Llama stew - actually quite tasty

In a fit of occasional masochism, I decided to try the hostel breakfast again before departing Salta. Unfortunately, it was still bloody awful. So I wasn't feeling terribly full when I got my taxi to the bus station, but better on time and slightly peckish than stuffed and cursing at a departing bus. In fact, in this case I ended up sitting out near the platforms chatting with yet another in the seemingly inexhaustible stream of Danish girls I've met on this trip, this one by the name of Lotte, until our bus arrived. Turns out we were actually in adjacent seats as well, though conversation was not what it might have been due to her having had only about 3 hours' sleep and then spent several hours at the bus station due to bus-related (and possibly driunk-influenced) confusion, such that she conked out shortly after getting her seat.

At any rate, after about 4.5 hours on the bus, having my eardrums assaulted by overly loud films, I arrived in Humahuaca, one of the various villages that occupy the Humahuaca gorge which leads up to the border with Bolivia. There I was due to stay a couple of nights at a little guesthouse/hostel called the Posada El Sol. Normally they apparently do a free pickup from the bus station, but the vehicle involved was "unavailable" so I had to walk there. In the heat, at around 3,000m altitude, with a series of signs in which the last, possibly critical one, was missing, so I missed my turn and carried on up the hill, cursing loudly under my breath, before finally doubling back and finding the place at a second attempt. The place itself is nice if you're in the "getting away from it all" mood, but can be chilly at night (largely due to the altitude) and the manager was my second example of the non-English-speaking staff member on the trip so far - good practice for my Spanish, but occasionally a bit wearing.

So, I got myself settled in, then headed into town, where, after climbing the hill to look at the memorial to the heroes of the War of Independence, I was surprised to find that this little village actually has quite reasonable internet connections considering, and about half a dozen cyber-cafes, before searching out some food. I hadn't had lunch, so was trying to eat at the very unArgentine time of about 6pm, which somewhat restricted my options, but in the end I found a little place called Casa Vieja (the Old House) where I had some quite pleasant llama stew and some fairly average (but, more importantly, very cheap!) house wine. I then headed back to the hostel, racked up a bit more typing time on its temperamental web connection and headed to my bed, making use of every available blanket and amusing myself listening to the German girls downstairs in the dorm splatting mosquitoes.