Entering a South American country with forged documents and a belly full of Bushmills

Boarding the plane in Panama city on St. Patricks day (morning), I was a little apprehensive about the customs process we would be encountering upon arrival in Buenos Aires. Our research had turned up numerous sources that cited Argentina's entry requirements as including "documents of onward travel", and I didn't think that Ty and my's assertion that "dude, we're totally leaving at some point, we just don't really know when" was going to cut it. So, in preparation, we undertook some "Black Ops", and spent a few hours in an internet cafe altering our emailed itinerary for the flight to Argentina, to look like we had another for flights from Buenos Aires to Santiago, Chile. My confidence in the forged document was absolute when we left the cafe, but had taken something of a nosedive upon strapping myself into an airplane seat for the 7 hour flight down. I really have no desire to see the inside of a South American prison, and frankly, Ty's boyish good looks wouldn't serve him well on the inside either.

It being St. Patricks Day, and us being sufficiently attached to the idea of following Irish tradition and getting sauced, we bought a bottle of Bushmills Irish Whiskey at the airport, and planned on celebrating a bit during the flight. Of course, this was unnecessary, as the stewardesses came around a mere 30 minutes into the flight with the drink tray, which contained multiple different types of booze, and proceeded to pour me the strongest whiskey and Coke I've ever encountered this side of Missoula, Montana. Tyler being already passed out (exhausted from his time with AnneKatrine no doubt), I ordered one for him, knowing he would appreciate a few fingers of breakfast upon waking. The flight passed decently quickly, and we arrived at the gate in Buenos Aires with our forged papers in hand, and a respectably dented bottle of whiskey.

Breathing deeply, we approached the checkpoints, where the boredly apathetic customs agents suddenly took on a Gestapo look, leering at us through their monocles, "Are your papers in order?" My papers certainly weren't in order, but they apparently didn't care, as they waved us through with nothing more than a cursory look at our carefully prepared alibis, the sweat running down my spine apparently for naught. Oh well, at least I didn't have to bend over and cough.
- posted by Micah @ 6:13 PM