Finally made to Argentina, long bus rides and endless desert

I finally, after a rather gruelling week of bus schedules and large capital cities, made it to Argentina. I'm now in Mendoza, which is in the central eastern area, about 6 hours east of Santiago, in Chile. This place a rather startling resemblance to the Okanagan, it's dry, desert-like, hot and they grow a lot of wine around here. I bought a kilo of cherries in the main market today, so as I delight my taste buds with them, I shall recount the time since my last update.

Back last Thursday, which now feels like a millennium ago, there I was sitting there in the bus station with my ticket to Chiclayo, and came to understand by the growing crowd in the room that the bus in fact was going all the way to Lima. What with being stuck in the Peruvian boondocks and all, I found this opportunity too much to resist, and changed my ticket to take me all the way to the capital. The lesson that has been learned is, if you want to get across Peru quickly, don't use remote border crossings. Duh!

At 6:30 the next morning, with the sun now fully up, I pulled back the curtain to see the vast miles of sand that is the Peruvian coastal desert, which basically constitutes all of Peru's coast. For the first several hours of the trip, the desert had clumps of small bushes, interrupted with irrigated areas where people lived in mud-brick houses. Then the villages disappeared, along with any sign of life, and it just settled out to 360 degrees of barren wasteland. At around 4, we arrived in Lima. As I quickly discovered, the bus station for the company I was traveling under (Peru doesn't have central bus terminals, unlike every other country on the continent) wasn't actually in Lima proper, but out in the middle of one of the impoverished suburbs north of the center, and was forced to pay for a taxi with a rather uncompromising middle-aged bloke at the wheel, who seemed to regard me as a hassle. Before we pulled away from the station, the taxista locked all the doors and rolled up the windows, he said it was for a little security. Okay, I was not going to be in Lima for very long. First, I went to the bus station of a company that ran buses to Santiago, and discovered if I wanted, I'd have to wait 3 days for the next one. Abandoning this plan, and the first taxista because he'd decided he didn't want to take me anywhere else, I got in a new taxi to the more upscale district of Miraflores. Being in Lima proper now, the next one didn't bother with security, saying it was really 'tranquilo' in this part of the city, he did insist I wear a seatbelt though, the first South American to do so. Now, Lima, by this point, had made a horrific impression on me. The 6-lane freeway to Miraflores was lined with massive billboards advertising everything from American cable networks to Scotiabank, the first that I'd seen of any of these multinationals since arrival on the continent. Getting off on a street corner that would have looked upscale in Vancouver or Seattle, I came to a hostel that beared the english name of "The Flying Dog." This is the heart of gringo territory, the doorman spoke English, with considerable added profanity, but at least prefered to talk to me in Spanish. Going out to look for dinner, I was shocked and disappointed to discover that nowhere in the vicinity was there a restaurant that sold local food, EVERYTHING was imported, brought in from somewhere else for the benefit of vast numbers of gringos that visit the city. I SAW A STARBUCKS! I ended up settling for Middle Eastern food, the only foreign cuisine I've found that is done well down here. Finally back in the modern world, but despising where I was.

Packing up the next morning, it being Saturday, (my bag seems to getting steadily smaller each time I repack it) I got a ticket to Tacna, on the Chilean border, at for 6 that evening, another 20 hour ride, but at that point, I was so disgusted with this Peru I was seeing, and the time it had taken me to get there, that I didn't really care. Overnight I went to Tacna, the woman sitting in front was immensely fat, wore a massive amount of makeup and wore a choking amount of perfume. Fortunately, she slept for most of the journey. Regularly, we'd see piles of old pavement by the roadside and the occasional work crew, the region appears to have recovered quickly from the earthquake. After the endless emptiness, we drop suddenly into a dusty bowl that holds the city of Tacna. Possessing no more merits than being large and plopped in the middle of the desert, got help from the tourist office and rode in an ancient Oldsmobile that passed as regular transportation across the plain to Arica, in Chile. Having no problems with Chilean immigration, I arrive in Arica, which is basically a small port city, and by sheer dumb luck and timing I arrived at the terminal 5 minutes before a bus to Santiago was due to leave.

Welcome to Chile!

It was the first bus I've been on that left on time. Again, by chance, I was sitting next to a Bolivian gentleman, from La Paz, the only other foreigner on the bus. Over the course of the trip, I found this was his 5th trip to Chile, where he has relatives, he was diabetic and was interested to know his meds had been invented by a Canadian. His snoring had the quality of sounding like the sucking sound made through a straw when you drain the cup. What made this bus trip really outstanding though, was sunset and sunrise. Sunset, the sun had arms of gold that were painting the plains and hills around the area (it still was desert) in all the shades of brown and dark reds. Despite being given a pillow and blanket to sleep, I can't mostly becayse of the regular interruptions of provincial border checks, which the Chileans have to prevent duty-free and animal or plant products from getting into the country. Sunrise, over the Atacama Desert; the horizon became white, like God was cleaning the canvas to begin the new day. Then up rises a line of red, which turns violet as it rises into the sky, followed by bands of deeper and deeper golden yellow, fanning outward, illuminating the driest desert on earth. the colours blossomed out along the horizon, a sunlight symphony warming up to begin the movements of the day, and a line of small clouds, left like a set of stairs by yesterday for the morning to climb up on, each step turning hot pink until finally, the sun flashes up. Then, the world I was in changed.

The sudden presence of modern car dealerships and green grass boulevards. Gone now is the economic inequality and general disarray and chaos seen in Ecuador and Peru, I have arrived at the developed end of the continent. Arriving in Santiago, at around 7 in the evening, with my total long-distance bus ride time now at around 70 hours, and my butt thus aching from the inactivity, was very much a "We are not in Kansas anymore, Toto" moment. Santiago is a modern metropolis, it even has it's own subway. Cleaning up again, still sick and cramped from the bus, I managed to find a place for dinner that served massive empanadas. Feeling full and sociable, went back to the hostel tried to sleep.

My nasal passages had become completely clogged with mucus, I had a scorching fever, dizzying headache, and a sore throat. It was an uncomfortable night. Got up the next morning and found I couldn't stand up straight without my head spinning. With my sickness and resolve that I'd managed to finally arrive in Santiago, I went out for a look around the city. Santiago is beautiful, is a bit smoggy, a sort of hybrid of Vancouver and London. If only it wasn't so expensive, costs here had caught with what things cost back home, doing murder to my budget. Going to the international bus terminal, I found this very flamboyant ticket vender and got a ticket to Mendoza. Finally happy that I was getting to the destination I'd been aiming for for last week, I celebrated with a big bowl of ice cream while I waited for the bus. The ride to Mendoza was pretty cool. 6 hours only, a nice change. Going up over the Andes, they've gotten much taller since Ecuador, with tracts of snow here and there, even though it is the middle of summer here. Driving up through a series of avalanche bunkers, we arrived at the complex that housed customs.

Yay! I made it to Argentina!

Coming down out of the mountains, tidy green farms and forests line the landscape, giving it the appearance of the European countryside. And really, it's a deliberate imitation. Argentina is white dominant, with almost everyone and everything that goes on it's borders examples of habits imported from Europe. It feels very odd now, as it is now difficult to distinguish between a foreigner and a local before they speak. And even then, many Argentines appear to speak fluent English. I've essentially left South America, as what is here is far more like Europe than anything to be found elsewhere on the continent. The cars are all French and German built, although I've seen several Chevy pickups. The classy boutiques and franchise stores have reasserted each other. Argentines appear to live on meat, pizza and pasta and the idea that Argentina is in disrepair from economic collapse is not visible here in Mendoza, although other have told me that other parts of the country are looking a little more run down. Mendoza, in fact, bears an uncanny resemblance to Kelowna, it's large, well-kept, the climate is hot and dry, and they grow a LOT of wine grapes and other fruit here. In summary, this part of the continent is almost the antithesis of what people think of when they consider South America. Argentina is simply... fabulous.

Arriving at the bus terminal in Mendoza, I'm immediately crowded by a group of men vouching for me to come stay in the hotels they are advertising for. Losing them I attempt to find the direction of the hostel that I would like, and find a voucher in the terminal, Pablo, who gave me a free ride to the hostel. As well, there was a Japanese girl there, the first Asian foreigner I've met, and unusual to see anyone Japanese travelling alone, and in South America. Getting a bed at the hostel, I got directions to the nearest pharmacy and had a difficult discussion, not knowing illness-related Spanish words, with the woman there. Eventually she figured out what I wanted, gave me some pills, which I verified to make sure I was being given the right meds. The hostel has a much more eclectic group of travellers ,many many Brits, an Israeli, and several Germans, amongst others. There was a BBQ party that evening, and went around meeting everyone including a 60 year old called Tom, from California, who apparently is running away from home because he's afraid he's going to die soon and Pete, from Manchester, who knew John, the over-the-top Irishman I'd met in Quito. The BBQ itself was rather disappointing, with nowhere near enough food to go around, but lots of beer.

Woke up the next morning, feeling less sick, filled myself with medication, and went for breakfast. Breakfast is not a big thing in Argentina. In fact, the daily pattern in general is odd. No one gets up before 9 am, and breakfast is basically bread and coffee, most stores open at 10, then everything closes at 1 for siesta, and a generous lunch, and they reopen at 4, in time for afternoon maté, then close at 8. No one eats before 9 pm, many restaurants don't open before, and dinner is a long, social affair, ending around midnight, at which point everyone goes out drinking and partying until very late. Still haven't figured out when they sleep, except for siesta.

Yesterday was needed to understand this warped living pattern. Lunch was a considerable amount of pizza and just watching the city go about it's business, it's a university city, with students everywhere, followed by nice long siesta. Last night was a pizza party, and I discovered you can't actually buy beer in small bottles apparently, only large ones in excess of 1.5 L seem to be sold. The party was much better than the first one, and I was out dancing until late last night. Met Kaylee, from Calgary, the 4th Canadian I've met so far. This brings us to today, I went and got information on winery tours, as I'd like to see some of the wineries around here, and compare them to what's back in the Okanagan. The highlight of my day though, was easily the Central Market. There are no ifs or buts about it, these people know what's good in life. The market was an array of wine, olive oil and olives, chocolate cheese, fresh meats, herbs and spices, and fresh fruit and vegetables. I'm definitely going to have to start cooking my own food, screw the nice restaurants. Got roped into lunch by a waiter scouting the square down the street, and listened the collection of street musicians serenade the patrons of the cafés while I had lunch. Met my first Argentine beggar though, a little child. Overall though, it's been a fabulous day in a fabulous city in a fabulous country!