Look at that. We might as well be parked on a side street in Manhattan. But it’s not Manhattan because it’s Buenos Aires.
Quilmes Stout: An unimpressive dark brew from Argentina’s own Quilmes mas production franchise but one must never forget the set, and setting. We’ve made Buenos Aires, conquered a couple of continents, and come a long way. We’ll remember this one most for the Asian shopkeep who sold it to us and tried to take us for a couple of kopeks, barking at us like we were a dog after questioning the price. We remember the words of Lars. Are all Argentines like this? Every Latino down to the last? In the end it matters not as the manchild turned manking simply exits cooly with bottle in check. She’ll never know, few do. WWMD?
Scenes from an Argentinian Spring: Coming from the brutality of the Bolivian Altiplano, it should be noted that the first day spent in Argentina was the first day spent at an altitude of less than 11,000 feet in 6 weeks. The dichotomy between night and day was smaller, less pronounced, and one that we were familiar with. All scenes remind a body of the fatherlands, the Promised Lands of the American West. It’s all desert along Ruta 40 in the Argentinian West, cool and dry in the springtime with lots of cactus and scrub and striking scenes of desert beauty. Red and brown are the colors of nature’s choice and the nicely paved Ruta 40 takes one south, all the way south if you desire, without need for maps. Best to leave it for later as we’ve got business to attend to at the Bonbonera. IMWT. And we trust no one, never.