Leaving Cordoba

At 6:30 in the morning we awoke, packed, and left Cordoba, our home of one month.

It sounds like it was simple, but really it wasn’t.

See, it started raining at about 3 am. And didn’t stop. The lightening and thunder were so loud it woke both of us up and we couldn’t sleep. I laid in bed and prayed, “Oh please make the rain stop!”

By the time our alarm went off, the rain wasn’t too bad, but the drainage problem was!

Jordan tried to make breakfast, but half the hostel was without power. I hope they got that fixed easily. So we checked out and found big garbaged bags to cover our suitcases (Jordan was really smart with that one!). When we opened the door, we saw a river rushing down the street, mostly over the curbs, and onto the sidewalk.

I thought briefly of calling a taxi, but we were running out of time and now is not the time to chicken out from just a little water, right? Thankfully we had (FINALLY) purchased an umbrella yesterday, so I held my pillow and the umbrella, and Jordan ran in the rain.

The first block wasn’t so bad, though I could tell parts of my shoes were wet. Then we had to cross the street. Jordan eyed the river carefully, but I was worried about missing our bus (leaving at 7:15), so I charged on ahead, trying to jump over the deepest part of the current. Yeah, that didn’t work. I landed splat in the middle and soaked both my feet up to my knees. The water came just two or three inches below my knees. It was cold and hard and I yelped and considered going back, but because I am a warrior I charged on.

Jordan walked down the street a little until he found a more shallow area and crossed easily. Ugh.

But in our second street-crossing we had nowhere to go, so we slogged through because dangit, I would not miss that bus, and I am not afraid of dirty rainwater. Seriously, it almost came up to my knees again. I had visions of never being dry again. Imagine large, loud crashes of thunder and lightening during these discussion of trying to ford at a more shallow place or crossing what looked like the Mississippi right there. Then we came to our last major crossing (so we thought) and watched one woman walk past with an umbrella. I swear, the water came past her knees.

“If she’s doing it, I can do it,” I told Jordan. He was holding my rolling suitcase above his head, raised like some standard in battle.

“Maybe if we went uphill and around this building here, we can miss the water,” he suggested, blinking rapidly to keep the water from his eyes.

I shook my head, glancing down to see a soaked pillow in my arms. “If we go uphill we will hit a fence and not be able to enter the bus terminal. And we’re soaked already, so we should just cross here.”

Because Jordan listens to me at the worst times, for some reason, we crossed. It was so cold. And so wet. We weren’t even trying to stay dry anymore, there was nothing left to save. So we forged ahead, consoled only by the knowledge that some of clothes in our suitcases surely couldn’t be wet. We crossed one last river and arrived in the bus station parking lot. I charged onward, eager to get inside, and Jordan fiddled with my suitcases and then followed.

The bus was, of course, 15 minutes late. And we had to stand there, in wet tennis shoes and socks. Ugh, that’s fun. The bus was wet, too. The floor was wet (and I soaked my purse by setting it down because of course I would) and we draped my pillowcase, our shoes, our soaks, and other water-logged items across empty seats. The bus was far too wet and humid itself for anything to actually dry in the 11 hour bus trip, but we valiantly tried.

Arriving in Mendoza, where it was drizzling (can’t we ever get rid of the rain? Or are we just unlucky harbingers of floods now?), we then had the problem of no internet or cell service while trying to find out host.

But it eventually worked and we found a taxi to their home and we’re all okay now. We’re mostly dry now and happy to be one step closer to the Andes mountains. I think I either stepped in semi-raw sewage or the entrails of a cat, because my shoes stink to high heaven. We are now doing a slow battle against my shoes. But I think Jordan’s winning, so even in that we will prevail.

But after that adventure I don’t really feel like more rain. Call me a wimp, but I think I’ve had enough for this month. 🙂

To end on a happy note, here was our last excursion from Cordoba, to Alta Gracia:


Me and Che at his childhood home (because Che is a really, really, really big deal here in Argentina, as opposed to the rest of Latin America where’s he’s just a sorta big deal).

And the creek running through town.


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