Traveling South America is much different than Europe and Asia. In Europe, you have so many options, from north to south, west to east, and with EuroRail and the discount airlines, you are literally all over the place, not knowing if you will ever run into a familiar face at the next destination. While in Asia, hostals can at times be as much a distant memory as the last time you took a nice long warm bath, instead of that quick cold shower, so you often return to your private room in the guesthouse, reading until you fall asleep. As for South America, there are generally three options: one, you are from the States and doing a quick two to three week trip, and never to be seen again, as you blaze through the sightseeing at the speed of sound; or two and three, following the lemming trail, traveling north to south, or in the reverse direction. The result, intentionally or not, you continue to see the same faces time after time.

Unfortunately for me, Salta would be the last time I would meet up with my Irish Sisters (Orla and Lorraine) on this trip, as we were now headed in opposite directions. With less than a month left on the South American leg of their trip, the girls were headed south to hit the slopes, before hopping on their flight, taking them from Santiago to New Zealand, and eventually Oz, where they will rejoin the third musketeer (Zoe) and spend the year working, living and hopefully traveling the land down under. Entonces, we decided to meet up in Salta for one last dance, not knowing if we would ever see each other again.

I arrived to Salta, via what else, but another overnight bus, with the girls due in, later that night. The first day, was spent with the previously mentioned due diligence trip to the Bolivian Embassy, followed by a jog around town to break in the Supernovas. Just as the party was starting at the rooftop bar of the hostel, Orla and Lorraine made their appearance, and the band was now back together again. About twenty of us from the hostal ended up, on the north side of town, at Club XXI, in disco row, where we ran the place. Seriously, since our group probably represented over 25 percent of all the people in the club. It’s funny, but in Argentina, it is very common to have the same type of stores on the same street, for example, one street/block will be lined with stationary stores, the next with hardware, the following with hair salons, and this is also true with bars/clubs/discos. I guess the theory is, if your not happy with one, you can just go next door.

The next day, Lorraine and I decided to jog up to Cerro San Bernardo, the hill over looking the city of Salta, and well beyond. The view was beautiful, but to be honest, after jogging the 1070 steps up the hill, the view could have been smog covered crap, and I would still swear that it was absolutely amazing. If you do make it to Salta, the other option to see the same “amazing” view of the city, if to take the funicular/gondola up the hill, or you can test your endurance by following the footsteps of this lemming. However, the most interesting thing about that afternoon, was not the view or the park on the top of the hill, but rather it was the conversations that I had with Lorriane as we jogged up and down the hill. Orla and Lorraine live in the same small town, country if you will, a place called Navan. This much I knew, but what I didn’t know was how much some of the old school culture still existed in their upbringing. Their community was still very much tight-knit where everybody pretty much knew everybody else, and what intrigued me most was the provincial sports competition that had within communities and the country as a whole. Zoe and Lorriane had joking told me, that they had played on Ireland National Women’s Lacross Team years ago, and won the European Lacross tournament, with little previous experience. But when we talked about the various sports that she played growing up, little did I know, I was jogging with a semi-sports-celebrity, who not only represented her community in locale competitions, but also competed overseas in various events, representing all of Ireland.

The main attraction of Salta, is not actually Salta itself, but rather it’s vicinity to some unique and beautiful landscape/scenery. Entonces, the next morning, bright and early, the girls and I hopped into our rented car, and headed north. Along the way, we stopped and visited: San Salvador de JuJuy, in my humble opinion, not much more than just another city; Purmamarca, home of the Cerro de Siete Colours (Hill of Seven Colors), the highlight of the self-guided trip; Tilacara, a small town and home of the hillside Cemetery of Maimara; Humahuaca, another small town… It’s actually sad, but on any other normal holiday, a visit to one of these small towns, could fill pages of memories, how the adobe brick buildings along with the dirt and cobbled roads, felt like you were stepping hundred of years back in time, and how the dress of the locales, and the barefoot kids playing in the dirt, made you think that it wasn’t really that long ago, when this was just another town, and not another checklist place for us westerners to pass through and take photos of. But, reality is always quick to bring you back, when you round the corner to find a modern looking cafe, with signs and the menu in English, and you find most of the stores and all the stalls around the main square/plaza, hocking the same souvenirs and supposed hand made wares/wears, reminding you that you are indeed fast on the lemming trail, and Christopher Columbus, Ferdinand Magellan, you are not.

After an eventful day, which also included stopping for an obligatory photo on the Tropic of Capricorn, we headed back to Salta. But, along the way, we unknowingly took an alternative challenging route, where the road was reminiscent of Ortega Highway back in Southern California: narrow and snaking through the hills, with steep drops on one side, and rock fall areas on the other. Lorriane took the wheels and the corners like a true champ, but I can assure you that none of us would ever choose to take that alternative road again, especially in the dark.

Eventually, the time had come, it was time to say goodbye to the girls. Orla and Lorriane, now held the record, of the most number times that I met up with someone during this trip, at four times, over a period of three plus months, across three countries. It was so, great to arrive at a new place, and know that you had friends there waiting to see you, in some ways, it felt like returning to friends from home. I only hope, that along with Zoe, that the record will be extended to at least five times (Ireland and The States) along with countless number of years. Miss you girls, thanks for the memories!