I arrived in Tucuman about 5 days ago, after having finally got a ride out of Cafayate after a dissapointing finish to the Copa America. It took me four hours to find that ride, but when I did, it was in the back of a pickup truck right next to a motorcycle being delivered. The very nice Argentine man dutifully informed me that if there were to be a roadside checkpoint on the way, he would be forced to leave me at the side of the road because sticking me in the back next to the motorcycle that looked as if it were going to tip over and crush my legs was generally frowned upon by the police. Thankfully, there were no roadblocks.
The road to Tucuman, despite how bumpy it was, was quite beautiful. Imagine a desert landscape to one side and the mountains to the other, neither never leaving your view at any time. Imagine climbing a hill and having a full view of the landscape around you, and then descending into a green field full of llamas. It was a nice drive.
When we stopped off at a small service station for a bathroom break and gas, the generous Argentine who picked me up let me know that the road ahead would get quite cold. I pulled out another coat, but it didn’t do much. The temperature went down 5 degrees, and the wind didn’t help one bit. I arrived in Tucuman 20 blocks away from the nearest hostel, my feet completely numb, my hands blue and my nose practically frost-bitten. The walk was very much welcomed, it let the blood flow back to my feet and let me exersize a bit after having sat in the back of a pickup truck for four hours, with nothing but my feet holding me up against the rear window. I wish I’d taken a picture, but I didn’t dare take out my camera.
Upon my graceful arrival in Tucuman, I legged it to the nearest hostel, a wonderful place called A La Gurda, and prompty fell asleep after devouring an entire pizza for myself.
I had only planned on staying very briefly in Tucuman. It was not much more than a stop off point, a dot on the map before heading down to the southernmost destination I plan on getting to; Mendoza. When I got there though, I learned that Tucuman was actually the spot where the Argentines signed their Declaración de Independencia (Decleration of Independance). I also learned that the 9th of July is the Argentine Independance Day, and so I decided to stay in order to experience another country’s Independance Day celebrations.
Boy was I dissapointed.
It turns out that the Argentine people don’t actually celebrate their Independance day as much as you’d think this loud and proud people would. The most they do is go to the restaurant and eat locro, a mixed meat stew with chickpea-like vegetables in it, and wave at the President as she rides by in the one-band-parade. Quite entertaining.
And so, I feel like I’ve not done much these past days. I did however, meet some very nice French and Australian people who made the days pass by easier.
Global Thoroughfare 