Monday 6 June 2011

---

The sky was overcast this morning, but having spent a quiet Sunday in the hotel, we wanted to go out. A taxi dropped us in the square of Chacras de Coria. Here, among the cypress trees and lavender, we took stock. The small town was quiet.

A pack of a dozen or so dogs gathered round David as we walked. He'd clearly been chosen at first sight as the current leader of the pack. Another emerged from the concrete tunnel of the drain beside the road. Jane advised David to stand still till they got bored. They stood patiently with him. We decided to cross the road to the bank, to shake them off. They trotted over, up the ramp and waited by the glass doors while we used the ATM. We separated from them only when they were distracted by another of their number, an Alsatian, who loped into the square.

The town woke briefly around 1pm. Children streamed from the schools. At the escuela, they were met by mothers and led away, or taken to the nearby news stand to check out the comics. The kids from the colegio crossed to tables outside a cafe or hung by the roadside to smoke and chat.

We found a bread shop and cafe where six or so people were sitting, and chose a table among them. A waitress approached and we prepared to order empanadas and coffee in our best Spanish. They closed at midday, she told us politely. At this, the other customers stood up as one and walked out. We followed meekly.

After a snack of empanadas and pasta in the only open cafe that we could find, we tried unsuccessfully to ring the mobile number of Claudio, our driver. We wandered round the square for a few minutes in the hope of flagging a taxi. An occasional car slowed for the speed hump and passed; now a white hatchback, now a decrepit American saloon with sweeping wings and a rattle. At last, we ventured into a hall, outside which a sign directed us to the tourist information centre. It seemed too much to hope that there would be anyone manning it, given that we were conspicuously the only two tourists that the town was likely to see this week. A dark curtain hung between the foyer and the bare auditorium. At the far end was a stage, but no sign of anyone. A notice led us up a flight of stone stairs to a gallery. Here on trestle tables were watercolours, works in progress, and painting materials. At a window stood a young bearded man with a notebook computer open on the sill. When we explained our difficulty, he climbed a flight of steps to an open door and spoke to someone that we couldn't see. We waited expectantly. He emerged with a mobile and called for Claudio. Ten minutes, he told us.

While we sat on the pavement waiting for the taxi to arrive, the dogs wandered the square in the warm afternoon sun.

An e-mail from Peuma Hue reassures us that they weren't badly affected by the downpour of volcanic stone from the eruptions in Chile, despite the videos we saw on Youtube of the sun blotted out and a layer of grit over the streets of Bariloche. They're staying at the estancia, looking after the animals.

This evening we take the bus for the twenty hour ride to Salta.

---

Comments

[ellie]

mum on a bus for 20 hours! wowzers.... x