The Sandwich – Salta, Argentina, South America

I'm waiting for a bus with a French photographer in Salta, Argentina. That's not true, I'm watching the French photographer bag while she goes to the store across the square.

She comes back with crackers, an apple and some disappointment, I wanted a sandwich. I point to the sandwich lady standing next to us. The French photographer dismisses this. It's too late now.

Instead she watches my bag as I wade into negotiations with the sandwich lady, her daughter and several close friends.

"What have you got?" I ask


"OK, one please."

The women find this hysterical. "What, for a big man like you?"

This isn't a compliment, it's good salesmanship. It's also a fact. I am bigger than the average Indian woman. Let's face it – in a rational world – you see someone twice your size, you do not sell them baked goods – you run away and hide.

She adds, "We have pollo also."

I take a look, "OK two lomo." The sandwich ladies nod at my wisdom.

I ask the French photographer if she wants one. She purses her face, "It's too late."

Now that's just plain crazy. It's never too late for a sandwich. But, of course, I'd think that. I'm American.