Oh, Ushuaia!

As I climbed onto the plane at 4 am local time, I could feel my heart skipping around in a really distracting way. I’m not really supposed to drink coffee, because I have some as-yet-undiagnosed heart palpitation thing that gets exponentially worse when I do. But with only a few hours of sleep under my belt, a girl does what she has to to make sure she gets where she needs to be.

New York is not the city that never sleeps. Seriously. If anywhere deserves that title it’s Buenos Aires. My alarm went off at 2 am, but I was already awake thanks to the full-on parade going on outside my window. Drums, cymbals, whistles and, of course, cheering crowds. For what? I don’t know. It was 2 in the fucking morning, is my point.

I had asked the front desk to call me a cab at 3, but when I went downstairs there was just a non-descript, grey sedan; nothing on the outside, or the inside, to indicate anything official about it. I gave the driver my voucher and got in, unsure if I was meeting my flight or a watery grave.  Luckily, it was the former.

I drank some coffee at the sketchy airport that barely screened any of us and I clambered onto a bus that took me out to a tarmac still hidden in predawn shadows. Coming down the aisle, I reached my row and realized damn, middle seat. I don’t tend to do well in the middle as I get motion sick when I can’t see well out the window.

Something about the combination of the man sitting next to me (who I’d just watched crack open and shotgun a smuggled beer before even a quarter of the people had taken their seats) using up the entire armrest, and the smell of the BO from someone sitting behind me along with perfume of someone sitting in front of me mingling in my nostrils, sent me into a full blown attack of claustrophobia.

I’ve had various times in my life where claustrophobia has edged its way into my psyche, but not like this. I thought I was going to pass out, throw up or physically assault one of the people on either side of me. My skin was crawling, I was light-headed and it felt like ocean waves of nausea were ebbing and flowing inside the whole trunk of my body. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to keep in perspective that these feelings were all in my head. Stupid body. Stupid head. Stop, stop, stop...

The guy next to me was on his second beer, the plane was swaying back and forth and both people still smelled no matter how high I turned on my air conditioning.  But there was a moment after takeoff, when the sun was just rising and my iPod was playing ethereal music. The plane turned and the light through the windows stretched slowly up the wall and onto the ceiling, inching toward the front of the plane. It was mesmerizing, calming.

After a 4 hour flight of fighting to keep my composure, the moment I stepped off the plane it all melted away. Ushuaia is magical. I'm not sure I can even fully express what this place feels like, but you know you are at the edge. The anticipatory giddiness that comes when you stand at the brink of a precipice; the possibility of the unknown; the power of open space.

The cab driver, who didn't speak English (and I suspect he wouldn't have even if he could), barked only a few words in Spanish to me on the trip from the airport to the hostel. He took the winding roads at ridiculous speeds, throwing me to and fro in the backseat and harrumphing when we hit a light or got stuck behind someone he thought was going too slow. Seagulls hung over the waters while snow capped mountains loomed over them, over all of us. A ship in the harbor, a big ship, had obviously run aground and been left there for nature to reclaim. Tug boats milled everywhere. 

Here I sit in the lobby of the hostel. Check-in isn't for another few hours so I have some time to kill. I want a shower and to do some laundry, but I also can't wait to get out there. The air is electric, I'm ready to explore.
And eat! Fuck, I'm hungry.