Villazón

Our ride, another Mario, drops us off and points us in the direction of cheap lodging. It is a bitter, biting cold. Another woman whom he picked up and who rode 4 hours in the back has no place to go so he offers to let her stay in the cab with him for the night. She declines but does stay the night in the trucks cargo bed. Our backpacks rode in the back with her and all is covered in dust. If you have an image in your head of a dusty Bolivia, you have an image that is accurate. We check into the hospidaje “20 de Mayo”, our cheapest stay yet at 30 bolivianos, which is under four bucks, for a double, and worth exactly that. At first, we didn’t have much of a plan for what we would do with ourselves in this town. That would become clear tomorrow. Tonight we wanted to eat and Wendy thought she remembered seeing a place not far back on the road in. After walking a long time in the dark of a dingy border town, it seemed to me she was mistaken. Alas, no. We arrived at a decent looking place that had Mel Gibson’s “The Patriot” playing on TV. There was no menu. We were asked if we wanted “the dinner”. Yes. Not long after came a hot bowl of soup. Then, in walked our ride and we offered for him a seat at our table. Then came our food; rice and meat. By no means extravagant, but it sure hit the spot. After some chit chat, we paid the bill and brikly walked home. The total for two two-course dinners came to 10 bolivianos which is a little over a buck. Not too shabby.

The next morning after happily leaving our much to be desired bed, we came to understand what we were meant to do that day. Shop. And we did. I got a nice alpaca jacket and hat and Wendy got a hat and sweater. After a chicken and a beer and before we knew it, it was time to cross the border back into good ol’ Argentina. We walked across the border/bridge, all our loot in hand, to La Quiaca where we booked our next bus south to Tilcara and waited with a beer and a coffee in the surprisingly nice terminal confiteria.

Santa Rosa de Tastil

We put up the tent in a cow pasture covered with prickly, salt crusted grass clumps. We spent a f-f-f-frigid-d night and woke up to an ice caked tent the next morning. We were exploring the Santa Rosa de Tastil ruins before the sun came up. Remains of pottery and shards of bone filled every square meter. We returned to our campsite to hang dry the ice covered tarp and have a breakfast of oatmeal and tea. We packed up and checked out the museum and then waited hopefully for the return of Mario to carry us further up into the Altiplano. An hour had passed beyond the time he said he would be passing by. We decided to try to hail a new ride. A couple trucks passes and we hesitated. Another truck approached and we both signal for it to stop. Lo and behold our friend Mario has returned fur us. Thank You! And we continue our journey. We gladly accept his offer to take us all the way to the mine where he has to pick up his 30,000 kg load of raw material for making hydro-boric acid. It is 3 hours into nothingness beyond the last town with any visible population.

Termas de Rio Hondo

In the fog, alongside the Rio Hondo, on a concrete picnic table, eating oatmeal with figs and drinking tea out of a Nalgene, a guy rides up with a dead goat in the basket of his bike. He offers to sell it to us. It is already ready for cooking over the spit. We decline. I don’t know how to cook chivito over an open flame and furthermore, we are only two people. One goat is a lot of meat for us. The factura (pastry) guy has been around on his bike two or three times already. I am a little more interested, but since we’ve got the warm, hearty oatmeal, there is no need. It’s a fun thing about Argentina, how the vendors come to you with anything you might want. They have their chants which Wendy and I have fun trying to mock. “Hay cafe cafe cafe, hay cafe cafe”, “Heladooo, Hela Ela Eladooo”,”Pan, ricopan”. We had a nice soak with some common folk in the Hot Pool at our Camping area. In a departure from typical Argentina, the water was good and hot. We also tried out our asado making skills for the first time of the trip. Here’s Wendy trying to get the coals going.

Difunta Correa Shrine

We left Mendoza at 6am to arrive at our first stop on this big trip north, San Juan, at 8 something. Our plan was to continue to Difunta Correa but we had to get money. We took a self guided speed walking tour of San Juan to find an ATM. Then we caught the next bus to the shrine to the Difunta Correa where a town sprung up due to the amount of people making pilgrimages here (over 100,000 per year). The legend goes something like this: She died of thirst while travelling through the desert. Her baby, however, was found alive sucking on her breast. People come to thank the Difunta for requests granted and to ask for things like houses and spouses. She’s popular with travellers and people like to make plaques for her. A fascinating slice of Argentine culture for sure.

They had a museum of all the things that people left but were too valuable to leave outside including motorcycles, cars, toys, dresses, any kind of household or transportation item imaginable. One guy rode his bike there from Buenos Aires and left it. Somebody stuffed their evil little dog and left it. We ate grilled pollo y papas and watched a World Cup match at one of the restaurants there. Wendy left a picture of the Moks with a note on the back than thanking the Difunta for our traveling luck so far and asking for safe and happy travels on this trip. Difunta translates to defunct which they use in rural areas to mean dead.