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Published: March 3rd 2008
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Sun rise
We get the driver to stop in the middle of nowhere to grab the shadows from the morning sun. Emma writes - We had options to go north today, and knowing we didn't fancy spending much time in Perito Moreno we booked a trip to see the Cueva de las Manos and the night bus to Bariloche. Much rather this than sit on the same stinking bus as yesterday, with no aircon, during the heat of the day, in the middle of the deserted landscape around us. *Shudder*
The Cave of Hands, as it translates, gets its name from the painting of hundreds of hands made by the people of the area over 9000 years ago. It's found in the valley of the Pinturas River, an isolated part of the moon-like Patagonian landscape, over 100 km down gravel tracks from the main road of Ruta 40. We were in a car this time, not bus, which was great for stopping and taking photographs when we wished. We stopped at the top of a deep canyon opposite the caves and climbed down over 2000m through stripey mineral rich walls. The rocks and sand beneath us making it hard work. Hearing the cows' moos below made us yell into the canyon to hear our own echos. A rope bridge
Feeling a little horse?
The car startled this pack into a canter, must of interruped their brekkie at the bottom took us over the river and we passed mounds of volcanic ash from an eruption in Chile in 1991. Back up the other side, breathless, we donned hard hats (the first piece of health & safety we've come across in South America) and we joined a guide's tour to tell us about the place. The work is that of teenage boys, marking their advancement to adulthood by stencilling their own hand onto the walls by blowpipe. Mostly left hands, there's only a handful (sorry!) of right hands and also one hand with six fingers, which the guide was very excited about, she said it was due to inbreeding, but the print was a bit unconvincing, it looked to me as though someone was messing around to confuse future generations. It's very hard to imagine when you see the perfect preservation of the paintings and the brightness of the colours still that the Pyramids were yet to be built in Egypt, we were still throwing stones at the sun in Europe but these cave walls were being used as an early kind of street art in South America.
Back to town to catch the bus, with an
Mind the Gap
250 meters or so down and into the canyon inpromtu stop to hassle an armadillo which was crossing the road in our path.
The night bus to Bariloche was late. A mini bus of six very smiley people screeched into the bus terminal and piled out. They were supposed to be on the bus from its first stop a few hours down the road, but it left early without them. They were very releaved that we're still sitting here waiting. And waiting. Two hours later the bus showed its face, but needed a flat tyre replacing. It dropped people off, who joined us to wait in the late evening sunshine and left again for a few more hours. So just a few hours late, not the worst bus journey we've had by any means, I think Ecuador and its landslides and no road surfaces wins that prize. Closely followed by all the bus journies we couldn't have in Bolivia, due to the same problem.
Meanwhile, back in Patagonia, we stopped for food at about midnight. Argentina has a very bad eating late habit.
Matt ordered an empanada, which, for those of you not familiar with this tasty snack, is a kind of small cornish pasty, usually filled
Long drop
Even after we had entered the ravine, it was still a long way down with minced beef, but can sometimes be cheese. Seeing as they were so small I suggested to Matt that he should probably get two. True, "dos por favor" he said to the woman behind the counter, who was obviously a tad hassled by a bus full of people descending on her truck stop at this hour. Nature called for me and I returned to find Matt sitting at a table, not with one, or even two empanadas, but with two plates of six. Meat variety. So I wasn't helping him through them. I went back to the bus to get a bag to put them in, he could snack on them for a week, returned to the table where a man has joined Matt at the table with his own plate containing two empanadas. What went through this woman's head when she heard Matt say "One empanada please.... no, sorry, actually, make that 12"?!
So, Matt having ploughed through six, we returned to the bus, our bag's contents now smelling of mince and onions and everyone else wondering why the small skinny English boy had eaten all the pies.
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