When ladies get together or say farewell in Argentina, they give besos (kisses on the cheeks). Despite germ phobic tendencies, I think it's a very sweet greeting. Thus, my farewell to Argentina, is besos, because we're friends now, and I hope to visit again someday.
Our final day in Argentina typified our experience in the country. In the Northwest city of Salta, we slept in and blogged in bed, bunk beds, in a room with two other travelers. When we finally got up, we searched for almuerzo (lunch) and found a cute pizza shop with gifts and knick knacks. The woman running the cafe conversed with us in Spanglish- it turns out she was taking an English literature course and had a Beowulf exam later that day. I think she liked talking with us because she kept coming by with dulces libres (free sweets) and making conversation, things like "I love American breakfast. Eggs are so much better than Argentinian bread and coffee." Sweet gal. When she wasn't at our table, Mark and I continued to quarrel about our hypothetical future and whether or not we would stay in South America, trek back to Hawaii on schedule, or come up with some other wild plan. I can hang with a little uncertainty, but the lack of a solidified plan for our next few years has been wearing on me. There's just no way around it; I crave stability and am looking to settle down somewhere, let go of my nomadic lifestyle.
The afternoon was spent chasing down postage for postcards to our folks and grandparents. Each of those little puppies cost $4... in their defense, they were beautiful pictures. We also walked down Avenida San Martin to the bus station, to pick up our bus tickets for the following day. It was the usual, "Go to this counter, no that counter... this bus only runs two days a week... that bus leaves at midnight," kind of deal, but we secured our seats to Bolivia for first thing in the morning.
By 5pm, we needed to charge our ipads, so we plopped down at a beautiful glass- windowed cafe overlooking a corner of the plaza. The plaza is my favorite part of town. The surrounding historical buildings are charming, the women are dressed up in red boots and skinny black pants, and it feels like a modern European or Spanish city. While we charged our computers, I finally got my chocolate fix via a chocolate carmel mousse cake that, while taut around the edges from too much refrigeration, it sent my endorphins soaring (and my blood sugar too, no doubt). In Argentina, cafe con leche (coffee with milk) is served with a chaser of sparkling water. It's a great way to throw down an additional $3 per meal.
Two and a half hours later (we got our money's worth out of that free wifi), we emerged from the cafe to take in the plaza's warm night lights. We searched for supper and wound up at a very nice parradilla (grilled steakhouse) on another corner of the plaza. In the States, it would be a "Get dressed up; we're going out" kind of place, but here we were, with our backpacks, in our travel attire, ready for a final night of steak. Usually, the night before we leave a nice place, we get the insecurity about what food we'll find during the bus ride or in the next country. Bolivia is known for its soup, so I wanted one last steak a proper salad while I could still get ahold of the good stuff (sometimes it's not okay to eat fresh veggies in other places due to bacteria from the water or lack of hand-washing). I throughly enjoyed my farewell salad (fresh chunks of avocado, squash, edamame, lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, cheese), and we blew through our final $40 in pesos, while still managing to take home a giant hunk of steak for the next day's bus ride.
We packed up our gear for the next day's bus ride, set a 5:45am alarm, and gave our goodnight besos in Argentina. Tomorrow, we'd be in Bolivia.
Our final day in Argentina typified our experience in the country. In the Northwest city of Salta, we slept in and blogged in bed, bunk beds, in a room with two other travelers. When we finally got up, we searched for almuerzo (lunch) and found a cute pizza shop with gifts and knick knacks. The woman running the cafe conversed with us in Spanglish- it turns out she was taking an English literature course and had a Beowulf exam later that day. I think she liked talking with us because she kept coming by with dulces libres (free sweets) and making conversation, things like "I love American breakfast. Eggs are so much better than Argentinian bread and coffee." Sweet gal. When she wasn't at our table, Mark and I continued to quarrel about our hypothetical future and whether or not we would stay in South America, trek back to Hawaii on schedule, or come up with some other wild plan. I can hang with a little uncertainty, but the lack of a solidified plan for our next few years has been wearing on me. There's just no way around it; I crave stability and am looking to settle down somewhere, let go of my nomadic lifestyle.
The afternoon was spent chasing down postage for postcards to our folks and grandparents. Each of those little puppies cost $4... in their defense, they were beautiful pictures. We also walked down Avenida San Martin to the bus station, to pick up our bus tickets for the following day. It was the usual, "Go to this counter, no that counter... this bus only runs two days a week... that bus leaves at midnight," kind of deal, but we secured our seats to Bolivia for first thing in the morning.
By 5pm, we needed to charge our ipads, so we plopped down at a beautiful glass- windowed cafe overlooking a corner of the plaza. The plaza is my favorite part of town. The surrounding historical buildings are charming, the women are dressed up in red boots and skinny black pants, and it feels like a modern European or Spanish city. While we charged our computers, I finally got my chocolate fix via a chocolate carmel mousse cake that, while taut around the edges from too much refrigeration, it sent my endorphins soaring (and my blood sugar too, no doubt). In Argentina, cafe con leche (coffee with milk) is served with a chaser of sparkling water. It's a great way to throw down an additional $3 per meal.
Two and a half hours later (we got our money's worth out of that free wifi), we emerged from the cafe to take in the plaza's warm night lights. We searched for supper and wound up at a very nice parradilla (grilled steakhouse) on another corner of the plaza. In the States, it would be a "Get dressed up; we're going out" kind of place, but here we were, with our backpacks, in our travel attire, ready for a final night of steak. Usually, the night before we leave a nice place, we get the insecurity about what food we'll find during the bus ride or in the next country. Bolivia is known for its soup, so I wanted one last steak a proper salad while I could still get ahold of the good stuff (sometimes it's not okay to eat fresh veggies in other places due to bacteria from the water or lack of hand-washing). I throughly enjoyed my farewell salad (fresh chunks of avocado, squash, edamame, lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, cheese), and we blew through our final $40 in pesos, while still managing to take home a giant hunk of steak for the next day's bus ride.
We packed up our gear for the next day's bus ride, set a 5:45am alarm, and gave our goodnight besos in Argentina. Tomorrow, we'd be in Bolivia.
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