Dont Cry For Me (while Im in) Argentina

By crossing the border into Argentina we just unexpectedly fell into the lap of luxury, relatively speaking. Sometimes you dont know how hard things have been, what trials you have endured, how incredibly strong-willed you are, until everything becomes easier. I dont mean to toot my own horn, but travelling in Bolivia was pretty hard-core.

After leaving the salt flats in Uyuni, we hopped on a 5am bus to Tupiza, a small old west town near the southern border of Bolivia. The kidney wrenching 8 hour bus ride bumped through a dry creek bed and up rocky hairpin turns as I tried to massage out my side stitches while protecting my head from bouncing on the roof. History buffs might remember Tupiza as the location of the ultimate demise of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance kid. I remember it as a lovely and quaint town surrounded by tall red canyons and fin-like rock formations. I also remember it as the first time I have hired (aka trusted) an eleven year old guide to take me on an all day horse back ride. Of course I didnt know he would be eleven until I was timidly mounting my scrawny 20 year old horse and I heard a squeeky voice coming from a boy as tall as my waist.

"I am Miguel, youre guide, vamos!" said the boy. I glanced at Brig, who seemed equally perplexed and then I asked politely if our boy-guide shouldnt be at school. "Night school" he said. "Vamos!" So we headed out through the canyons past wild bulls, wild dogs and the occassional goat. The scenery was breathtaking and I couldnt help imagining I was gloriously robbing banks across Bolivia, just me and my horse (and my eleven year old son Miguel.)

As I mentioned earlier, Argentina has been a pleasant surprise. Most importantly, the busses are lovely and clean, and the roads are..... drumroll please..... paved! If you are a carnivore, you will understand my excitement when the steak I ordered came out thick and flavorful and literally curved around my plate. This plus a bottle of wine for $5, who needs vegetables?

The cities of Salta and Cordoba were bustling but beautiful and the nightlife doesnt get started until about 1am here. I will let you know if we are ever up late enough to partake. South of Cordoba in the Central Sierras we visited two small mountain villages famous for their German heritage. Hiking and camping, goulash, chocolates and beer were on the itinerary. The first night at the biodynamic farm where we camped, we were invited to partake in the mate-drinking ritual with some local Argentinians. The next night we shared the small outdoor kitchen with 8 teachers and 75 junior high school kids. That, my friends, was a lesson in patience.

Happy Thanksgiving to all! Today we are thankful for friends, family and this unique opportunity to travel. We realize more and more how fortunate we are compared to the rest of the world.

Salar de Uyuni and Death Road

No photoshop here... Just one huge salt flat (biggest in the world, actually) which allows tourons to stand in the salt and dream up ¨look at me in my girlfriends hand¨ pictures. For those that have never heard of it, the Salar, as locals call it, is a few hundred miles long and up to 60 feet deep. Everything here is made of salt.... Salt churches, salt hotels, salt tables, chairs, you name it. In the dry season the flat is solid white until the horizon, but in the wet season water fills the flat to a few feet, creating a perfect mirror image.... And a tricky situaton for said tourons in jeeps.

We spent 3 days driving along the flats and the rest of southern Bolivia. Eight of us crammed into one jeep made for some long miles, but the scenery was pretty spectacular and well worth the discomfort. Where else can you see flamingoes at 13,000 ft above sea level, bright green lagoons so rich with minerals they don´t freeze until -10 farenheit, or cactus islands surrounded by hundreds of miles of white nothingness?

Further along we spied a mummy, lovely hot springs, and a few amazing rock formations.















THE WORLD´S MOST DANGEROUS ROAD

First off, I would like to thank everyone for the enormous amount of love and support. The cards, flowers, and gifts were overwhelming and no doubt played a major role in my speedy recovery.

Two days post illness mer and I joined a group of gringos to ride bikes down the most dangerous road in the world. The road starts around 16,000 feet above sea level and drops 15,000 feet to sleepy Coroico. A few bushes are all that protect you from falling thousands of feet to your death.... Of more concern are the throngs of tourist on poorly maintained bikes all racing to get to the bottom. Needless to say, there were lots of macho guys slapping the gravel at 30 mph.

After a few hours we arrived in Coroico, which was bustling with La Pazites (La Pazians?, La Pazers?). So bustling in fact, there was not one single hotel room to be had-luckily a nice local was willing to let us sleep on the concrete foundation of his future home. Yummy.

I would love to add a few pics for your enjoyment, but the 20 computers in this cafe all going through one phone port is a bit frustrating.