Archive for category Salta

On my way to Salta, in the 12th hour of an 18 hour bus (micro) ride. It’s amazing how quickly time can pass when you’ve got a super-comfy seat, free alfajores, and a caffe dispenser nearby. This is only the third time I’ve been in a bus in Argentina, but I think I like it. I am, however,in the most expensive class right now (cama ejecutivo), which I may not be able to afford in the future. The terrain outside is amazingly, disconcertingly monotonous, just dry scablands interspersed by equally dry squares of farmland here and there, as flat as the Midwest. And very few buildings, only one-room shacks every mile or so.

A guy giving me the stink eye:

I’m ambivalent about leaving the city. I was, to be honest, getting a little aburrido in Buenos Aires. Don’t get me wrong, of course, I was enjoying my time spent with friends, and I had some fun going to tourist attractions, but I’d definitely settled into a routine. And I can have a routine back home, you know? People say that Buenos Aires is the easiest place in South America to live, and I have a feeling that my neighborhood was probably one of the easiest places to live in the city, so I’ll miss that, but I really feel ready for a change of pace. And to see something other than the same gray buildings around me. Last night, for instance, I saw stars outside my bus window and I realized that I hadn’t seen any stars in the city, not once. And I was happy to see them; hopefully I see more in the coming months.

In the middle of nothing:

A few other things:

I got my full cleaning/security deposit back from Marcela my landlady, minus 20 pesos for a bowl and an espresso cup that I’d broken. Unfortunately, I dismissed it when Marcela muttered something (half under her breath) about the $260 American that she gave me being the same cash that I’d given her at the start of my stay. I knew it wasn’t the same bills because I was never able to find American cash in the city, but figured that it was a language barrier thing and that Marcela meant she was just giving me what she owed me. In fact, I realized last night on the bus that the two hundred-dollar bills are counterfeit, and she was attempting to cover herself in case I noticed right away. Bummer. It’s just money, though, right?

My backpack is so gigantic. It’s like another me. I tried and tried yesterday to find things that I didn’t need and could send back home, but met very little success. I think I sent home one running outfit, some souvenirs, and my mouse. I might have saved myself 12 ounces. I’ll survive, and I really don’t think I’m lugging around anything I don’t need, but, dios mio, it’s a lot of stuff.

2 hours, one almuerzo later:

In the fancy Disco grocery down the street from my place in Recoleta, one can purchase a number of whole grain carbohydrate food choices for slightly less (but not a lot less) than the price in Estados Unidos. Other than that, we eat mostly refined white carbohydrates, potatoes, meat, some vegetables (usually in the form of sauces), and white, creamy cheese. It’s a nation with the appetite a of an 8-year old.

We’re getting closer to Salta now, I think. The bus has actually tilted upward a bit, and I see we’re moving toward some low mountains (I think we call them Sierras). The scenery has changed a bit, too, it now looks like the scrublands just West of Spokane, minus any trace of a pine tree, but with the addition of some low, twisted (now bare, as it’s still early Primavera) deciduous trees. The scenery is definitely changing. But man alive, there are no people, no buildings, no donkeys, not even any trash around. Hey, and there’s even a mountain peak in the distance!

There’s something going on with the toilet paper at public banos outside the major cities. At the first place we stopped, breakfast this morning, there was a man at a table seated beside small bundles of hygienic convenience napkins and none in the stalls. And at the place we stopped for almuerzo (simple carbs, meat, Fanta in a glass bottle, as usual), there was a woman outside the banos with a lockbox, with I’m not sure what inside. Elisabeth alluded to some difficulty with plumbing in the campo (and here I won’t get too graphic); I wonder if that has anything to do with it. Shades of Urinetown?

Chau.