Getting a package in BA.

Before coming to BA, were read that the mail system here was a little screwy. We heard that it could take hours to pick up a package...well, the rumors are true.

We received a note in our landlord's mailbox 2 days before leaving for our trip south, stating that we received a package and that we could go claim it. Of course it was all in Spanish, so we were not really sure where we had to go, but in the past our landlord mentioned that we would have to go to Retiro to pick it up (apparently, all the mail in the city goes through there), and that we should book off about 3 hours to get it. So we headed down there to grab the package.

Upon arrival, we found out that to pick up the package, we had to go somewhere in San Telmo, near our house. We looked up the location and got back on the subte (subway) to find the Correo Office (post office) in San Telmo. Upon arrival to the Correo, I had to take a number from a machine (like we used to do at the deli in Stop & Shop) and take a seat. After about 40 minutes, my number was called and I went up to the window with my notification card and my passport. I had to fill out some paperwork, and after trying to communicate with the teller in vain (he spoke no English and my Spanish is terrible, as we know), he stamped my notification card, stuck a sticker to it, and sent me on my way, without the package!!

After scrutinizing the card with Abby, we determined that we now had to go to Retiro to actually claim the package. Since it was now late afternoon and the offices at Retiro close at 5 PM, and we still had to pack and prepare for our trip, we determined sadly that we could not get the package until we got back (the paperwork said that we had one month to pick it up). :(

This past Tuesday, now that we are back and managed to get up early enough, we headed out to Retiro to claim our package! Retiro is a pretty interesting place. It is a neighborhood of BsAs and a subway stop. The area has the bus station, a few train stations and the ferry station. There are open air markets, street vendors and a super high number of pick pockets. There is a park there but it is filthy and there is no question that it is at least 10 degrees hotter there than the rest of the city. All in all, it is not a pleasant place to be and we want to spend as little time there as possible! So, we hopped on the train to Retiro with our purses clutched to our chests like scared animals, and bee-lined it to the Correo Office, a large, ugly building across from the bus station. We elbowed our way through the milling crowd and grabbed our number from the machine (again, like S&S). C06. Interesting, because the number on the board (electronic, thank goodness!!) was 38...

We found a seat, ready for a long wait. Some of the time they just changed the number on the board, sometimes they called it out loud, but after a few minutes, we guessed that they were currently going through B01-B99, and that once those were exhausted, they would start over at C01. It was obvious that no one had any idea what was going on. From what we gathered, this was the international package pick up office, but things were only written in Spanish (yes, I know we are in Argentina, but sometimes it shocks me that they don't even try to assist foreigners). Some people were filling out their forms, others were leaving them blank and then getting yelled at that they weren't complete. I asked a few people, but no one really knew what to do. I filled mine out with what I thought it needed to say, and left it at that. Meanwhile, people were milling around anxiously, crowding in when they started calling out numbers. The tellers would call the number, wait less than one second and then call the next, so that you had to be right there to claim your spot or else they would pass right over you.

After a shockingly short 40 minute wait, they passed 99 and started at 01 again, thank goodness! I bolted form my chair to make sure they didn't pass me over. At the window, the teller spoke a tiny bit of English (just enough to point out what I forgot to fill out on the form). He scrutinized my form and my passport, he brought it to the computer (one in the back of the room for all 3 tellers) and scrutinized it some more and then stamped it and barked out “vente pesos.” I think I must have started at him in shock for 5 full seconds before regaining my composure. $20 pesos! For picking up my package that someone already paid to mail to me?! Um...ok.

Naturally this guy didn't accept the money, so I had to go to another window with my little form and wait while he finished up with another person, before I could pay my $20 pesos (still in shock). He then rips a small piece off the form and gives it to me, pointing to a 6 digit number in small print on the bottom, and sends me into another large waiting room. We sit, listening intently, because in this room, they read these 6 digit numbers off by microphone.

Listening with every ounce of our being, this is what we hear: doce-ocho-crackle crackle-crackle-che-ventidos-cuarenta y CCCCHHHHHHnta-seis-uno-cerro-cerro-CHHHHHHHHHH crackle-crackle-CHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...

I'm pretty good with 0-9, and I might even be able to pick up on some of the multiples of 10 if you speak slowly, but via this terrible microphone, and with some people reading 123456 like this: one, two, three, four, five, six and others reading like twelve, three, forty five, six...there is just no way! Impossible, even with both of us listening. After a while, we think we hear the number (secretly, we are both highly doubting this) so we go through the metal subway turnstile thingie, through one scary dirty door and then through another dirty scary door, until we get to a counter with piles of packages and about 5 workers in weird white lab coats just sitting around. Sometimes they grab a package and read off a number, and sometimes they just idly chat amongst themselves (about weekend plans I think).

After a minute or two, one of the lab coat men checked my card and determined that we had in fact, not heard our number and that we should wait. We took up camp in that room because we knew we would never get the package if we went back out to listen for the number again. About 10 minutes later, he found the package (a padded envelope) and handed it to me. We passed yet another line of people (cursed with larger packages), who heard their number, saw the lab coat guy and then had to wait again for a conveyor belt to bring their package to them, and booths that look like prison communication boxes (where I think they question people and tear up your package if its is suspicious) and then finally rounded the final bend where we signed a piece of paper saying we actually received our package, and headed back out into the sunshine!

So lets recap:
Get a notice in your mailbox that you received a package and can go get it.
Go to one office, wait for an hour, get a stamp.
Go to another office, pick a number, wait for an hour, get a stamp.
Wait in line to pay (seriously, to receive a package?)
Wait and listen to shitty microphone, in vain.
2 creepy doors
Scary lab coat guy.
Another line if large package and scary booths for interrogation and package searching.
Line for signature of receipt.

A couple important discussion points:
In a city of 13 million, all the mail comes through one post office!? Really?! Or is it just all international mail? Either way...
I had to pay $20 pesos to pick up a package that weighed less than a pound and had a declared value of $4 Euros? How much would it cost to receive a large package? Or do they determine the cost based on their mood?
In the US, if you're not home for some reason or don't have time and need something, you just buy it online and get it shipped to you. What does a mail system like this do to the online buying industry?
Where do people find the time?

...hmmmm.