Sometimes you have to ride your luck

Ministro Pesrarini International Terminal A

As I write this I am sitting in the Ministro Pistarini International Airport at Buenos Aires waiting to check-in for our flight back to NZ.

This morning we had to pack and return our rental car. They were meant to pick it up at 10:30am but no one showed. Half an hour later after several aborted phone calls we decided to take it back to what we thought was the depot. With help of Mr Google and my own superb navigation abilities we found one place but it was not the right one. Fortuitously, while I waited nervously in the illegally parked car for B to find the office, she was having difficulties too but was pointed by phone to another address. It was just around the block. We were then very fortunate to have a park open up for us right in front of the building and a nice man indicated we could park there. As we went into the building the man who had dropped the car off appeared. It turned out that he had forgotten to come and pick up it up at the appointed time. We passed the car inspection and off we walked back to the apartment.

Our host had arranged for us to be driven to the airport and we set off in good time crammed into a Ford Focus with bags all around us as the boot already held a boom box.

We did our check-in and when we went to do our bag drop, we were told they were overweight – we could only take 15kgs. The agent told us to take out our wine and, apparently, I turned pink at the thought that I would have to dump it, but it turned out to be a misunderstanding and we could take it as long as we carried it on board with us. It was a simple process, but after we had checked in the bags, B immediately discovered that she could not find her passport. So, we went searching. Everyone from the agents to the information officer to the police were very obliging and helpful. The possibility was that it had been picked up and not handed in or that it was in B’s bag, about to be loaded. They very obligingly got our bags back for us and fortunately the passport had somehow found its way in to B’s bag. So, there was relief all round that we would be able to get on our plane (B gave me a big hug and everyone cheered) and were not stranded in Mendoza. B would have needed some ID if the passport hadn’t been found, but I suspect her driver’s licence would have sufficed.

Crisis averted we relaxed and had a good flight to BA.