I
made it to Salta after 37 hours of travelling, which was an eventful journey. I spent 5 hours in Madrid recreating this blog after I realised the previous one wouldn’t let me post photos (thanks to Elliot for sorting the DNS) — not essential but annoying as the point is to post more photos.
I boarded the 13-hour flight to Buenos Aires to discover the screens were from the early 90s. Not a problem as I had planned for this and wanted to sleep for most of the duration. Realising I was getting a migraine, I thought I’d try and sleep it off — I’d put my tablets in my holiday luggage, another life lesson, so popped a sleeping pill and hoped for the best. At that point I started to feel really sick and had hot and cold flushes for the next few hours. I wasn’t really sure what to do on a plane, so I sat there quietly swearing to myself, hoping that I wouldn’t need a trip to the bathroom. I slowly started feeling better, skipped breakfast and arrived tired but in good spirits at 4 a.m.
A street scene shot in Salta.
My next flight was at 6:40 a.m. Immigration was easy; everyone was friendly and spoke English. When I told them I couldn’t speak Spanish in Spanish, they just said “I speak English”, and before I knew it I was on my next flight to Salta, desperate for my bed and some recovery time.
We circled for what felt like a long time and then landed. There were many announcements and then one in English saying that we couldn’t land in Salta due to bad weather. We landed in Tucumán, 200 km from Salta.
Fine, I thought, as they would provide transport for me. After disembarking, there were many angry passengers and shouting in Spanish. I then found out that the choice was to make our own way to Salta or to fly back to Buenos Aires and they would attempt to fly us back when the weather cleared up. Jet-lagged and confused, I called Alexa, who found out how I could get there using transport, and then a lady started speaking to me in Spanish. I think this is where my constant confused face played to my advantage. I was introduced to a girl and her sister, whose father and brother I met soon after. Very quickly they had sorted me out with money, water and kept offering me snacks and sweets — all despite me not really being able to speak any Spanish, although they did understand the little I said. It turned out the other customers demanded the airline provide transport and we were to travel by coach to Salta.
Having landed at 9 a.m., the coach arrived at 12 and then took an hour to board — don’t get an airline to run a coach company — and then it was a swift 5-hour drive to Salta. Which was quite great as I wanted to see the country and saw my first llama.
The family then gave me a lift to my hotel and offered to show me around the city. Agustina, the mother whom I met in Salta, had spent a month in Norwich of all places and it doesn’t seem to have put her off England. My only problem is that I don’t have definite plans to come back, but I’ll see if I can squeeze a couple of days in.
By the time I arrived it was late, so I took a short walk around town, and I’m going to be picked up in an hour, which is why this is rushed, for my next destination outside of Jujuy. Martin arrived early and I won’t have reception for three weeks. Until then.
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