Beyond the Backyard #4: On the Road - Argentina

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1. Men will never admit they're cold. They'll shiver and huddle up under the blankets and ask for more to keep warm, but they'll never admit they're cold.
   

   
   

2. Never argue with a man who's determined to fit a large water bottle, two hats, gloves, two changes of clothes, a marble sea monster statue, a horse statue, two bags of candy, three books, a magazine, a camera, film, and socks into a little day bag. It won't get you anywhere.
   

   
   

3. Deserts get pretty damn cold in winter.
   

July 4: Still in Buenos Aires

Shocked the pants off that German guy at the Spanish school when I told him how old I really was. He had pegged me as a good three years older, and the look of surprise on his face was priceless!

Packing, packing. You can never have enough socks. I came to Buenos Aires with seven pairs of socks. I bought four more. I now have six pairs. Either the washing machine is looking to supplement its diet with a bit of fibre, or Jacob's been having himself some midnight snacks.

Thursday evening's activity: bought more socks.

July 5: Leaving on a jet plane

Let the adventures begin! Jacob managed to get some time off work, so we booked a flight to Salta, a city in the interior of Argentina not far from the Bolivian border.

Aerolineas Argentinas, the national airline here that's giving Air Canada a run for its money in the lousy customer service area, has some of the weirdest boarding policies I've seen. You'd think airline security here would be tight, given the economic and political unrest topped off with a national holiday that weekend.

Nope. Nada. Zilch.

The ticket agent issued my boarding pass without even glancing at my passport. No questions about my luggage; it just went through. She even issued a boarding pass for Jacob (who hadn't shown up at the airport yet, since he was coming from work).

Apparently Aerolineas Argentinas has an impeccable safety record, although I'm not sure how.

The flight itself was bumpier than a speeding porte�o cab driver on Buenos Aires's cobblestone streets. Jacob had some pretty nice fingernail marks on his arm by the end of the flight, courtesy of yours truly.

July 6: Salta, Argentina

You don't know cold until you've gone on an open roof safari in the northwestern Argentine desert in your spring jacket.

We embarked on our adventure tourism safari wearing our spring jackets, jeans, and sneakers. Salta is in the north, so it should be warm, right? Let me tell you, nothing's warm at 6:00 am in the pitch dark. Especially a desert.

The scenery, however, was stunning beyond belief. It actually looked like all the postcards and Lonely Planet photos we'd seen in the guidebook.

Jacob's Nasty Trick (subtitled: Elysse versus the Mountain)

San Bernardo in Salta is a climbable mountain; that is, there are rock stairs wrapping their way around the mountain and up to the summit. I'm not much of a mountain climber. Jacob is. So he told me a story.

"There are only about 300 steps to the top."

Apparently a worker at the bottom of the mountain told him so, and since they were speaking in rapid-fire Spanish jargon, I didn't understand a word. So I did what any other gullible sucker would have done in my position. I believed him.

Uno...dos...tres...around stair number 156, we stopped to rest. When we started up again, I couldn't remember what number we were at, and conveniently, neither could he.

It took (me) over an hour to get to the top of that damned mountain. Let's just say it was a helluva lot more than 300 steps (and those workers didn't tell him anything; he made it all up). I could have murdered him (except I was too tired to move, and he was my beast of burden carrying the backpack).

But from the mountain top, the scenery was gorgeous.

A budding alcoholic

I discovered a new flavour of ice cream this week: wine flavour. On a day trip to Cafayate, one of the wine capitals of the country, we ran across a small ice cream parlour that advertised ice cream made with local grapes. Of course, we just had to try it.

The verdict: better than dulce de leche. It's addictive stuff. I think I might be coming home with a higher alcohol tolerance (Dad, you didn't hear that either, okay?).

The foiled trip


On the winter's safari, somewhere between the remote desert town of San Antonio de los Cobres and Jujuy, an idea struck. I wanted to go see Macchu Pichu. After all, I wasn't far; it's definitely closer to Buenos Aires than to Toronto. Why not?

We planned routes. We worked out a rough time table. We checked up on flights. Then we heard horror stories about gringas in Bolivia. Peru sounded dangerous for a first trip. It was a lot of flying.

So in the end, we decided against it. Jacob left to return to Buenos Aires, and left me on my own to make my way to...

July 10: Cordoba, Argentina

Finally on my own! It's both exciting and freaky. I am now a traveller!! Although I have to admit that this travelling alone thing can be intimidating at times...If I fell off the edge of the planet, no one would even notice.

But a 12-hour bus ride later, and I made it. And my seatmate even complimented my Spanish. Hmm...

The only strange encounter happened about an hour outside of Cordoba, when several military men boarded the bus and proceeded to check everyone's documents, even though it wasn't an international trip. It took all the photo ID in my wallet and my passport with it's outdated picture to convince them that I wasn't a Bolivian immigrant sneaking my way into the country to find work. (Yup, that's what they were really after; my seatmate explained it all, although I can't figure out why they'd be patrolling a domestic route and not the borders instead.)

Cordoba itself is an architectural gem, but other than the churches on almost every corner, it's a mini-Buenos Aires (think shopping). So it's off to the next destination, where hopefully wine flavoured helado awaits me..



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