The beginning of the end: Argentina

After 2 days of walking through street markets, basking in the sun like a Lizard, and chatting it up with some Aussies, I was ready for Argentina.

Another overnight bus, a chilly border crossing of walking through a wild-west like town with border stamps and glaring stares from the Argentinan police and I was across. After a couple more searches and dover-min pincher run-ins, our bus arrived in Salta during the late afternoon.

Salta was a hot town of parks, pick-pocketers and salami in 31 flavors. People switched from Coca Tea to Mate Tea. The accent of the Argentinan was softer and loftier than the Bolivian"s.

After Salta followed a 2 day expedition into the high deserts of Argentina, near the Chilean border, for some wine work at a town called Fiambala. After changing buses 16 and a half times and a couple wait by the side of the road experiences I was ready to get to this damn town. Most buses only went to this town on certain days and at particular times.

After a view of the town of less than 1,000 people, a talk the owner who informed me of my grandiose payment of 5 dollars a day, I was ready to scamper outta there and hit the next town. I figuered the effort was worth the sights. This town just wasnt my place and travel time was precious time. I wouldnt put it to waste. Not now, not ever.

Finally I arrived in Cordoba after 14 more hours of buses. Cordoba was a shining, materialistic city of shopping malls, buffed-up, plastic looking monuments, and 15 year old girls wearing 2,000 dollars worth of designer clothing that their daddy had bought them.

written by  kipmaddog on October 22, 2009 from Salta, Argentina
from the travel blog: adventures from down south
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