'We were all delighted, we all realised we were leaving confusion and nonsense behind and performing our one and noble function of the time, move.' Jack Kerouac.
The quote is Jacks, cos that captures pretty much how I felt and have felt during the last months. But in truth, it all comes back to Kafka. Bloody Kafka. Look what happened to him: a life of suffering, with little work published, then dead. But then posthumous critical acclaim, his recognition as one of the greatest writers ever. Quite simply, I like the idea of Kafka. A little struggle is a great thing - one man versus the world, on the unknown currents of life. Because I like the idea of how struggle brings about the beauty - the answers to questions...or better questions at least - I have at pretty much every stage of this trip taken the most difficult, ridiculous way of getting anywhere.
Getting down from Bolivia into Argentina - a pretty straight forward six hour train trip - was no exception. I managed to do it in just under three days, by way of four chicken laden, Bolivian pan pipe blaring buses, a four hour power nap in the afternoon sun at the border, and a further 3 buses into afar flung corner of north western Argentina - all deserts, red earth and white washed colonial building, before finally bouncing into the elegant Salta. A struggle it had been, but it was bloody good fun.
Salta itself is lovely - pretty and inviting. I have no photo's as my camera had grown a fungus...from my times in the mines apparently. So I'll do what I can to best describe it - its leafy, with beautiful architecture a perfect climate. Throughout the city there's a strong emphasis on the culture of the Andes - for instance the food is spicier than elsewhere. I spent a great deal of my time around Plaza 9 de Julio - the centre of the town, with scenic cafes nestled under arches - in the evening the whole place is lit up and half of Salta seems to descend upon the square for an evening stroll. One evening, with a glass of red and a table full of tapas in front of me, I understood perfectly that I could live here. This is pretty perfect.
Next stop was Cordoba - a student town, that has by far and a way the highest concentration of bars and clubs outside of BA. I hung out with a great group of English and Argentinians, and we got crazy together for a week. Amongst the hazy nights I also made it to the 'Che Guevera house and museum' - the childhood home of Che. The house has been converted to showcase Che's growth from care free child to side-burned revolutionary.
My final stop in Argentina was to Mendoza,where I stayed at a beautiful, peaceful hostel - where every night they left out free bottles of Merlot, laid on huge barbecues and where I slept like a baby in a hammock outdoors.
Mendoza itself, a sophisticated laid-back city, is home to just over a million. It's a 100km east of the Andes and the home to Argentina's vineyards. Lunching one afternoon I met a stunning chatterbox called Jessica - we hang out for the rest of our time there and did the famous Mr Hugo tour. Mr Hugo is a legend all across South America with travelers. His tour involves renting bikes and cycling from one vineyard to the next - where you taste wine, eat steak and zigzag onto the next stop. It was great fun, and my whole time in Mendoza was brilliant. It was with a very heavy heart that I took another overnight bus through the Andes and into Chile...
I was in Santiago for little more than 8 hours, and then I would head to the airport, board the plane and land in New Zealand. That that was the plan at least - as it turned out things were to turn out pretty pair shaped. It started when I opened an email at the airport to find out that the dates I was under the impression I was working to were not the same dates that the travel agents had - meaning I was to land in Auckland and then pretty much fly straight into Fiji. Despite desperate emails and phone calls across the world I couldn't get this changed. The second problem came when the plane was cancelled, and were deposited on to the pavement outside of the airport for five hours - eventually being transported to a remote hotel at 4.30am. We flew the next day at midday.
No comments:
Post a Comment