Chile farewell

I’m just up when my alarm goes off at 6:50. I had a weird dream about having taken a model railway on holiday with me. And panicking when I had to quickly pack it to return home. What could that possibly mean?

It’s only a few minutes after opening when I roll up to the breakfast room just after seven. Yet there are already half a dozen guests getting stuck into the buffet. As I also do.

I take some of the weird bacon. Because it’s better than nothing. And goes with the scrambled egg.

A breakfast of bacon, scrambled egg, coffee and orange juice.

There’s a weird fruit. The label says watermelon, which it clearly isn’t. It has a weird texture, crunchy and soft at the same time, that’s really disconcerting. As is spitting out the seeds that form the crunch.

Breakfast with watermelon and weird fruit.

It’s 7:50 by the time I’ve checked out. But an Uber comes in a minute. Then we have to wriggle our way through early morning traffic. Until we hit the open road of the motorway. We woosh up to the airport.

It’s a bit of a walk from the drop-off point to check in. I remember that. At least I use the priority immigration queue this time. (In the summer, the kids wouldn’t let me.) Allowing me to dodge a considerable queue.

I get two bottles of pisco in the duty free. Not sure how good it is.

Rolling up to the lounge, there’s a problem I’m not good enough to get in, status-wise. Not even if I pay. That’s a bit of a bummer. I can pay to get into the lounge over the way, I guess.

Which is what I do. It starts seeming less of a good deal, when they tell me that I can get three free alcoholic drinks. After the bar opens at ten. My flight is at 10:50.

Despite getting my three double whiskies down in six minutes, they’re already boarding non-priority passengers when I troll up.

After a bit of a struggle with finding where to plug in the headphones. I sit back to watch House of the Dragon. Entertaining nonsense.

I’ve upgraded to premium economy. Mostly in the hope of better sleep. But also for the better food and booze.

The meal I’m served en route to Buenos Aires is certainly a cut above the slop they dished out coming the other way.

Chachingo bar in Buenos Aires airport.

It’s not as much of a walk for the transfer in Buenos Aires. And what do I spot, right next to my gate: a beer bar. There’s at least 30 minutes before we reboard. Plenty of time for a beer. Helpfully, they have a row of bottles on the bar, indicating which beers they have.

“I’ll have one of those, please.” I say, pointing at a bottle of Porter. Chachingo Porter, to be precise.

Chachingo Porter.

It’s not bad. Quite roasty.  Definitely going down nicely. I’m surprised to note that it’s just 3.5% ABV.

Can I say I’ve visited Argentina now? I’ve drunk an Argentinian beer, on Argentine soil. Does that count? Or do I need to be landside?

After some more faux-medieval plotting and slaughtering, we’re served another meal. Also OK. And I get a whisky with it. Which is more than OK. Just what I need for what’s coming next.

Sometime after the meal, when the lights are off, I crash out. Proper sound sleep of four or five hours. I’ve only woken up because I’m a bit cold. I retrieve my blanket and get some more decent sleep. Only waking when breakfast service starts.

Breakfast is alright. Though some of it is sweet. I don’t do sweet stuff. I get a whisky to accompany the food. Only joking. Orange juice and coffee, really. I’m not that much of a pisshead.

There’s quite a queue at passport control again. Then they switch on the electronic machines and call over Dutch citizens. In Dutch. And only the Dutch, not EU citizens. I whizz through. Being Dutch and understanding Dutch. Though, I suppose, the two usually go together.

It’s a bit of a wait for my bag. Immediately after grabbing it, I’m in a taxi dodging its way around the heavy morning traffic.

No Dolores to greet me with tea. She’s in Germany. Though at least Andrew is up. Even if he hasn’t made tea.

I put the kettle on.