkle in his eye as we pull away in search of our final destination, I sense we are now just a breath away.
After about another thirty minutes, a few more shrugs, lots of smiles and some small talk on the street with passers by, we spot a large over landing bike pull into a petrol station. I signal to the driver, he nods, breaks sharply, then darts across more on coming traffic, stopping on the forecourt. It soon becomes clear without leaving the cab that biker is Javier who’s come out to try and find us, he signals to follow, the pursuit is on, we wind our way through more streets, arriving eventually outside Dakar Motors, the first rescue of the trip executed seamlessly.