La Quiaca – Argentina’s border town with Bolivia.
Time to say goodbye to Argentina after a very happy time exploring but a few of the wonders of this varied land...alas, at 7am in the bitter cold - tears were not shed!
Next stop Bolivia...
Friday, 4 July 2008
Thursday, 3 July 2008
Cafayete, Argentina
In the style of 999...
Our story today follows the adventures of Glenn Cumming. A 27 year old accountant from England we join Glenn around 6 weeks into his 7 month jaunt around the world.
Tired from the travelling undertaken thus far Glenn decided to rest and recuperate for a few days in the quiet Argentinean mountain town of Cafayete - how in the days to come he would wish to have followed that original intention...
Bedding down early after securing accommodation Glenn went to bed intending to spend the next day meandering slowly by bike around Cafayete and its beautiful surroundings.
Awaking early after an uncharacteristically good night’s sleep Glenn decided to set off early - the morning sun encouraging his, as it would transpire, hasty and ill prepared departure...
Travelling by bike Glenn made his way without too much trouble or bother to the ever shifting sand dunes whose presence in an Andean landscape is truly a sight to behold. Already feeling the heat of the slowly climbing sun it was becoming apparent that Glenn had failed to foresee the severity of conditions to which he would be exposed and that he was not ready for even a mild day of adventure. Attired in flimsy plimsolls, shorts, t-shirt and still carrying an injury sustained some weeks earlier whilst snowboarding Glenn’s progress was slow indeed. His faltering pace was compounded by the affects of altitude and further exposed him to the full extent of the sun’s energy sapping glare...
Journeying to the base of a nearby mountain in order to sample the reputedly fine vista Glenn did not heed the warning of his fading condition which several wrong turns, slips and stumbles should have provided...
Stopping briefly for a wholly inadequate lunch Glenn was forced to move on rather rapidly by the attentions of the local insects. Realising he had set off too soon Glenn stopped again to cool down and digest his lunch - a lunch which would prove to provide little in the way of the energy needed to cope with the dramas yet to unfold...
Tricked by the relaxing cycle down the hill he had earlier climbed and taken in by a vista of Inca irrigation channels and vineyards stretching as far as the eye could see Glenn’s resolve to return home faltered, wilted and ultimately collapsed...
Buoyed by a drink of water Glenn decided to head out of Cafayete with the intention of visiting the forceful waterfalls of the Rio Colorado. Only hindsight can truly expose the folly of that decision...
Dehydrated, burnt, tired and with little or nothing left in the way of energy reserves Glenn wound his way up hill to the start of the waterfall trail. Deciding not to entrust his bike to the attentions of several entrepreneurial young local children his progress did not halt to provide the rest he needed. Rather, onwards he pressed...
Obtaining the start of the walk Glenn ignored the advancing hour, the waning sun and his aching body and instead pressed on further...
In his increasingly delirious state borne of exposure and fatigue Glenn proceeded to secure his lock to a nearby tree but alas not his bike - a mistake thankfully pointed out by a local guide who only wanted small change for the favour provided...
Making relatively easy progress on the upwards leg of the journey Glenn stopped frequently to admire the views and take in all that surrounded him in this green and fertile valley. Arid landscapes and water caressed foliage nestled in close proximity tempting the eye to look every which way. Having lost all the others with whom he begun the ascent Glenn ignored his solitary state and kept pushing on with each step taken and each corner turned promising more visual delights...
Stopping ultimately at a particularly picturesque spot Glenn decided to kneel down and take several photos for the sake of posterity...
In rising from his crouched position the culmination of the day’s excess hit Glenn with full force. Almost collapsing he grasped the nearest rock for support hoping the light headed feeling would pass. Struggling to focus and newly aware of his predicament and fatigue several moments passed in determined concentration as he tried to cling desperately to consciousness.
As the sun fell behind the valley Glenn was aware that the once friendly surroundings now seemed to be a prison and far from the picture postcard they had been but moments earlier. Glenn felt a shiver as shadows descended all around and the path to safety became increasingly obscured...
Deciding to linger not a moment longer Glenn bid a hasty retreat back down the track - or what he thought was the track - from whence he had came...
In his light headed state the route became ever more blurred - stumbling from rock to rock, cut to ribbons by the foliage he had earlier admired the world and nature in its every manifestation seemed to mock the sorry figure Glenn now presented...
Taking wrong turn after wrong turn the journey of descent represented double the time needed earlier for that of the ascent.
Eventually spying his bike tethered to a tree some 50 metres below Glenn threw himself bodily down a scree slope desperate to escape the drama that enveloped and threatened to consume him...
Riding home guided only by instinct and need Glenn wobbled from side to side over tree root and rock but eventually found his way back.
Collapsing in a heap the only fortuitous moment of the day found Glens resting spot to be outside Mirandas Heladaria (Ice Cream Parlour). The sugar and indeed the taste of one scoop of lemon and one scoop of Torrentes (white wine) ice cream provided the boost Glenn needed to conquer the further 50 metres home...
Semi comatose he could only be roused by the promise of Salta´s finest cerveza negra (black beer) and an Asado (barbeque) cooked by chef of 6 years Alex...
The combination of the two and a warm bed provided a far more pleasant end to the day than had seemed possible but hours earlier.
We caught up with Glenn sometime later recuperating in Cafayete aided by a plate endowed with a selection of local cuisine and a glass of the local red:
- When I look back it scares me - so many signs said turn back but I ignored them all. For all that I went through I feel lucky to have made it home in one piece.
A sober tale indeed.
Our story today follows the adventures of Glenn Cumming. A 27 year old accountant from England we join Glenn around 6 weeks into his 7 month jaunt around the world.
Tired from the travelling undertaken thus far Glenn decided to rest and recuperate for a few days in the quiet Argentinean mountain town of Cafayete - how in the days to come he would wish to have followed that original intention...
Bedding down early after securing accommodation Glenn went to bed intending to spend the next day meandering slowly by bike around Cafayete and its beautiful surroundings.
Awaking early after an uncharacteristically good night’s sleep Glenn decided to set off early - the morning sun encouraging his, as it would transpire, hasty and ill prepared departure...
Travelling by bike Glenn made his way without too much trouble or bother to the ever shifting sand dunes whose presence in an Andean landscape is truly a sight to behold. Already feeling the heat of the slowly climbing sun it was becoming apparent that Glenn had failed to foresee the severity of conditions to which he would be exposed and that he was not ready for even a mild day of adventure. Attired in flimsy plimsolls, shorts, t-shirt and still carrying an injury sustained some weeks earlier whilst snowboarding Glenn’s progress was slow indeed. His faltering pace was compounded by the affects of altitude and further exposed him to the full extent of the sun’s energy sapping glare...
Journeying to the base of a nearby mountain in order to sample the reputedly fine vista Glenn did not heed the warning of his fading condition which several wrong turns, slips and stumbles should have provided...
Stopping briefly for a wholly inadequate lunch Glenn was forced to move on rather rapidly by the attentions of the local insects. Realising he had set off too soon Glenn stopped again to cool down and digest his lunch - a lunch which would prove to provide little in the way of the energy needed to cope with the dramas yet to unfold...
Tricked by the relaxing cycle down the hill he had earlier climbed and taken in by a vista of Inca irrigation channels and vineyards stretching as far as the eye could see Glenn’s resolve to return home faltered, wilted and ultimately collapsed...
Buoyed by a drink of water Glenn decided to head out of Cafayete with the intention of visiting the forceful waterfalls of the Rio Colorado. Only hindsight can truly expose the folly of that decision...
Dehydrated, burnt, tired and with little or nothing left in the way of energy reserves Glenn wound his way up hill to the start of the waterfall trail. Deciding not to entrust his bike to the attentions of several entrepreneurial young local children his progress did not halt to provide the rest he needed. Rather, onwards he pressed...
Obtaining the start of the walk Glenn ignored the advancing hour, the waning sun and his aching body and instead pressed on further...
In his increasingly delirious state borne of exposure and fatigue Glenn proceeded to secure his lock to a nearby tree but alas not his bike - a mistake thankfully pointed out by a local guide who only wanted small change for the favour provided...
Making relatively easy progress on the upwards leg of the journey Glenn stopped frequently to admire the views and take in all that surrounded him in this green and fertile valley. Arid landscapes and water caressed foliage nestled in close proximity tempting the eye to look every which way. Having lost all the others with whom he begun the ascent Glenn ignored his solitary state and kept pushing on with each step taken and each corner turned promising more visual delights...
Stopping ultimately at a particularly picturesque spot Glenn decided to kneel down and take several photos for the sake of posterity...
In rising from his crouched position the culmination of the day’s excess hit Glenn with full force. Almost collapsing he grasped the nearest rock for support hoping the light headed feeling would pass. Struggling to focus and newly aware of his predicament and fatigue several moments passed in determined concentration as he tried to cling desperately to consciousness.
As the sun fell behind the valley Glenn was aware that the once friendly surroundings now seemed to be a prison and far from the picture postcard they had been but moments earlier. Glenn felt a shiver as shadows descended all around and the path to safety became increasingly obscured...
Deciding to linger not a moment longer Glenn bid a hasty retreat back down the track - or what he thought was the track - from whence he had came...
In his light headed state the route became ever more blurred - stumbling from rock to rock, cut to ribbons by the foliage he had earlier admired the world and nature in its every manifestation seemed to mock the sorry figure Glenn now presented...
Taking wrong turn after wrong turn the journey of descent represented double the time needed earlier for that of the ascent.
Eventually spying his bike tethered to a tree some 50 metres below Glenn threw himself bodily down a scree slope desperate to escape the drama that enveloped and threatened to consume him...
Riding home guided only by instinct and need Glenn wobbled from side to side over tree root and rock but eventually found his way back.
Collapsing in a heap the only fortuitous moment of the day found Glens resting spot to be outside Mirandas Heladaria (Ice Cream Parlour). The sugar and indeed the taste of one scoop of lemon and one scoop of Torrentes (white wine) ice cream provided the boost Glenn needed to conquer the further 50 metres home...
Semi comatose he could only be roused by the promise of Salta´s finest cerveza negra (black beer) and an Asado (barbeque) cooked by chef of 6 years Alex...
The combination of the two and a warm bed provided a far more pleasant end to the day than had seemed possible but hours earlier.
We caught up with Glenn sometime later recuperating in Cafayete aided by a plate endowed with a selection of local cuisine and a glass of the local red:
- When I look back it scares me - so many signs said turn back but I ignored them all. For all that I went through I feel lucky to have made it home in one piece.
A sober tale indeed.
Wednesday, 2 July 2008
Cachi, Argentina
To Pachamama...
The scene appeared a picture;
Mother Nature’s finest vista spread forth;
An orgy of bucolic beauty.
A painter of incomparable skill;
Her vistas burn the retina and indelibly lift the soul.
Bathed in the suns ever affectionate gaze she rose up to meet his stare;
Absorbing the affection he so willingly gave.
Glowing further still under the watchful eye of her eternal suitor;
Her reciprocation radiated and both enjoyed the union of heaven and earth.
The perfection of absolute tranquillity could not be broken with any conviction,
The persistent flow of the lands lifeblood;
The efforts of the breeze but perfunctory punctuation in an extended verse of perfection.
Animals lay still, hiding in the shade;
Knowing that movement is for other times.
Man closed his doors and windows;
Intending to sleep when work was no longer possible.
Strands of her pure silver hair threaded through the scene;
Tumbling over her clothes tailored from folds of the greenest velvet;
Concealing the troubles she keeps hidden beneath.
Ruptures, rents, cracks and crevasses lay upon her body;
Evidence of her indeterminable age;
Evidence of the struggles of days gone past;
For her beauty is not without pain.
Scarred by mans need to travel, his need to work, his need to sustain;
Where he no longer moves new life spreads forth with abandon;
Slowly and with patience borne of a life beyond mortal realms;
Beginning to reclaim all that is rightfully hers.
For in the beginning she gives life;
Provides that by which we need to grow; and
In the end, after the last breath, she provides refuge;
The final resting place for earthly vessels no longer needed.
She is the beginning of all things.
She nurtures and protects comforts and cares.
Creation springs from her every effort.
Her every movement creates beauty afresh;
Dramatic or subtle but beauty nonetheless.
In the beginning we are of her;
In the end we become her once again.
Perpetually the guardian of life and of death;
She takes from one and gives to the other.
Battered and bruised, she has been used and abused by her very own children;
She wears the indignity of pain with pride;
But with the reticent and sad knowledge that this life’s mistakes;
Will be visited upon her children’s children;
With a force too great even for her to bear.
Knowing not of borders and caring not for the disputes of man;
Her riches are plundered and pillaged.
Unappreciated by those she cares for her anger can be savage.
But in her quieter moments she is kind;
Her breath warming and her bosom a place to rest.
For she is mother earth and we her children.
The scene appeared a picture;
Mother Nature’s finest vista spread forth;
An orgy of bucolic beauty.
A painter of incomparable skill;
Her vistas burn the retina and indelibly lift the soul.
Bathed in the suns ever affectionate gaze she rose up to meet his stare;
Absorbing the affection he so willingly gave.
Glowing further still under the watchful eye of her eternal suitor;
Her reciprocation radiated and both enjoyed the union of heaven and earth.
The perfection of absolute tranquillity could not be broken with any conviction,
The persistent flow of the lands lifeblood;
The efforts of the breeze but perfunctory punctuation in an extended verse of perfection.
Animals lay still, hiding in the shade;
Knowing that movement is for other times.
Man closed his doors and windows;
Intending to sleep when work was no longer possible.
Strands of her pure silver hair threaded through the scene;
Tumbling over her clothes tailored from folds of the greenest velvet;
Concealing the troubles she keeps hidden beneath.
Ruptures, rents, cracks and crevasses lay upon her body;
Evidence of her indeterminable age;
Evidence of the struggles of days gone past;
For her beauty is not without pain.
Scarred by mans need to travel, his need to work, his need to sustain;
Where he no longer moves new life spreads forth with abandon;
Slowly and with patience borne of a life beyond mortal realms;
Beginning to reclaim all that is rightfully hers.
For in the beginning she gives life;
Provides that by which we need to grow; and
In the end, after the last breath, she provides refuge;
The final resting place for earthly vessels no longer needed.
She is the beginning of all things.
She nurtures and protects comforts and cares.
Creation springs from her every effort.
Her every movement creates beauty afresh;
Dramatic or subtle but beauty nonetheless.
In the beginning we are of her;
In the end we become her once again.
Perpetually the guardian of life and of death;
She takes from one and gives to the other.
Battered and bruised, she has been used and abused by her very own children;
She wears the indignity of pain with pride;
But with the reticent and sad knowledge that this life’s mistakes;
Will be visited upon her children’s children;
With a force too great even for her to bear.
Knowing not of borders and caring not for the disputes of man;
Her riches are plundered and pillaged.
Unappreciated by those she cares for her anger can be savage.
But in her quieter moments she is kind;
Her breath warming and her bosom a place to rest.
For she is mother earth and we her children.
Tuesday, 1 July 2008
Salta, Argentina
As my guidebook suggests Salta is - a romantic city and gateway for exploring Argentina’s amazing North West - whilst, alas, I cant comment on the former statement I can on the latter (but not here - see the Cachi and Cafayete entries)...
Deciding to spend a couple of days relaxing in Salta's temperate climes proved a sensible decision indeed. Initially catching up on some much needed sleep my arrival in the town coincided with the weekend and thus an excuse (as though one were needed) to stock up on edible, beef based steaks and decent drink before the entering the culinary unknown that is Bolivia!
My time in Salta was spent wandering the streets, visiting the odd museum and basking in the gaze of the one whose attention I crave so - despite the fact she has treated me with such contempt, and hurt me so, in the past - the sun.
And a very pleasant time it was too. Salta is rare for an Argentinean city in that it has retained much of its colonial heritage (and we all love the architecture of former colonial oppressors and learning how a proud people were oppressed don’t we?). It is also provides a home to numerous empanada vendors meaning sating my addiction was but an easy task - I can appease my guilt at such reckless consumption with the knowledge that a little extra paunch in the cold nights of Bolivia will be no bad thing...
Mention should go to a young character I encountered in Salta. Sebastian, I think, is Argentinean and has rather bravely decided to travel around his home country despite being completely deaf and dumb. Communicating through the use of his mobile phone, lip reading and sign language he makes his way from one place to another without it seems too much trouble. My occasional tendency to moan at life’s little tribulations was put into sharp focus (alas, only for a short while) by meeting Sebastian. Annunciating in my best Spanish and using sign language, which whilst perhaps not internationally recognised seemed to do the job, I invited Sebastian to join us for a night out and he duly accepted. Indeed, from shady memory, he was having a just super time when I left a little later due to my equilibrium having once again departed me...
What else? Truth be told not that much for the blog to concern itself with...perhaps the city planners are worth a mention. In deciding to dedicate one whole street to the pursuit of the inebriated state - it contains nothing but bars - they have made the occasional drunkards life an easy one! Further eradicating traffic from said street means stumbling around is a safer pastime than it sometimes proves. Sitting and watching Salta’s finest (and even talking to a couple…) proved a just lovely way to while away those evening hours...
Ever onwards...
Deciding to spend a couple of days relaxing in Salta's temperate climes proved a sensible decision indeed. Initially catching up on some much needed sleep my arrival in the town coincided with the weekend and thus an excuse (as though one were needed) to stock up on edible, beef based steaks and decent drink before the entering the culinary unknown that is Bolivia!
My time in Salta was spent wandering the streets, visiting the odd museum and basking in the gaze of the one whose attention I crave so - despite the fact she has treated me with such contempt, and hurt me so, in the past - the sun.
And a very pleasant time it was too. Salta is rare for an Argentinean city in that it has retained much of its colonial heritage (and we all love the architecture of former colonial oppressors and learning how a proud people were oppressed don’t we?). It is also provides a home to numerous empanada vendors meaning sating my addiction was but an easy task - I can appease my guilt at such reckless consumption with the knowledge that a little extra paunch in the cold nights of Bolivia will be no bad thing...
Mention should go to a young character I encountered in Salta. Sebastian, I think, is Argentinean and has rather bravely decided to travel around his home country despite being completely deaf and dumb. Communicating through the use of his mobile phone, lip reading and sign language he makes his way from one place to another without it seems too much trouble. My occasional tendency to moan at life’s little tribulations was put into sharp focus (alas, only for a short while) by meeting Sebastian. Annunciating in my best Spanish and using sign language, which whilst perhaps not internationally recognised seemed to do the job, I invited Sebastian to join us for a night out and he duly accepted. Indeed, from shady memory, he was having a just super time when I left a little later due to my equilibrium having once again departed me...
What else? Truth be told not that much for the blog to concern itself with...perhaps the city planners are worth a mention. In deciding to dedicate one whole street to the pursuit of the inebriated state - it contains nothing but bars - they have made the occasional drunkards life an easy one! Further eradicating traffic from said street means stumbling around is a safer pastime than it sometimes proves. Sitting and watching Salta’s finest (and even talking to a couple…) proved a just lovely way to while away those evening hours...
Ever onwards...
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