So left Salta with another English girl (Rachel) in tow, who through complete lack of planning didn`t really know where she was going so decided to come with me on the rest of my trip. It`s nice to have the company but I was just getting into staring at the sky for hours on end and not talking much.
So we head south to a little town called Tucaman where there wasn`t much to do but wander round in the rain and eat empanadas (an Argentinian delicacy, kind of like a pasty but better). We got a hotel room but on the first attempt to lock it realised that it was stuck. Litterally seconds after this discovery, the Argentinian boys from next door came stampeeding out of their room to come to our aid. Then afterwards seemed intent on acting as tourist information for us.
We ended up meeting them for a drink later but seeing as the one I was chatting to spoke no English what so ever and an almost incomprehensible accent conversation was somewhat limited. I got a huge amount of millage on how beautiful the mountains of Argentina are. Every now an again I would glance jelously over to the other one who was speaking in perfect English to Rachel and having a conversation that extended beyond the present tense and wasn't punctuated with hand waving and blank looks.
Despite the limited depth of our conversation `Gastone` seemed to become rather attached to me over the next hour and a half and when we told them that we were leaving on the bus the next evening I found my hand clasped to his face which was wearing an expression of deep hurt. This was followed by lengthy protestations and offers to cook me the best empendadas I`d ever had. This was repeted for the rest of the evening accompanied by cries of, 'no no no, you can`t leaveŽ.
Bless him, but it was very hard not to laugh. I mean I suppose that I had known him the sum total of about four hours.
The next stop was a town called Cordoba which is famous for outdoor activities. However as we arrived we realised that the rain had followed us. When we finally managed to get out into the country side, we went quad biking. As we rode up into the hills I couldn`t help but compare it to the horse trek we`d been doing the week before. As we passed through the beautiful unspoilt moutains we ripped into the calm with the roar of four noisy, dirty, polution belching beasts. In stead of the smiles and salutations of passing locals you are met with scouls and silence (I don`t blame them). However as time wore on you do get kind of into the raw power of these little beasts, it`s easy to see how you could become a bit of a petrol head.
That afternoon when we returned to Cordoba we were wandering around looking at what we though were parades for the start of holy week. It was strange though to see such a large military presence. Rachel was really keen to take some snaps of the hords or uniforms standing around the main plaza. We thought better of it and headed home.
It was here that we finally discovered what the parades were actually for. Comemorations for 25 years since the end of the Falklands war. Oh my god! I`m amazed we didn`t get linched. Note to self, read the history section in my guidebook next time. We stayed in for the rest of the evening.
