Mendoza to La Rioja, ARGENTINA - 07 february 2003
Yair had explained to me that he did not believe my theory on the Argentinian postage cost, i.e. that if 20g costs US$1.50, 2kg would cost US$150. He claimed that postage costs did not follow linear proportions.
Half-believing him, I had gone and bought a bunch of souvenirs last night. Yep, when you are making a list and checking it twice, it really means the trip is coming to an end soon. Sob.
At the post office, the lady motor-mouthed rapidly something to me. I heard ‘Aduana’ [Customs], ‘revisar’ [check] and ‘caja’ [box]. My short-term memory only retained ‘caja’ and realised I had to find a box myself. If I bought one of those postal boxes from the post office, she said it would be MORE expensive.
Hmmm… because of the economic down-fall, I remembered spotting many poor folks going through garbage bags along the streets collecting boxes. Should I do the same? Or should I go to one of these guys to try and buy one off them? I had just decided to head back to the hostel to see if anyone had a box when I spotted a box under a tree. I peeped. It was empty and the right size. Box was mine.
But, back at the post office, the lady re-explained that I had to go to the Customs for them to check the items before I could seal up the box. Unfortunately, the Customs office was closed now and would only be opened on Monday morning. It was Friday.
Oh dear, how inconvenient this was turning out to be. I lugged the box to La Rioja.
On the luxurious overnight bus to La Rioja, the steward served dinner to us. I had forgotten this sort of service existed in Argentina. The last time I took such a bus in Argentina was more than three months ago heading to Buenos Aires. I grumbled to the guy next to me that what a shame, I had already eaten dinner. In response, he smiled and did a very typical Argentinian hand gesture to me.
The gesture: With the right hand facing up, place all fingers together. Hold the fingers at an angle and rock to-and-fro a few times.
Oh, how I had missed this since Buenos Aires! This gesture can be used to mean anything… from ‘You look like crap, everything OK?’ to ‘HEY, hey, what you are talking about? I disagree with that…’ to ‘What? I don’t get you. Explain that again?’ to ‘Oh, it is the most gorgeous place in the world! Precioso!’ to ‘Hahaa, what a toad you are.’
For my case now, it would be the last meaning.
La Rioja to Los Molinos, ARGENTINA - 08 february 2003
My objective of coming to La Rioja was to visit Parque Nacional de Talampaya nearby. I had read somewhere that it was advisable NOT to head out there during summer. This was summer. Hmmm… I made inquiries at the tourist office.
The lady gravely warned me it was 45 to 50°C a few days ago in town. So, she reckoned it would be about 60°C in the desert. Oh nooooo… I would NOT be heading there.
However, she tried to interest me to go to Los Molinos, a small town 2 hours away, which would have a festival tonight. Fine.
This was the first time in a long, long time there was cable-TV in my hotel room and the remote control belonged to me and me only. I stayed in bed and channel-surfed the entire afternoon. 52 channels and there was nothing on TV.
I caught the bus to Los Molinos that evening. The small town was fenced up with garbage bags so that anyone entering the main plaza would have to fork out 7 Arg Pesos. The stage was set up at the plaza with many tables and chairs. I really had no clue what sort of festival this was. Because of Mexico, I had imagined the festival to be full of folkloric music and assorted colourful traditional dances.
Well, there were only two dances and they were put up by children, a little hurried and inexperienced. The next 2 hours though, had brilliant bands playing folkloric music which I enjoyed thoroughly.
Los Molinos to La Rioja, ARGENTINA - 09 february 2003
OK, I stand corrected. Let’s face it. 2, 3 hours of folkloric music was fine. But 8 hours of it was a bit of an overkill to the untrained ears, don’t you agree? I had not slept well on the bus last night and so, I found myself dozing off in the middle of the loud, booming party.
The locals were having great fun though. They sang along to every folk song and danced. They bought flour and foam-spray and it was a free-for-all fight as everyone tossed or sprayed everyone else. Two kids next to me eyed me for a while. I braced myself and indeed, they sprayed me entirely with foam.
Finally, F-I-N-A-L-LY, the party ended at day-break. Enough of folkloric music! I was very relieved to catch my bus back to La Rioja for a much-needed sleep.
La Rioja to Tucumán, ARGENTINA - 10 february 2003
The Customs office of La Rioja was way out of town, along one of the highways. I optimistically made my way there by taxi. There, I realised that the officers wanted the box to be wrapped up with brown paper after checking and that I had to provide the brown paper. But, where can I buy brown paper? Back at the town centre.
Argh. For a moment, I wanted to give up and lug all the stuff until I crossed back into Chile. Then, I thought I would stick it through, just to see how low it could go.
Back to the town centre and back to the Customs office with brown paper. The guy asked me to go ahead and wrap the box. But… but… don’t you want to CHECK the contents first? That was the POINT of bringing the box all the way to Customs for inspection before wrapping, wasn’t it?
The guy gave me an ‘oh yeah’ look, gave the contents a cursory glace, barely lifting the plastic bags to check the insides. OK, now wrap it.
I cursed the day I decided to post things home from Argentina.
I arrived at Tucumán late at night and had my first diarrhoea since China.
Tucumán to Tafí del Valle, ARGENTINA - 11 february 2003
The route from Tucumán to Tafí del Valle was amazing. As we climbed up the mountains, the surrounding vegetation looked like tropical forests. The entire mountains were packed with trees and the trees were fully grown with climbers and ferns. Impressive. The bus made turns after turns towards the cloud level. Sit on the left side.
Once we burst out of the clouds, the vegetation changed to grassy mountains, spotted with pine forests. Tafí del Valle looked very agreeable to me. It was no longer harsh desert weather. It was alpine weather.
The tremors in my stomach and the very windy road made me feel queasy upon arrival. I had a headache too which I attributed to ‘altitude sickness’. Strange, this was only 2050m. When I was at Puente del Inca, it was 2700m and I did not feel weird then. Maybe the difference in altitude between Tucumán and Tafí was greater. I decided to take it really easy today.
The view around this pretty town in the valley was wonderful. We were surrounded by green mountains all over, half immersed in clouds. In the distance, we could see a lake. There were llamas too. Tourists could rent horses to visit the area but the local gauchos were using horses for regular transportation as well. Tafí was tranquil and pretty. I really liked it here.
I soon got to chatting with a couple of old men who wanted me to stay in Argentina and get married. Get married with whom? The cheeky toothless one offered to be my groom at once. Right.
Tafí del Valle, ARGENTINA - 12 february 2003
I had been crapping everything I ate. I took some medication and gingerly had some empanadas at a restaurant. I chatted to the owner of the restaurant, Julio. He suggested to me that later at 5pm, if I wanted, I could join him and his family for a drive to the neighbouring town El Mollar and he would drive me to the top of a mountain for a great viewing spot to take pictures of the valley. That sounded fantastic. I agreed to it at once.
I took a walk along the rocky river bed but soon, found that I was too sick and still had not enough energy today. I was still crapping, by the way. I decided to head back to my hotel to sleep.
By 5pm, I met up with Julio, his wife Gracilia and his son Cecil. We got into his car but the weather had turned rainy by then and it was not possible to go to any viewing spot for any photos.
Julio was very nice. He kept apologizing about the missed opportunity to me. How sweet. Gracilia then suggested that we drive to another town, Amaicha del Valle, more than 50km away, to have an asado with her sister’s family.
Amaicha del Valle, although also a charming town in the valley, had a climate entirely different from Tafí. It was dry there. It rained perhaps five days a year, I was informed by Cecil. We climbed up more curvy roads and hit the highest point of El Infiernillo 3045m. Beyond that, the vegetation indeed took a change. Now, instead of pine forests, we could see scores of candelabra cacti, 2 to 4 metres tall. Many seemed to be giving us the third finger. It was a near-desert climate here. How odd.
Soon, despite my weak stomach conditions, I found myself gnawing at various cow parts at the house of Gracilia’s sister. I met many relatives too.
They showed me the backroom where they made bread and wine. There was a cow’s belly, where the four stomaches used to be, tied to four poles. Inside the belly, they would put grapes and then, they would step on them - the first step towards wine-making. How delightful to see this er… ‘container’. I had heard this explanation in the bodega tour in Mendoza but they had said this was the ‘old’ practice for everything was mechanised now. I had just found a place that still did it the ‘old’ way in a cow’s belly.
Again, I must say I was very lucky to have met such a wonderful family, entirely by chance.
Tafí del Valle, ARGENTINA - 13 february 2003
I stayed another day here in Tafí. Just to gain more strength.
I visited the nearby town El Mollar which had a Parque Nacional Menhires with stone menhirs, some with carvings. It was not very impressive and not well-maintained too as many of the stones were, sadly, vandalised by amorous Argentinians proclaiming this love and that.
I hitched a ride back to Tafí and dropped by Julio’s restaurant for a visit again. Now, he wanted to invite me to another asado with his cousin tonight. He had been very kind to me and I was very touched. Cecil’s eyes lit up when I agreed to the invitation.
Asados. Asados. Only the Argentinians know how to make a real asado. I subsisted on more meat today. But I swear I would NOT be having another asado for a long time.
By the end of the dinner, the family put some folkloric music on and the assorted aunts, uncles, this cousin and that, started doing folkloric dances, with swing handkerchiefs in the air and arms held high, curved like candalabras. I joined in one dance, to some applause and much delight as the ‘ambassador from China’, as I was known to them, with some clumsy, embarrassing foot-work.
But I drew the line at cumbia. The horrible cumbia. This is happy-peppy music with repetitive POM-pom-POM-pom bass beats, highly excitable electronic tunes and LEVEL INFINITY KITSCH. It is HORRIBLE!! Unfortunately, the Andean folks love it.
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