Whatever, Together

(l-r) John, Sammy, Ariel, crossing Los Cordones national park

It was the best of times… it was the best of times. Sammy, Ariel and I set out from Jujuy together. Within a day we’d been joined by an American, John, eating lunch at a lakeside.

We were in the midst of a busy Argentine tourist destination. The climate was mild, the hills rolling, the lifestyle relaxed and rural. Through broad arable lands reminiscent of Europe the road rose up again through forested valleys, past lakes where we camped and woke up to frosts. We ate too much, mooned over bakeries, and negotiated routes we would never end up taking.

Here the architecture told the tale of Argentina; that is, many tales of many identifies. Languorous colonial ranches with peeling whitewash and cool wooden verandas abutted weekend homes of blunted modernist boxes which would have been more at place ringing a car park.

This is very Argentine, these neurotic tomb-houses. This is a country that loves its neuroses. Unlike other colonial societies (naming no names) who find viscous external focal points for the unsettling anxiety of their settler existence, Argentines look inwards.

You see it in the long-standing cult of psychoanalysis in Buenos Aires, or the pathological nursing of mate like a baby with a bottle. One time cycling with John, a man passed us and drove back again, just to open his mouth and deliver a twenty minute monologue about why Argentina is awful and we weren’t safe. He then got back in his car and drove off.

But while I came to notice all this later, back then with Sammy, Ariel and John, I was either blissfully drunk of struggling angrily up short, stubborn hills in sandstorms.

We had some pretty dreadful days on the bike, but always outweighed by the gorgeous evenings that followed, around BBQs and campfires. We were in wine country, getting drunk on stuff that was as clear and refreshing as water. It felt like whatever there was to win, we had won it. After months alone, these were the best days.

 

 

 

 

 

Sammy admiring the wooded valleys before Salta

Setting up a lakeside camp spot on our first night as a four

 

We didn’t get too far before we stopped to spend a more in a bike shop, stuffing our faces and discussing onwards routes. Inevitably, we all changed plans so we could stay together.

Typical dinner: lots of vegetables and a big pot of rice

Looking back down what we’d all thought to be out last climb. It wasn’t.

Cordones National Park

Cordones national park

Argentinian weave

Lunch. In Argentina, arriving in time to buy food before the all-afternoon siesta could be a real trouble. Here we’d only just managed to scrap enough food together.

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Valle Calchaquies

The happiest night of my whole trip, an asada in the campsite at Molinos

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