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Although the story I'm about to tell took place the same day as we left the finca, it really needs it's own separate space in order to accurately describe what transpired. Holy s***, my friends. Imagine your worst travel nightmare minus any sort of physical harm and you've summarized what happened to us.
Where to begin... Remember that nice guy I mentioned in my last post that worked at the Bianchi bodega, Martin? Well on the night we had asado with him he offered to take us to Valle Grande, which was meant to be a beautiful area featuring an artificial lake surrounded by stunning rock formations. We'd heard time and again during our time in San Rafael that it's simply not to be missed, so we were overjoyed that he'd offered to drive us, since it's a bit off from town and then through the valley. He also said we could leave our stuff at his house (he repeated this many times) and spend the night at his before we caught the bus back to Mendoza the next day. We could have another asado and drink wine - basically it was going to be the best day ever from the sound of it and what sane person would say no to any of it?!
In any case, Johnny drove us into town at 8 am Sunday morning so Fabio asked Martin if he could pick us up earlier than they had agreed on which was initially meant to be around midday. Martin apparently texted back saying he could pick us up as soon as Johnny dropped us off but Fabio insisted that was too early, so Martin suggested 10:30 and he then proceeded to turn up early to the cafe we were sitting in. "God, isn't he accommodating? How lovely of him," we all think to ourselves. We asked him if he'd gone partying the night before as he had planned to but he says that he went to bed early as he had gotten in trouble with the police Friday night for rolling a joint... Good work, bro.
In any case, we head out for his house and he asks if we're hungry and want to stop for lunch, etc. He really seemed to be so freaking considerate and we just assumed he was a nice person. Wrong. Anyway, we get back to his house and drop our stuff, make some mate and drink it out in the sunlight while we have the chats. Eventually he has to leave to go to his "uncle's birthday lunch". I use air quotes around those three words because this is what he said but by the end of this day I didn't trust a single damn word that came out of his mouth. He told us to make ourselves at home - 'mi casa es su casa' type of bulls***. He heads out and we proceed to make ourselves at home indeed, picking vegetables and lettuce from his garden for our lunch and watching some E! True Hollywood Story on cyber bullying. "What a wonderful person Martin is, right? I mean who just opens up their home to random strangers he just met a few days ago?"
A few hours later he returns and we get ready to head out for Valle Grande. Negar and I get changed into our bikinis and are quite excited by the prospect of being able to swim again! We all pack our things up - Negar asks slightly loudly if she can lock up her valuables with mine in my backpack and Fabio makes no point of hiding his new Microsoft Surface. We three girls get in the car and Martin reverses it to the beginning of the driveway where we then see Fabio trying to close the big window at the front of the house. "What is Fabio doing?" Martin asks. "Oh good thinking, Fabio," we three girls think aloud. Don't want to get robbed now, do we? Martin states he's going to turn the alarm on. "Don't worry, I'm turning the alarm on," we hear a good few times from his mouth. We later find out from Fabio that Martin came into the house and told him it was smart to close the big window and then proceeded to tinker with or adjust the small window above the sink. Fabio thinks nothing of it, Martin sets the alarm that he said he would and we set out for Valle Grande.
We arrive to a gorgeous lake setting in the valley after a bit of a drive and decide to go for a swim. It really was such incredible scenery and yet again I have to direct you to the photos on Facebook because my writing skills will not come anywhere close to justly describing it (to be fair the pictures don't do it justice either). After a bit of a swim and lie down we get back in the car (Fabio and I in the bed of the truck) and proceed to drive the 45 km long valley through absolutely stunning rock formations. It reminded me of Cafayete and I really thought the whole road trip to have been very worthwhile. Martin says we're going to make it to the lake just in time for sunset and then asks as we're approaching it if we want to have an asado on the lake? Except it didn't particularly come across as a question but rather as a statement looking for an response in the affirmative. Uhhhh... With what equipment? With what spices? With which plates and utensils? Logistically, we girls don't think it to be a very wise idea and besides, it started to get chilly and we preferred to be back at his house. He, however, seems dead-set on doing this asado at the lake and we then run into an apparent friend of his that says we can "borrow his asado equipment." That's what Martin said anyway because he got out of the truck and walked over to the other car so that we were out of eavesdropping range. Goddammmmmit. He gets back in the car and says he's going to drop us off at the lake so we can watch the sunset and so he can go find meat, although absolutely nothing appeared to be open as it was already Sunday evening (sunset time, more accurately). If Argentine kioscos are going to be open you can bet your ass it won't be during siesta time or anytime Sunday... Within three minutes of dropping us off he reappears in the truck saying we should do asado at his house to which we girls all agree is best. "I can read your thoughts," he responds. He walks down to the water to join Fabio on the rocks to watch the sunset and we girls comment on how pleased we are to be heading back to the house.
Off we go, on ze way home, our bellies rumbling and incredibly excited about the asado to come! About a half an hour into the drive Martin gets a phone call and responds to the caller with things like "no me digas" and "no puede ser" so we obviously gather something is wrong on the other end of the line. He gets off the phone and says the words that I sadly heard not too long ago: "The house was broken into." You're. f***ing. Kidding. Me. You better be goddamn joking because my whole life - WHOLE LIFE - was in that house and I need you to tell me that you're not being serious right now because... What the hell am I supposed to do if they've taken my locked backpack?! Negar and I didn't even need to say it to each other but we both knew that backpack was going to be gone. A small backpack with a red lock on it - how f***ing tempting for a thief, amirite?
Sorry for all the cursing - I want to try and accurately describe what was going through all of our heads. I couldn't sit still. I was shaking from head to toe smoking a cigarette out the window wondering if there's anyway they might have overlooked the backpack... Maybe they didn't take it... Maybe they were after something else... Then my next thoughts were that if they did take it then they have absolutely everything of value that I own on this trip besides my iPhone. Everything. My passports (from the US and Ireland), my debit card, US$300, proof of my yellow fever vaccination (required by Bolivia) and Samsung tablet. Besides that, they also have Negar's passport and debit/credit cards and US$200. Everything - EVERYTHING - that had any sort of value to us. Maybe they didn't take it... Just maybe...
It didn't help that we were still a half an hour away from his house. Martin kept saying that he couldn't believe this had happened, hitting his dashboard and apologizing, saying that the police were on their way. As we continued on our way home - each of us caught up in our own nightmares of what they might have possibly stolen from us - the thoughts became stronger and stronger in all of our heads that maybe this was a set-up. How f***ing convenient, isn't it, that while we were out they broke into your house - a house, YOU, MARTIN - had said had never been broken into. Noelle did the math: In the four years they've owned the home - 35,000 hours - it just happens to be broken into the only five hours we're not there but all of our stuff is.
We finally arrive back at the house and we run in to assess the damage. His dad is the only one there telling us to make note of what they took. We see glass shards on the ground from the window above the sink (same one Fabio says Martin was fiddling with earlier) and a few drops of blood. I scan the area around my large backpack and Negar's and see no sign of my small locked backpack and my heart drops into my stomach. They took it - they f***ing took it. My whole legal life was in that backpack and someone just took it like it were theirs. Negar breaks down into tears on the couch and I crouch down to scour under all the furniture for any sign of my grey Osprey backpack. With no luck, I stand up and can't control my shaking, my sadness and my rage. "This can't be happening again," I say to myself.
Our house in the District was broken into last November and all of our laptops, tablets and expensive bags and sunglasses were stolen. The crime scene looked very similar to the one there but what happened at our house in DC was that the robbers broke through a basement window with a rock and upon climbing through apparently cut themselves so that blood was found on the broken glass. They also left behind fingerprints like the biggest amateurs (wear some damn gloves, idiots. Have you never seen CSI?!). The burglars were on foot so they only managed to take what they could stuff into two wheely luggage cases and then headed out the front door when they heard our cleaning lady coming in from downstairs. There went my laptop, tablet, Ray Bans and brand new leather handbag :( It wasn't even just that they stole my belongings that sickened me so much but rather that they were in my room and on my bed searching for other things to take. How dare you. It was like being physically violated. We also gathered that they had been watching the house and us to know when we would be at home... The worst thing - absolute worst thing - that the police discovered was a big knife they found in my parent's bedroom which had apparently been taken upstairs from the kitchen in case the burglars encountered anyone on their way up. It made me cry. What if my mom had been home, taking a nap as she was so prone to do? Or what if Stephanie had come home from school while they were still there? The whole thing was incredibly unsettling and I just couldn't believe it was happening again, except this time in South America in the home of somebody I hardly even knew.
Noelle surveyed what they had taken of hers and found that everything was still there - cards, passports and all. Fabio, on the other hand, walked in to find nothing. They had taken his backpack along with all his clothes, he initially thought. Luckily they had actually thrown out his one packing cube with his clothes but had taken his Microsoft Surface along with two cameras and a folder with various important papers for their blog and travels. Additionally, his backpack was obviously gone, as well as his hiking boots and both his and Noelle's cold-weather jackets. f***ers.
We all stood around looking at each other wondering what the hell was supposed to happen next... Martin said the police were on the way, blah, blah, blah. "Shut the hell up," I couldn't help thinking. You did this, I know it. It's indeed true, though, that the police did show up except not just one police team but in fact five. Five. First the local police showed up then the Mendoza police, crime scene investigators, three detectives and then the army police with a canine in the attempt to trace the burglars. I've actually never seen anything like it. At one point there were about twenty people present that were actively taking part in the investigation. "Damn," we thought. "This must be a good thing?" They were all quite nice but they all kept asking us the same questions and taking the same damn information down, i.e. what was stolen and our personal information. Can't you guys just like share this information or make a photo copy or something?
Anyway, the CSI team went in and took swabs of blood and dusted for fingerprints, the dog went searching away and Martin would not close his damn mouth. His behavior was so incredibly bizarre that night and I'll see if I can explain it as best I can. First of all he kept reiterating to us that he was working with the police to sort this out and that we shouldn't be worried. Uhhhh, they've stolen my whole life - don't tell me what to do, b****. Then whenever the police were asking us questions he always seemed to want to interrupt and direct the conversation where he wanted it to go. For example, one of the detectives asked us if we had any electronics that were stolen that could be traced and Fabio and I both answer yes and are quite intrigued as to how they might be able to go about locating them. Martin, however, pipes in and says there's really no point in doing that for various reasons - basically saying don't waste your time and proceeds to get into a sort of bickering match with the detective. So, you say you want to help us but now you're shooting down a potential opportunity for us to locate these people?
We continued to trust him less and less as that night progressed and continued to mention different instances throughout the day to each other where his behavior had been peculiar. To me it came across as very strange when he first mentioned taking us to Valle Grande that he kept restating that we would drop our stuff at the house and then have lunch and go. Then I thought it was weird that he was so insistent on having asado at the lake when it was obvious we didn't want to. He also then reappeared no more than three minutes after having dropped us at the lake to "go find meat" which is just the amount of time one needs to make a phone call to see if the robbery was just about to take place. Furthermore, what Fabio told us about closing the big window and the Martin messing with the small window above the sink (the exact window where the robbers come through) before leaving basically confirmed it for me that this was an inside job... And why would he mention putting the alarm on so often?! He obviously wanted us to feel safe enough to leave all of our valuables there to then be picked off by his dickhead friends.
And for what?! For US$500, three passports, useless bank cards that have been cancelled and two tablets. For that?! Are you kidding me?
Obviously Negar and I were going through hell when everything was taken as we actually had no more than 500 Argentine pesos to our names with no passports (we had started this trip with 3 between us), no debit/credit cards (4 between the two of us at the start of the trip) and hardly any money. What we did have, thank god, was copies of our passports and as soon as the tourism police showed up at the crime scene they said this would ease the process of getting emergency passports.
It was really so interesting, though, that many of the various police officers didn't seem to trust Martin either. One of the detectives pulled Fabio inside, as Fabio's Spanish is out of this world, and asked him how we had met Martin. After explaining what had happened, the detective said they were going to investigate Martin. It's crazy because you often hear about Argentinian politicians being incredibly corrupt and then assume police to be a part of that gang, but I've never felt so safe or like someone was going so far out of their way to help me. I felt like they really cared what was happening to us and were going to do all they could to solve the matter. There were 20 different members of various police forces there for God's sake!!
The tourism police's job (still so shocked they actually exist) is to help stranded tourists like us sort their lives out with embassies when things go wrong. Initially your man, very lovely indeed, said he wasn't sure there was a German consulate in Mendoza (the city we had come from two weeks earlier only three hours north) but he was fairly certain there was an American. Wrong, my friend. Switch it around and you've got it right. That's correct, my friends, no American consulate in the West of Argentina (and osly no Irish one if there's no American one) but there was a German one... More on embassies and emergency passports later, though.
Anyway, that evening we asked the tourism police to drive us into San Rafael town center because we didn't feel safe staying at Martin's place for the rest of the night and you can imagine why. They drove us to a hostel in town (Noelle and Negar commented on the fact it was the first time in a police car, for Fabio and me sadly not...) and informed the hostel worker of what had happened and so we received a reduced rate if 60 pesos a night each instead of 120 pesos. So lovely of those guys, both the police and the hostel... Anyway, the police said they would pick us up the next morning to inform both Negar and me of what we needed to do to attain new passports. But first we had to stay up for the San Rafaelean police officer to bring us our police reports that stated our passports were stolen so we could in fact get new passports whenever that may be (embassies require this for emergency passports if you ever find yourself in the situation). Fabio, the good lad he is, got us a beer and we chugged the s*** out of it because I wanted to feel anything else than the hell we were going through. After the police officer showed up, around 01:30, we four tried to sleep as best we could under the circumstances and awoke the next morning to have breakfast and prepare ourselves for the worst.
They arrive slightly late (it's Argentina as we had grown accustomed to) and inform Negar there's a German consulate in Mendoza but there's neither an American nor an Irish consulate, so I have to go back to Buenos Aires to get emergency passports. f***innnnnnn hell. You have to realize we were five hours from Santiago, Chile, and our plans the following day were to be on a bus to Chile but now the police were telling me I had to go to the other side of the country first before I could get to my destination in Chile. Are you serious? I had initially hoped I could at least get an emergency American passport in Mendoza and then apply for an Irish one in Santiago, but that plan was a bust. It had also always seemed like a luxury having two Western passports because various countries around the world have strange visa fees, especially for Americans, so the Irish one is so convenient to have! I saved around US$150 on a visa to Brazil, US$160 on a fee to Argentina and with an Irish passport in Bolivia I would have saved another US$150. That's a lot of money, my friends!!
In the back of my mind I didn't give a s*** about getting an American passport because I've been traveling solely on my Irish one throughout South America, so I figured I could just get it in Colombia or Central America right before I'm about to head home in August. My dad, however, was much harder pressed on me getting my American one and then getting a new Irish one on my return to the States. The only problem with that (besides the visa fee to Bolivia) is that I've booked my hike up to Machu Picchu in Peru in May on my Irish passport and have already paid US$200 deposit for it. So I emailed the company and asked about a) changing my passport number and b) changing the nationality of my passport. They responded fairly quickly saying it's no problem to change the passport number but there's no way to change the nationality of the passport. So I would have been out US$150 for a visa fee to Bolivia plus US$200 on the deposit and the permits to hike up to Machu Picchu (which we've been dreaming about!!) are sold out until August, so there's no way to go about attaining a permit to hike up without my Irish passport.
In any case, the police lads say that I, at least, have to go back to BA to get any or both of my passports, but they say Negar can see what she can do it Mendoza when she arrives there, ie. whether they can issue her a new passport from there or whether she has to return to BA, as well. So I've now resigned myself to returning to the other side of the country but this just had to happen on the most difficult week of the year... It's Semana Santa the week coming up so offices are closed Thursday and Friday (it's already Monday at this point) so we initially think we could get a bus Tuesday night to arrive in BA Wednesday morning, but insanely and goddamn inconveniently there's a massive bus strike in Mendoza on Tuesday so there's no way of getting out to BA until Wednesday which would get us there Thursday when the offices would be closed. f***. f***, f***, f***. Why is everything so hard?!
Negar and I talk amongst ourselves and say it makes the most sense to stay in Mendoza for the rest of the week and get to BA on Sunday morning because it would probably be cheaper. Noelle and Fabio also hadn't been to Mendoza yet so they were going to be around the city with us for a few days, so as these difficult times go... As long as we're with those two it'll be fine!
After all this decision making, the police officers took us to the IT guys of the police department to see whether we could locate both Fabio's and my tablet that had been stolen. So were taken (in a police car again) to this location where a guy tries to track our tablets. So, so cool, seriously, how they did it but no luck in finding them. Fine, whatever, chins held high we head out. We then had to go to the main police station because I needed an additional police report stating that my Irish passport had been stolen because in the police report I had received it only said my American one had been stolen, but to apply for a new Irish one I needed to be able to submit proof the Irish one had as well. So they printed me a new report after a bit of confusion as to what I needed and the police take us to the bus station to get tickets to leave for Mendoza that day. We get tickets and wait in a cafe for an hour or two for the bus and then head out for Mendoza. Get us the f*** out of here. Nothing good happened in this god forsaken town of San Rafael. We need to go... The tourism police in San Rafael said the Mendoza tourism police would be waiting for us in Mendoza to help us further with the whole passport situation. Wrong. But more on that to come...
So that's what happened when our passports and basically whole lives were stolen. I had to ring my parents to inform them of what happened and they were obviously disappointed in me, but all they had to say to me is "what were you doing with this person" and "why did you think this was a good idea". Not once did they ask if I was OK or say that everything was going to be all right. All they could do was express their disappointment and rightfully so, but goddamn... Not now when I'm ringing you telling you what's happened. There's a time and place to yell at me but can you just be a parent for five minutes and tell me everything is going to be OK and that you're happy that I'm at least safe?! I needed a hug more than anything at that moment and I definitely wasn't getting it in any kind of way from my parents...
In any case, I was bitter and sad. Both of us were. We had no money, no passports, no cards. We were dead broke and pissed with the world... I suppose the moral of the story is trust no one but I don't want to live life like that. I've had so, so many great times hanging out with people I had just met while traveling and I don't want to have to close myself off now. What's the point of traveling if you're going to do that? You won't learn anything. I suppose the whole idea is that you shouldn't trust anybody with your VALUABLES and I'm fine with that. You live and learn and we definitely have... So we headed out to Mendoza to start the process of getting new passports and that's a whole new story of it's own...
The Gringa Motorcycle Diaries got difficult and there's so much more to tell on the matter.
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