After having a wonderful dinner at Siga la Vaca in Puerto Madero, I cabbed to the nearest subway station, which was about long 20 blocks away from the restaurant. When I went down to the station there was no one selling a ticket and it seemed like the train service was already finished. Having not known which bus goes to the hostel, I just started walking, hoping I could figure out on the way. Well, I had 6 km or 3.73 miles to go, so plenty time to think.
When I reached the next station, Florida, I saw two men walking down to the station in a hurry. Thinking, ‘Maybe only a few main stops open at this hour,’ I followed them. But again, there was no one in the ticket window, and the two men were already out of my sight. Instead I saw a person in a station office right next to the box. I gave him I-need-a-ticket guesture. After looking at a monitor above his head, he shouted at me in haste “Pass! Pass!” (it sounded like pasa something but not sure), raising an index finger—assumed he meant there’s only one train left and it’s coming in so I need to hurry up.
‘Okay, but I still need a ticket Mr.! So give me the ticket at a bullet speed!’
Looking at me stubbornly standing with a 2-peso bill asking for a ticket, he started waiving his left hand and directing to an open gate with the other hand. (That was the fastest reaction I’ve got from any porteños.) “No ticket?” “No, no!!!” More shouting followed—I guess he meant ‘Run!’ I ran down the stairs, skipping every few steps.
When I was getting my breath back at the platform, the last train of the day slid in to the station.
Muchas gracias señor!
