I depart Buenos Aires, heading northwest and following the river Paraná to the town of Rosario. 186 miles away, it’s a university town, and upon entry I experience a peaceful demonstration by students. They’re surrounded by a strong military presence, all done up in riot gear and machine guns—a bit freaky.
I have good weather and roads, and I spend a day sightseeing and staying with Fransisco’s brother’s family, all of whom are very friendly.
Another 250 miles north takes me to Córdoba, and then I take off across the Salinas Grandes salt flats. Here, I see the interesting sight of a lamppost covered in orange spiders—I don’t get too close. The weather is oven hot, and the new bitumen is so hot that at one point I have to stand on the metal shoulder for a break. There’s no sign of civilization or traffic around. I feel like I’m in the middle of nowhere, but I get a friendly wave from a person wandering nearby in the sparsely vegetated dunes.
Later, on some long straight with my toes hanging down off the rear pegs for a bit of posture relief, I pass over what I think is a piece of coiled rope. Avoiding it by a few inches, I suddenly notice that it’s a dark, shiny, live snake! This is my first encounter with one, and I take a bit more care after that.
I reach San Miguel de Tucumán, and am delayed in a small café for one and a half hours by a spectactular morning storm, with thunder, lightning, and heavy rain. There are no trees or shelter, so I just sit it out. When it stops, the afternoon is perfect, and I spend the following day there with a family, the Leschots. On an evening outing, on a hill overlooking the town, I see a massive display of rather large bats. A very eerie feeling.
Upon getting back to the house I find a rather distressed maid; she had done some washing for me and shrunk my big blue wool pullover, rendering it no longer a dressy item.