Sweating through the deserts of Northern Argentina

In the last two weeks we have travelled further than we did in the first month of the trip. ( I have no idea if this is true but it does feel that way). We have been cycling through deserts, inhabited for the most part by ants, snakes and spiders as big as your head.

We enjoyed our time in wine country, swilling, gurgling and swallowing our way through all sorts of fine wines and liquors. We dutifully pretended to differentiate between the various flora and fungi that each proprietor insisted was hidden in the depths of every sip. Ultimately though, they all tasted like wine.

We were soon on our way and found ourselves travelling through a cross between Holland (incredibly flat) and Wales (not at all worth visiting). The road stretched on for four days, with nothing much to see at all.
The road changed in time, leading us through cacti covered, John Wayne sort of country. The roads were open and empty and we would see just a handful of motorbikes each day. The monotony was broken up as we finally arrived at a hill. Despite being warned that the road was closed ahead we tactfully ignored the road block and continued upwards, only to find that the road was in the process of being rebuilt. We were stuck for over 3 hours on the very cold mountain side with a worker whose name we never quite got the hang of. He shared with us his fire as well as many of his scientific insights; coca leaves make your legs strong and wearing a wooly hat prevents altitude sickness. He stretched our Spanish well beyond its limits but it was an interesting afternoon, and with 30kms of downhill through the valley, not a completely unproductive one.

We both pride ourselves on being people that do not suffer greatly from that terrible, ineradicable affliction of body odour. Many people we have met have a lingering cloud of stink enveloping them yet despite many days without showering we generally manage to keep things together. Until now. Cycling for 2 weeks through the desert without so much as a rinse off would test anyone. Each day sweat built upon sweat to create a crusty outer layer of skin, the sock cycle had been completed more times than ever before and the sleeping bags were releasing fumes similar to those inhaled back during Anna's 'problem period.' Wearing the same shorts each day, and without that protective layer of underwear..... in short, we weren't particularly nice to be around.

That made it all the more surprising when we were chosen to complete our first television interview. Now I am not unfamiliar with the big screen having once been chosen for the tricky role of 'a Danish scientist' in one of Vietnam's most popular fertilizer commercials. This however, was the first time for both of us portraying ourselves, in a language we really aren't particularly good at speaking. We inexpertly explained our trip and how much we loved the town Santa Maria, despite the fact we only stopped to use the internet. The man at least pretended to understand us but we shall never know if we made it onto the news at 9.

All in all it has been a good couple weeks, we have enjoyed the hospitality of the Northern Argentinians, everyone has shown interest in our trip and plenty have packed us off with food. We have also seen an entirely new side of Argentina. As we rode North away from the wealthy vineyards of Mendoza (owned almost exclusively by foreigners) we saw regions of real poverty marked by mud houses and decrepit motorbikes carrying entire families. It was as if we had popped into Asia for a week. Most countries have a similar divide between rich and poor but being on the bikes has let us see clearly the invisible lines of wealth that divide this country.

We are happy to be off the bikes for a couple of days in Cafayate, another wine region of Argentina. We are doing absolutely nothing with our time, simply relaxing before the coming week that will provide our biggest challenge yet. We will be saying goodbye to Argentina for the final time and over 6 days climbing up to a dizzying 4950 metres, a prospect that makes me out of breath just thinking about it.