Salta, Cordoba, Condors, and Cookies

About eight hours from the border, I arrived at the very cosmopolitan city of Salta, complete with outdoor cafes, classy shops, and empanadas. All I ate there were empanadas! This is pretty much all I did, besides climbing up the nearby hill and talking pictures of the park at the top. The difference between this city and Bolivian cities was huge! Gone were the women in traditional dress and the tiny, windowless shops and vast markets.


Top of the Teleferico in Salta.


Waterworks in the park in Salta.

After two whole days of empanadas, I escaped to Córdoba, where they had fewer empanadas. My guidebook described this city as an fascinating combination of the old and the new. The book even admitted this was a cliche, but the statement had some truth to it. It even inspired me to take this picture:


A combination of the old and the new. I didn´t go into the strange red projection, but I did go into the church, and it looked like this:


Pretty eh?

In Córdoba, I stayed in a large hostel where I met some interesting people. We went to a discoteco where a very sweaty Argentinian man took pity on the foreigners and tried to teach us to dance, which he unfortunately failed miserably at, but it was fun all the same.

After a few days of museums, ice creams, and drinking, I was anxious to get out of the city and have some real adventures. It occurred to me, however, that perhaps I took this desire too far when a bus dropped me off on the corner of the deserted highway and a dirt road, leaving me with my two backpacks and a magnificent hangover. Before he took off again, the busdriver assured me that there was something about a kilometer down the dirt road.


Horses by the dirt road where I was dropped off.

After walking for almost two kilometers through stunning--and quite empty--rocky grassland, I eventually found the visitors center for Parque Nacional Quebrada del Condorito. I had expected a town, but it turned out I had enough ham and cheese sandwiches for dinner that night and breakfast the next morning. I set up my tent at around 4pm, and continued on about 5 km to a gorge where baby condors learn to fly. I had my dinner watching condors circle below me in the sunset. Quite nice!


Very pretty campsite, though it got very cold at night.


Quebrada del Condorito.

The next morning I hiked out to the road and flagged down a bus headed to Mina Clavero, a very popular spot for Córdobeses in the summer because of its limpid streams and swimming holes. Arriving in the fall was perfect, I thought, since the crowds were scared away and it was still just hot enough to swim.


Bridge over gorge near Mina Clavero.

I stayed in a really nice hostel here, and when I checked in the man seemed inordinately amused that I couldn't understand his strong Argentinian accent. He gave me a tour during which we examined the hostel in extreme detail, just so he could prolong my bewildered expression. We examined, for example, where they keep the placemats, where I could find a musical instrument, and the locations of the lightswitches in not one, but two rooms. Anyways, eventually he said that he and a few girls staying in the hostel were going to have a barbeque that night and I could join in, which resulted in a very delicious and fun night.

The next day I rented a bike to go check out a neighboring town and to go to a nearby swimming hole. I biked through the rolling hills and past abandoned summer resorts, finally arriving at a very pretty river and explored for awhile, went swimming, ate lunch, and got really sunburned.


Exploring the sandy-bottomed rivers around Mina Clavero.

At about 4, after the requisite ice cream, I arrived back in Mina Clavero, and was meandering around the town when I encountered a large Argentinian man on a bike. He was very excited to see me and talked rapidly in Argentinian Spanish, which after the slow cadence of Bolivians, I understood very little of. It seemed to be a question, however, so I told him the only information I could offer, which was all the places I had just been. He responded, "Great! We go together!" (He had been asking where I was going). And so we went back to all the places I had just been, but faster. It was great fun.

We didn't get back until after dark, and at this point, I was exhausted, but Jose invited me to dinner in his bakery with his wife and daughter, which was very nice. He sent me off with his email address and 16 fresh baked cookies!


After a lengthy bike ride, Jose and his family at his bakery.

I left Mina Clavero the next day to head to La Carolina, a small town my guidebook recommended for its stone buildings and pastoral setting. I didn't arrive until about 7pm that night, and the bus crossed two rivers to drop me and a couple others on a deserted stone street. It was like stepping back in time. The town was tiny, with one main street and otherwise only dirt paths to the other stone houses on the nearby hills. A mountain, illuminated by the sunset, emerged to one side of town.

As I stepped off the bus and headed up a stone staircase to a hostel, I felt like I may be the only person in town. But, I was quite wrong. I walked into the common area of the hostel to find it filled with cameras, lights, computers, and other equipment, and an entire film crew. They immediately asked if I was traveling by myself, and invited me to join them for dinner.


Fall hitting La Carolina.


Stone buildings, stone streets in La Carolina.

I happily ate their empanadas and drank their beer, though this was really difficult for me, and went along with them as they took pictures of the stars. They were filming a documentary about the town--both the history of its gold mines and its current status as occasional tourist destination.

The next morning, the producer asked if I wanted to sit at a table while some other guy (he gestured to man I didn't meet the night before) drank coffee. At least, this is what I understood of the conversation. It made much more sense to me when I discovered that they would be filming at the time, that the other guy was the actor of the film, and they needed a couple extras. So, they got me dressed in a llama sweater to play the role of "tourist"--a role I felt born to play. I sat at a table for at least an hour while the set was perfected. I was positioned and repositioned and given some touristy props as well as an empty cup of coffee. After everything was perfect, filming two takes took maybe 15 minutes, and that is how I became famous.


Getting ready on set.


The "cafe."

After my starring role was over, I hiked up the nearby mountain, which had beautiful views, and completed La Carolina's strange stone labyrinth.


Cerro Tomolasta from below.


La Carolina from above.


Enjoying a beer at the top!

I spent one more night in the town, sharing dinner again with the film crew (I was paid in food), and then headed to Mendoza the next morning to finish off my trip. There I met Ben, drank a lot of wine, toured some vineyards, and generally had a very classy time, though I didn't have any fantastic adventures, and I didn't take any pictures. After a brief stop into Chile, to Valparaiso, I took a plane up to the north of Chile and a couple buses to Cochabamba.

Now, I go on to the next adventure: I go home to the United States tomorrow, where my sister Cate and I plan to spend the next couple months biking the Continental Divide. Should be a fun trip!

Bolivia to the Border

A little less than two weeks ago, I left Cochabamba and headed to Argentina to try my luck traveling around sola. After a lengthy journey by bus and train, I arrived at the country of my destination, and proceeded to meet many people, see many condors, eat a lot of ice cream, and be in an Argentinian movie--all very good things!

Traveling through Bolivia is always a challenge, and this time was no different. The day I wanted to leave, Cochabamba decided to close down the city to cars in honor of pollution. A worthy cause, I thought, and at least this time I was forewarned. So, I made my way to the bus station early so that I could get through the center of town before the roadblocks started. It was, in fact, really cute--everyone who had a bike in town brought it out of hiding, since this is the one day a year that they could ride without fear of the insanity of Bolivia drivers.

However, as I left Cochabamba on the bus to Oruro, it was clear that not everyone was forewarned about the extent of the roadblock. Indeed, I had thought the event would only affect the center of town, and yet, as we travelled first 5km out of town, then 10 km out of town, I noticed that right behind us were police cars blocking the road behind us to through traffic, and the road was lined with trucks trying to get through. Eventually, 20km out of town, the police had caught up to us and the road was closed...in both directions. An excellent example of extremely efficient Bolivian bureaucracy and a seemingly unsatisfiably Bolivian appetite for roadblocks.

Anyways, we were diverted onto a dirt road with all the other buses and trucks guilty of the crime of trying to leave Cochabamba. After a very bumpy half an hour, we got back onto the main road we encountered a lineup of at least 30 buses scattered before the toll plaza, all with their engines off and an impromptu market set up. The toll plaza, of course, had conveniently closed.

At the front of all the commotion, I witnessed all of the bus drivers in conference with an apparent official, and all looked mutinous. Eventually, the threat of being run over by all 30 buses convinced the police to let us through, to the disappointment of the entrepreneurial women selling pan and chiclets to the bus passengers.


View from the train.

The train was a much more pleasant experience, though I had to wait seven hours in Oruro, mediocre every other week of the year besides Carnaval. Traveling first class allowed me a seat that reclined and also a continual showing of music videos such as Celine Dion´s "My Heart Will Go On," complete with clips from the movie Titanic. Waking up the next morning was beautiful though, as we were chugging through a wide valley surrounded by mountains. Another 5 hours winding through high mountain deserts and we arrived to Villazón on the border with Argentina.


Train station in Tupiza, 2.5 hours from the border.

After collecting our belongings in Villazón, we walked over to the Argentinian customs. The line was short, but only one window was open. As I waited, the window next to me slid open, and a customs agent stuck his head out and asked me, "Australian?"

"No..."

"Where then?"

When I said Estados Unidos, he made a face, said abruptly in Spanish, "I hate the United States!" and slammed the window shut, leaving me to wait, bewildered.

When I was first in line, the anti-American agent seemed to have no role other than "general harrasser"--a role he took on with some enthusiasm. While the other agent examined my passport, the first asked questions rapidly in Spanish, such as,"Where are you coming from? Where are you going? Where are you going after that? What do you do at home? What do you study? What part of the States are you from? Is it nice there? Why are you traveling alone? What kind of music do you like? Do you like Metallica?" After which he paused in his interrogation to rock out to an air guitar.

Despite this special attention, they waived me through with no troubles--indeed they didn't even need to search my bags, which they did to everyone else. Apparently, Argentinian police assume someone from the United States would not try to smuggle in coca products, though some New Zealanders in line with me were not so lucky.

Searching for Telmatobius around Sucre

After Carnaval in Oruro, I joined up with the frog team in Sucre, the only-in-name capitol of Bolivia. I had the impression that Sucre is everyone's favorite Bolivian city, and it lived up to it´s reputation as a beautiful, colonial town, unspoiled by uncontrolled development. I arrived at the airport on the Tuesday of Carnaval, and the town was completely dead, except for roaming bands, each consisting of a couple wet children armed with water guns and a couple band members playing some apparently random assortment of brass instruments. These roaming groups appeared to be at war with each other. Arturo and Eleonore picked me up at the airport, and we tried to pick up Arturo´s neice on the way back to his house, but it turned out she was one of these wet children, and she refused to come home with us. Loro, the parrot named parrot, but in Spanish. We had a barbeque in honor of Carnaval with Arturo´s family, followed by a water balloon fight (also in honor of Carnaval), that ended in each of the participant´s getting thrown in the pool. Their parrot ¨Loro¨ contributed by screaming and laughing, giving the impression that at least three more people were involved in our fight. I tried often to get Loro to stand on my shoulder, but he was more interested in gnawing on my finger, which he did whenever he got the chance. We didn´t end up leaving Sucre for another day, giving us the chance to tour the town a bit. Cemetary of Sucre. Supposedly contains the grave of the only prince of Bolivia. This beautiful colonial building hosts a delicious salteneria: delicious empanada-like pastries that Bolivians (and I) enjoy as a mid-morning snack. Eventually we were joined by Marina and we set off for the mountains surrounding Sucre to look for frogs! We ended up camping in a really beautiful and isolated spot, that also happened to host a playground. Hooray! Our convenient cooking shelter. Marina enjoying our tire swing. Since the frogs we were looking for are nocturnal, we spent most of the day for the next two days eating and playing cards. At around 6:30 each night, we pulled on our boots and walked down to the river, and the four of us surveyed about two kilometers in either direction, though we did not find too many frogs. Surveying till after midnight was exhausting, and tired missteps were disastrous, since they often resulted in a boot being filled with icy water. Still, I managed to enjoy myself hopping from rock to rock, and the stars the second night were truly amazing. We headed back to Sucre the next day, where we spent a day resupplying before heading to higher altitudes around Potosi. We could not cross here! We ended up going to another stream since the bridge across this one was out. Again, we looked for frogs at night, and were more succesful than before and managed to catch some Telmatobius tadpoles for the captive breeding project in Cochabamba. We continued our drive and our survey the next day, stopping at streams that seemed like good frog habitats. We were low on containers for the frogs we were catching, and so had to use creative solutions such as pant pockets for dozens of tadpoles, along with a couple adult frogs for good measure. View during the drive from Potosi. Our campsite for one night was in the middle of someone´s llama pasture. Unfortunately, I didn´t take a picture of it when it was filled with llamas, but please try to imagine! More stone llama pastures. Did you know llamas poop in piles? Another stream to survey. Eventually we drove back to Cochabamba, the truck filled with various water and soda bottles filled with frogs for the aquariums I had helped to build the week before. Success!