Open roads

It's been two weeks since I last found myself in an internet cafe with enough bandwith to handle another blog post. But here it is, overdue but thorough (at least as of mid-May...)

I left Buenos Aires on an overnight bus to Mendoza, Argentine wine country near the central border with Chile. There I spent three days shaking off the big city feeling by hiking and rappelling through the mountains. Best of all, I took a day to bumble around on a rented bike riding from vineyard to vineyard, tasting the region´s pride while my joy steadily - and responsibly, no doubt - increased. I also had the chance to meet a few Argentines in my hostel, and had a great time practicing my Spanish accent by pronouncing ¨Winona Rrrrrider¨ over cup after cup of steaming mate.

From Mendoza, I took another overnight bus to the northern Argentine town of Salta. I should mention that the buses in Argentina are a trip and a half: reclining seats, proper meals, movies, and the bizarre game of argentine bingo make them a comfortable alternative to spending a night in a hostel and wasting a day in transit. But heading north, I wondered at what could inspire the bus managers´particular choices in entertainment. By the time I'd arrived in Salta, I'd seen two movies about prison and one about sex trafficking, and I hadn't won a single game of bingo.

At first sight, Salta seemed a bit of a paradox. Many people had suggested I go there, but by the time I got to my hostel, I was still unclear as to what there was to do besides for visit the market and take a 10-minute cable car ride up a bushy hill. But the charm of travel quickly worked its ways, and by the next day I was hiking a small mountain located just 40 rickety bus minutes outside of the center of town. By the day following, I was in a rented car with an Israeli, a Scot, a Californian and a German, setting off on a 600 km road trip east to Cachi, then south to Cafayate, and then back north to Salta.

We drove through desert mountains, past cacti, across small rivers that cut through roads, into clay-made pueblos, and below canyons colored by iron and copper. This is the part that can best be described in pictures. (Excuse the funky formatting -- blogspot isn't perfect.)

Stretching out...

...packed in.

Imitating cacti.

Etc. Etc.

Chau chau, Buenos Aires. Suerte.

If my trip to Buenos Aires were an episode of Full House, this would be the moment when the music starts: I've packed my bags, said goodbyes, learned a thing or two, and made enough plans to ensure at least two more episodes worth writing home about. In my case, though, the rolling hills of San Francisco will be replaced by the mountains of Mendoza, Argentine wine country along the central border with Chile. But first, here are just a few of the photos I promised.

My first parrillada (gluttonous plateful of grilled meat). I spent my first week in Buenos Aires recuperating from this meal. I decided I would give up my vegetarianism before leaving for South America, since my political reasons for rejecting meet in the US are moot down here. True, the hundreds of protests held by cow farmers in recent weeks prove that the Argentine government has some 'splaining to do, not to mention a serious responsibility to reevaluate its export tarifs. But for the time being, I've chosen not to wear my ideology on my sleave in favor of cultural immersion.

El humo! Fires in the nearby delta town of Tigre caused terrible pollution in the city for days. I didn't manage to get any pictures of the people walking around with respiration filters over their mouths, but the smoke really did get that bad.

This is my dog saying hello. Hard to decipher maybe, but Rulote liked to have his way with my leg during my first few days in my BA apartment. In my two weeks staying there, he peed on my floor three times and on my jeans once, stole one really amazing bar of chocolate (going away gift from New York) and three cookies (going away gift from Buenos Aires). He also liked to eat my passover matza, but I shared that liberally.

Fuzzy view of the main section of my apartment.

My solo daytrip to Tigre. I walked along the delta's many tributaries and played faithful tourist, visiting art exhibits and reading up on the area's naval history. I also spent some time in the Reconquista museum, entertaining myself with my camera while I tried not to get kicked out by the guard on duty.

Doesn't this one look like Lincoln?!

This smattering of photos doesn't give the most balanced view of my time in BA. The pictures don't show me chatting with strangers, losing myself over cone after cone of gelato, sitting in brightly lit Spanish classrooms and subtes, asking people to tell me about food, wondering about what poverty means in Latin America (and then in the US by comparison), contemplating the differences between natives and travelers and trying to encounter both. They don't show busy neighborhoods or green park refuges, though I spent my short time there weaving in and out of them. They do show me, though, with backgrounds that aren't quite skyscrapers and people (or historical replicas) that aren't so familiar. So I hope that that, at least, starts to give you a taste.