A farewell to Bolivia

Oh, Argentina. After two months of dry, cold mountains, I’m now in Salta. Argentina is wet. Argentina is warm. Argentina has trees.

I crossed the border with Bolivia about a week ago. I didn’t really want to leave, but unpredictable political conditions and an increasing number of paros (basically, when people block roads) left me with almost no choice: I knew I had one sure shot to get out of the country and I took it. So I took one last Bolivian bus ride (anyone who has traveled in Bolivia knows what that means) south through a torrential rainstorm to the frontier.

The road was awful, and the bus had probably traveled it every day for a dozen years. The constant bumping and bouncing had rattled all the screws loose. Seats shook. Windows rattled in their frames. Everything in the bus vibrated in a deafening rhythm dictated by road’s ruts. It was louder than the loudest concert I’ve seen. Worse, the windows couldn’t be shut: they would just vibrate open again a minute later. And it was raining... everyone, myself included, kept switching seats looking for a dry one. There were none.

I will miss Bolivia. I will not miss its buses.

The border crossing was easy, and the rain stopped as soon as I stepped out of the immigration office on the Bolivian side. It seemed a fortuitous way to enter Argentina--to the north all I could see were dark thunderheads, but the sky to the south was an optimistic blue. Traveling in Bolivia had been rewarding but difficult... Argentina promised to be much easier.

Despite the threatening sky to the north, I decided to spend my first night in Argentina in my tent, so I walked out of town and set up camp. I ate rice for dinner and went to bed under the stars, which were quickly obscured by clouds. Apparently, Argentina does not require visas for Bolivian storms. It rained a lot, and I was a little nervous (lightening is not reassuring when one is camped on a flat plain), but the tent held, I stayed dry, and those big bolts kept their distance.

I spent a couple days poking around the border area: I did a few nice hikes, one overnight, and decided I was tired of the mountains. The Andes have encompassed every square inch of the territory I’ve explored during the last two months, and for the first time in my life, I want to be somewhere without mountains. So from Salta, I’m going to head east to the Argentine Chaco and eventually to Paraguay: it will be hot. It will be wet. There will be mosquitos the size of baseballs. But there will be no big mountains. I am eager for a change of scenery.

How to describe Salta? It was quite a shock when I arrived two days ago. It is a big modern city, but one with a soul: tree-lined streets, little cafes (no Starbucks), and impossibly beautiful people. (I have never seen so many stupendously attractive people in my life. And other travelers say it just gets better.) People mill about all day long doing, seemingly, nothing except walking through the city’s parks and plazas. I have confronted many minor mysteries on this trip and I have a new one: hundreds of teenagers wander around, in school uniforms, during the school day. Do they not go to school but wear the uniforms? Or is there simply an epidemic of cutting class here? I can’t figure it out.

Argentines are warm and open compared to Bolivians. Traveling alone in Bolivia was challenging because it was difficult to meet the locals... few seemed interested in more than a quick conversation. Here it’s different: I find it much easier to engage Argentines. As I boarded a bus a few days ago, a complete stranger called out, “have a nice trip!” That simply doesn’t happen in Bolivia, but I guess it does in Argentina.

But actually speaking with them is another matter. The accent is very thick and they often don’t understand my Spanish because I don’t pronounce my “ll’’ the way they do. Whenever I hear “¿como?’’ I just repeat myself, but with a false Argentine accent. That usually resolves things.

I splurged and had steak last night... five dollars for a hunk of meat the size of my hand, fingers extended. For a dollar more I had two glasses of good wine. Argentina is pretty incredible. (And yes, I will be a vegetarian again when I get back! But no one should be a vegetarian in Argentina.)

Chow.