So after a good sleep, helped no end by the beer at Gratto on Corrientes, I got up to see what the day had in store.
I have a number of leads here for various appliances, unfortunately my new computer has a different lead. My phone charger is also in the case, as our my cameras and all the other leads and adaptors I need to join the twenty-first century. There is so much of this stuff that I got tired of carrying it and as we “never” lose our cases, I thought why carry them? put them in the hold and let someone else do the carrying. It’s just sods law this would happen the first time.
As I have no travel adaptors, my only solution was to cut the plug off my new computer and fit an Argentine plug. That’s sorted then. My phone is dead, no charger you see. fortunately Viv’s phone uses the same charger as our Argentine phone. I am charging it up and will fit my SIM later.
I now tried tracking my cases. I found that I must have a PIR. PIR? Property Irregularity Report number. Well they never gave me one at the Airport, so I have been trying email, Facebook, you name it to contact KLM.
Next off we set out along Corrientes to get some fresh underwear. My socks smell like a toxic waste site, and don’t even go near my pants. Unfortunately I had forgotten about inflation again and had barely enough money. So after buying two sets of underwear and socks we came back again. There was a problem with socks (isn’t there always) they only had long ones or ankle socks. When I showed the girl mine (not too closely) she sent out and came back with the most garish sports socks. “Damasiado luminoso” was the only way I could describe them in Spanish. So even though it is in the twenties here I now have socks up to my knees.
My inbox was full. I now have my PIR and the delivery company said they will deliver my cases today. So we wait.
The intercom buzzed, a girl on the other end babbled something about ropas. I just said “abajo” and we rushed down. There at the door was a poorly dressed girl sitting on plastic bags filled with old clothes. I guess my language skills still need some brushing up. I told her we have no clothes, they are all in Holland. I am not at all sure she understood. So still we wait.
Nothing arrived so we went to the supermarket across the road. While we were in there a van stopped with its hazards on. We rushed back but it just drove off when we arrived. I have no way of knowing if it was trying to deliver when we were not there or if he just stopped for a sandwich. I emailed the delivery company again but the mail just bounced. We are stuck in waiting, daren’t go out in case they deliver. We can’t go out dancing as we have no clothes. We can’t get in touch with the people who have our stuff.
Like a caged animal, I am slowly going mad.
Finally our bags arrived and when I went down to pick them up the guy asked to see my passport. This address is clearly written on the cases. I am obviously English and one sniff of my feet would tell him I had not changed my socks for two days, but he needed identification. He changed his mind though when I said he would have to wait while I went back upstairs. Maybe some sanity had finally arrived, but probably not, he was just impatient.
So we managed to get out and have that anniversary meal. Viv wanted 1810 (comidas regionales de Tucamen) or mostly stews and pasties to the uninitiated. Well we always get a good feed there, it is predictable tasty and voluminous. what more could you want.
We were finished by ten thirty so we set off for Salon Canning. I still don’t know why I don’t enjoy this place, but it was our first night and we would dance only together.
We managed two solid hours of almost continuous dancing (to some oddly arranged tandas) then a short walk home to bed.
Tomorrow is a new day, and we can start being on holiday proper.