From Cafayate I made my way through the red rocky mountains to Salta.
Having just read in my travel guide that cars in Salta have very little respect for pedestrians, I decided to take extra caution on my first excursion from the, very average, Salta hostel. The night’s sky was sporadically alight with the brewing storm. Thunder rolled across the sky and rain fell in giant droplets landing with a thud of wet footsteps on the eves overhead. My thongs, a poor choice of footwear once again, slipped on the wet path as I negotiated the streets with trepidation. I crossed the one-way street in front of a stationary 4WD, I was almost on the footpath when the driver decided that I was neither visible nor important, and she took off, bumping me and my shopping out of the way. My bottles of beer clanked against her bumper. I squealed and staggered out of the way. I caught a glimpse of the driver, happily chatting to her passenger. Lesson learned, the hard way. Drivers in Salta do not concern themselves with Pedestrians. The next morning, after having arranged my first couch surfing accommodation for that evening, I stepped out to explore the town. Walking through the Park, happily avoiding the crazy cars, and I see a dubious character approaching. When his about 3 meters away from me he thrust his crotch in my direction, his zipper was undone and his disgusting appendage, bulging free. At this moment the crazy cars seemed like a better alternative and I dashed across the 3 lane road without hesitation. Welcome to Salta Jade!!!
After a night with the couch surfer in the tranquility of the Salta hills I embarked on another horse riding adventure. This time it was to be just me and my Spanish speaking guide. Once we were on the grass plains below the mountains, Alberto offered his bag of coca leaves towards me. With my chewed mass tingling the inside of my cheek, Alberto announced, "we cowboys now, vamos (lets go)". I was surprised how much fun it was, chasing the cows around trees, heading them off and rounding them up. One hand on the reins and the other in the air behind me to accompany the whooping sounds we were making. It was truly brilliant, I felt no fear, and as though I was riding better than ever.
Stopping to rest, the horses grazed nearby, the cicadas in the branches overhead were ringing in my ears, almost drowning the peace in a familiar way. Alberta asked if I had a boyfriend? How old was. Did I want to find a boyfriend in South America? No, Why not? This may sound like a simple conversation, but with our limited language skills it was tough. At first I thought these questions were all innocent, Albert was 40 something, missing a couple of teeth, and certainly not a charming distinguished man that I was looking for. It soon became evident that he was fond of me. He expressed how he admired the way I rode with no fear, and loved to be outdoors. We packed our things once more ready to set off towards home, I started to mount my horse, "no no" he said. Then offered me his horse. This was highly unusual, though I was keen to ride his horse as I had been admiring the way it moved all morning. It reminded me of the Spanish dancing horses I had seen as a child. High prancing hooves, head tucked in, proudly and neatly. From the moment we set out I could feel the difference between horses. His horse was an independent horse, not a follower, strong and fast. You had but to lean forward in the saddle for him to set off into a gallop. I instantly loved this horse. I thought the other horse was fast, but when I kicked his side he took off at a speed I had not encountered before. I had to keep pulling him round and doubling back to Albert with a grin so wide planted across my face. Albert kicked his horse into action so has we were both galloping at an incredible rate, with me only slightly in front, when all of a sudden my horse falls into a puddle of mud disguised by the lush green grass. It was as though it was in slow motion, I had enough time to think “ok so I’m going to come off this horse right now, then roll away so as he doesn’t crush me when he falls. And that’s exactly what I did. I hit the mudded earth with a solid thump on my left shoulder; I rolled to the side as the horse fell beside me. We both picked our selves back up aging in the time it took Albert to dismount and race over to us. I took my horses reins and checked to see if he was alright, gently stroking his and cooing softly. Aside from being muddy we were both ok. Albert was frantic. “tambien, tambien tambien. Are you ok are you ok. I’m fine, I insisted, many times over. I mounted my horse once more and we galloped off. I was not going to let a little (or big) fall stand in my way, or spoil my fun. I had a distinct feeling that I may be in pain later, but for now I was ok.Unfortunately, my fall only increased Albert’s fondness for me. He said, “so good, you’re not a princess, but you are beautiful”. And then, much to my horror, he asked me if my breasts were real. Where then hell did that come from? Before then I thought he was a sweet horse men, now he’s just another pervy man.
I declined his offer of a beer and went back to the house to hand wash my muddy clothes. The next morning when I woke, I felt like I had been hit by a truck, it hurt to breath. Two days later and I was back to myself, no prolapsed disc’s, but I might skip the next horse ride just in case.
Having just read in my travel guide that cars in Salta have very little respect for pedestrians, I decided to take extra caution on my first excursion from the, very average, Salta hostel. The night’s sky was sporadically alight with the brewing storm. Thunder rolled across the sky and rain fell in giant droplets landing with a thud of wet footsteps on the eves overhead. My thongs, a poor choice of footwear once again, slipped on the wet path as I negotiated the streets with trepidation. I crossed the one-way street in front of a stationary 4WD, I was almost on the footpath when the driver decided that I was neither visible nor important, and she took off, bumping me and my shopping out of the way. My bottles of beer clanked against her bumper. I squealed and staggered out of the way. I caught a glimpse of the driver, happily chatting to her passenger. Lesson learned, the hard way. Drivers in Salta do not concern themselves with Pedestrians. The next morning, after having arranged my first couch surfing accommodation for that evening, I stepped out to explore the town. Walking through the Park, happily avoiding the crazy cars, and I see a dubious character approaching. When his about 3 meters away from me he thrust his crotch in my direction, his zipper was undone and his disgusting appendage, bulging free. At this moment the crazy cars seemed like a better alternative and I dashed across the 3 lane road without hesitation. Welcome to Salta Jade!!!
After a night with the couch surfer in the tranquility of the Salta hills I embarked on another horse riding adventure. This time it was to be just me and my Spanish speaking guide. Once we were on the grass plains below the mountains, Alberto offered his bag of coca leaves towards me. With my chewed mass tingling the inside of my cheek, Alberto announced, "we cowboys now, vamos (lets go)". I was surprised how much fun it was, chasing the cows around trees, heading them off and rounding them up. One hand on the reins and the other in the air behind me to accompany the whooping sounds we were making. It was truly brilliant, I felt no fear, and as though I was riding better than ever.
Stopping to rest, the horses grazed nearby, the cicadas in the branches overhead were ringing in my ears, almost drowning the peace in a familiar way. Alberta asked if I had a boyfriend? How old was. Did I want to find a boyfriend in South America? No, Why not? This may sound like a simple conversation, but with our limited language skills it was tough. At first I thought these questions were all innocent, Albert was 40 something, missing a couple of teeth, and certainly not a charming distinguished man that I was looking for. It soon became evident that he was fond of me. He expressed how he admired the way I rode with no fear, and loved to be outdoors. We packed our things once more ready to set off towards home, I started to mount my horse, "no no" he said. Then offered me his horse. This was highly unusual, though I was keen to ride his horse as I had been admiring the way it moved all morning. It reminded me of the Spanish dancing horses I had seen as a child. High prancing hooves, head tucked in, proudly and neatly. From the moment we set out I could feel the difference between horses. His horse was an independent horse, not a follower, strong and fast. You had but to lean forward in the saddle for him to set off into a gallop. I instantly loved this horse. I thought the other horse was fast, but when I kicked his side he took off at a speed I had not encountered before. I had to keep pulling him round and doubling back to Albert with a grin so wide planted across my face. Albert kicked his horse into action so has we were both galloping at an incredible rate, with me only slightly in front, when all of a sudden my horse falls into a puddle of mud disguised by the lush green grass. It was as though it was in slow motion, I had enough time to think “ok so I’m going to come off this horse right now, then roll away so as he doesn’t crush me when he falls. And that’s exactly what I did. I hit the mudded earth with a solid thump on my left shoulder; I rolled to the side as the horse fell beside me. We both picked our selves back up aging in the time it took Albert to dismount and race over to us. I took my horses reins and checked to see if he was alright, gently stroking his and cooing softly. Aside from being muddy we were both ok. Albert was frantic. “tambien, tambien tambien. Are you ok are you ok. I’m fine, I insisted, many times over. I mounted my horse once more and we galloped off. I was not going to let a little (or big) fall stand in my way, or spoil my fun. I had a distinct feeling that I may be in pain later, but for now I was ok.Unfortunately, my fall only increased Albert’s fondness for me. He said, “so good, you’re not a princess, but you are beautiful”. And then, much to my horror, he asked me if my breasts were real. Where then hell did that come from? Before then I thought he was a sweet horse men, now he’s just another pervy man.
I declined his offer of a beer and went back to the house to hand wash my muddy clothes. The next morning when I woke, I felt like I had been hit by a truck, it hurt to breath. Two days later and I was back to myself, no prolapsed disc’s, but I might skip the next horse ride just in case.
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