Episode II: In which a girl shirks work and travels to Buenos Aires.

Did I ever mention how brilliant I am? I decided to take a bus to Buenos Aires. Never mind that the Lonely Planet said the trip took 72 hours. I wanted to see what was out there, I wanted to feel the movement of wheels under me, and wanted to read for days on end. Needless to say, there actually isn’t a whole lot out there. At least little that can be seen by bus in the middle of the night (I did read, and watch a few American blockbusters)

Most of the journey I was lulled to sleep by the movement of the bus. The most exciting part of the trip was the first day, waking up in a wasteland of sand and cactus… something like the old American West. We were going around curves of a sheer cliff made of sand in a huge bus. Each curve, the bus would honk, to make sure that there was nobody coming from the other side. I was on the cliffside, practically hanging over the edge of the road. At some point later on, the bus stopped abruptly and the drivers started messing around with the engine. I was sure that the bus had broken down there in the wasteland. My seatmate was an old man, slightly smelly, but with a kindly air. We exchanged no words but he’d sort of tuck my sleeping bag back around me each time I sat back down.

Early in the morning we stopped for breakfast. Everyone started putting down large bowls of soup. Meanwhile outside, the dogs were milling around and the school children were going to school along dusty streets. There was another bus stopped at restaurant, and another eccentric foreigner. We eyed each other warily but didn’t say hello. Later, I saw him unloading his stuff from the other bus at the third border patrol stop of the day.

Then I got to my destination, the border town of Villazon. No sooner did I arrive than I wanted to leave. It was sunny and barren, with a few stands selling cordero soup. I sat on a stool and sipped the brithm, trying to avoid the fatty grey meat in the middle (so far I’d had nothing but café con leche and bread…and Toddy, Bolivian style weak hot chocolate).

After, I took a taxi to the border, which turned out to be a couple of blocks away. There was a wide gate into Argentina, and a line of people seated on the sire surrounded by packages. I was beginning to regret my decision greatly, imagining hours of waiting to enter Argentina. Luckily, a small boy alerted me to the fact that this was the line for declarations. Actually, entry into Argentina turned out to be quick and simple, though the bus to Buenos Aires was stopped at least three by the Argentine Border Police.

The North Eastern Part of Argentina is lovely... dry with rolling hills. I saw my first Llama, and admired the young Argentinian soldiers who checked out bags (I have to say it, Argentinians get my vote for most attractive men... the recipe? cute sneakers, messy dark curls and light eyes).