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Published: April 3rd 2014
Little know fact: Every Argentine can play at least one instrument. Case and point.
We crossed the border into Argentina and spent a few days at "the rustic hostel" where we were given alternate Inca history lessons by the owner and where I personally had the pleasure of being called a doughnut (it's D.O.N.N.A people) each time I entered its doors. There wasn't much to this town so when the owner coerced us into doing a video testimonial for his hostel website we really had to use our imagination. As we moved on we passed the incredible multicolored ravine of Humahuaca, spent a night in the tiny yet bustling town of Tilcara, passed through Jujuy, and settled for a few days in Salta. After so much desert, arriving in an affluent city such as Salta where the standard dress code wasn't Bolivian sweatpants and hiking boots was a strange affair indeed. But as the shock settled we both quickly decided that we could get used to this whole warm water, exquisite architecture, and paved pedestrian streets type of thing. After Salta however, it was straight down to San Miguel de Tucuman where upon arrival we were promptly reminded of the dangers of travelling in South America with all of our worldly possessions on our backs.
Luckily the guy reminding us was doing so out of the kindness of his heart and we ended up making it to our hostel much safer (in his experience) than had we gone with our original plan of simply utilizing our feet. The hostel was the poshest one yet and I was getting the distinct impression that life was getting more expensive the further south we were moving. Illusions were shattered however when I unfolded my blanket and a larva fell out... yeah. But apart from candid creatures Tucuman also housed some of the best food and most heartfelt compliments a girl walking down the street could ask for. Alas, the time for us to leave and for our journey to take separate paths had arrived, with me due west and my trusted travel partner due east. It was a sad parting but as they say "all good things must come to an end", "life goes on" and so on and so forth. As faith would have it I enjoyed one of the most beautiful views on the bus down to Mendoza, and the city, which I can only describe as the San Francisco of South America, wasn't too bad
Oh and yeah my camera lens got stuck during this time so I'm making up for my lack of pictures by writing this essay.
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