As I sat on the second floor of the bus, rushing north towards the Iguazu National Falls, sipping on my champagne and puffing on my cigar, in my red velvet smoking jacket, with my feet propped up on a fluffy ottoman, I realized that perhaps I was taking it too far.
So, sans jacket, ottoman, and cigar, I, in all seriousness, reflected on how hilarious Argentina could be.
When I bought my bus ticket to go north, an 18 or so hour journey, I expected the usual premium Argentine treatment: meals, movies, reclining chairs, etc. When the woman behind the desk asked me if I’d like to upgrade to the second level for a measly 8 pesos, approximately $2.50 at the time, I figured I was paying for the improved view, or something.
At first, I was entirely correct in my assessment. We were watching movies, had meals a la airplanes, and the view was better: a bit higher up, a bit less rushed, you know.
Of course, when the, for lack of a better term, waiter came after about 5 hours and asked me if I would like some champagne, I had to seriously resist the temptation to ask, in an atrociously fake British accent, “Please, sah, may I have some more?”