It was raining in spurts when I awoke. I finished the rest of the corned beef and potatoes for breakfast, and said goodbye to my new acquaintances after exchanging addresses. I only had to catch a local bus for the 20 km to Posadas, capital of Misiones province and the first sizable city in Argentina south of Puerto Iguazú. I was still close to the Paraguayan border; Posadas is just across the Paraná River from Paraguay. The soil in the area is rust coloured. Pine forests and yerba mate plantations lined the side of the road.
I bought a ticket for the first bus out, at 1600, which would deposit me in BA, 1300 km south, at break of day. I left my bag in storage at the bus station and explored the city. Unfortunately the rain had followed me from Brazil, so I did not see Posadas at its best. The only photo I have of the city is of Plaza 9 de julio (Independence Day in Argentina, 1816). I arrived at the impression that Argentine streets strive to be clean and thoughtless people foul them, whereas nobody cared about Brazilian streets in the first place.
I tried to get pesos from an ATM, but for some silly reason ATMs were closed over lunch, like the bank. I had a false start when it wouldn't take one of my cards, but eventually I got cash. Lunch was of lomo, a steak sandwich in a ½ baguette. The meat was very tender.
Street vendors carried heavy baskets on their head. It seemed risky to me. The locals were helpful and I was not an object of undue attention. Spanish and Italian physiques were more evident.
I had the seat at the front of bus on the upper level. The carriage was air-conditioned and quite comfortable. When night fell while we were en route, I could see the constellations in the sky as only one can away from the light pollution of the cities. I noted a bright star below Leo, which was probably Regulus.
As I had hoped, the bus made a stop for dinner. The bus drivers had their own table, being regulars. Outside the roadhouse stood this tank, which provided courtesy hot water for mate tea drinkers to refill their flask. The tank replicates the shape of the flask.
A biscuit sold in Argentina called Rhodesia consists of a white wafer surrounded by black chocolate. (For many years, I had assumed it was a somewhat politically incorrect allusion to the country, but the Internet has enlightened me that it is the name of the inventor.)
I tried to get pesos from an ATM, but for some silly reason ATMs were closed over lunch, like the bank. I had a false start when it wouldn't take one of my cards, but eventually I got cash. Lunch was of lomo, a steak sandwich in a ½ baguette. The meat was very tender.
Street vendors carried heavy baskets on their head. It seemed risky to me. The locals were helpful and I was not an object of undue attention. Spanish and Italian physiques were more evident.
As I had hoped, the bus made a stop for dinner. The bus drivers had their own table, being regulars. Outside the roadhouse stood this tank, which provided courtesy hot water for mate tea drinkers to refill their flask. The tank replicates the shape of the flask.
A biscuit sold in Argentina called Rhodesia consists of a white wafer surrounded by black chocolate. (For many years, I had assumed it was a somewhat politically incorrect allusion to the country, but the Internet has enlightened me that it is the name of the inventor.)
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