Hola to all!

We arrived in the northern Argentine city of Salta by bus from Mendoza late on a sweltering afternoon and, like a couple of pack animals ( which would be llamas in this part of the world), we climbed a narrow wooden staircase to the second floor of an old colonial building. A part of this ancient building is now the Hostal el Alcazar. A skeleton key opened the door to our tall, narrow, green room. To the right was a well-worn double bed and opposite, a casement opened to a tiny balcony trimmed with wrought iron. Perfect for only two chairs for two to overlook life on the street below. And so we did … with full color commentary of course, made all the more colorful with the aid of a bottle of cheap but delicious red wine. (Hey, we’re in Argentina after all!)

Besides wondering about so many things on the street below the Museo de Archeolologia in Salta caused me to wonder about so many more things. Museums have a way of doing that. This museum focuses on the Inca culture. At it’s center are the mummified remains of a boy child. These remains are those of one of three children found on a peak in the Andes in 1999 and are believed to be child sacrifices left by the Inca. Such was their bond with the earth and with all living things? Climatic conditions preserved the bodies almost perfectly, retaining the color of woven clothing, feathers and skin. Truly fantastic and so moving.

The following day Jose-Maria, our guide for the day, shared his yerba-mate and coca leaves with us … solely for the prevention of altitude sickness … while guiding us through the colored canyons of the Quebrada de Humahuaca which are north toward Bolivia. The mountainsides along this river valley look as though they have been sliced open obliquely to reveal undulating ribbons of rock. Dusky colors … amethyst, sage, honey, rose, blue-grey and maroon. Layer upon layer of colored rock like some marvelous confection. What an indescribable and magnificent sight! Homes, walls,walkways and fences of the villages alongside the canyon are still built of bricks of tawny clay taken from the river bottom and mortared with mud and straw. Village life is changing and the fences that once primarily contained the llamas are now hung with colorful weavings, carvings and pottery for visitors to buy. Sigh…

Tomorrow we will cross the border into northern Chile with plans to stop for a few days in San Pedro de Atacama, a town in the middle of a desert, parts of which have never recorded rainfall. Bliss!
I will send photos once I get this techie problem solved … still haven’t found a card-reader but I am not trying very hard, sorry.

Buenos noches and love,

Monika

PS: A special goodnight to you Dorothy

In a few short days we will be home again and, as been my trivial habit in the past, I find my thoughts stray often to what I long for at home and what I will not miss in the place I’ve been. It is preparation I suppose.

I long for the coolness of the west-coast rainforest. I will not miss 35 degree days and the rivers of sweat pouring down my face. These were not genteel beads of perspiration but rather a steadily leaking faucet from the top of my head. The teacloth which I use for a mop has been in my shoulder bag from day one. I long for whole grains, for here a slice of bread is a five-inch, stark-white square with the texture of ‘memory foam’. In fact, a loaf of them would likely make an fine pillow. These are essential to the typical hostel breakfast, so we eat slices of it anyway, loaded with margarine and jam and with tea and sometimes a fried egg. I will miss going out afterward for a traditional breakfast of delcious mohinga, Burmese noodles in a lemony chicken broth, topped with fresh greens and spices. I long for cheese. I haven’t even seen so much as a single hermtically-sealed, domino-shaped piece of cheese since I left home. I long for many things, but will spare you.

Our visa for Burma is expired and we have spent our last few days in Chaing Mai in northern Thailand. Randy did not recognize Chaing Mai. He was here at the start of a trek 13 years ago with Alfred. It has become a shopping mecca. Street markets consist of masses of people walking six abreast, all moving together at an even pace, ( one-way only – please), past the vendors’ shops and streetside tables. Chaing Mai has also a plethora of massage parlors and restaurants and more tourists than Thai people. Many, many of them are elderly, white males with beautiful, young, female, Thai partners …

Chaing Mai also has adventure tourism and, eager to get out of the city as we were, a bike trip seemed the perfect option. A full day away on a mountain-bike ride for beginners they said, mostly downhill with some rough patches they said. Ourselves, another couple, a guide and our bikes were taken to the top of the mountain. Fitted out with helmets, armour for elbows, knees and shins and padded gloves we started off into the cool forest (bliss !) along a woodsy trial.

Everything was beautiful. I absolutely loved it … until the second time I crashed. In a short time, the trial had turned from woodsy to steep downhill, loose rock, deep ruts, hairpin turns but I loved the challenge and the thrill of it. With the first crash I only took the skin off my forearm and elbow as I had forgotten to put the armour back on after the coffee break. However, the damage was fairly minimal, we dusted me off and I thought the road rash would make a fine souvenir of the trip (and may even impress Isaac and Cole.) I put the armour back on and continued gamely, my confidence only slightly tarnished.

The second crash was more serious. I became trapped in a deep rut, overapplied the front brake and sailed ass-over-handlebars onto the rocks. Oops! How very embarrassed I was, shaken and SORE!! However, of course I denied anything wrong, not wanting to hold up the other three in the group. Today I have also as souvenirs, a right arm that I cannot lift, low-grade pain and a new appreciation for the complexities of downhill mountain biking.

I finished the ride rather more cautiously and thought often that there must be a metaphor or moral in there somewhere. ie: ”when stuck in a rut, dont apply the brakes to strongly when attempting to get out of it” … “don’t get in a rut in the first place” … “when going downhill try especially hard not to get into a rut” … “try something new once in a while even if you know you might get hurt”… Take your pick or add more??

Today I have had a Thai massage, reflexology treatment, and body scrub, and as I lay beneath the cucumber slices I did not contemplate anything except to note that we have met some truly remarkable people, some of whom have immediately, momentarily or temporarily replaced our irreplaceable friends and family. The tuk-tuk will fetch us to the overnight train shortly.

We look forward to seeing everyone soon.

Love Monika and Randy.