We missed the morning bus to Tilcara so ate lunch on the square in rainy, green Salta. Plaza 9 de Julio is lined with charming old buildings fronted by covered walkways and sidewalk cafes. We ate pizza, South America's unofficial dish, maybe the world's unofficial dish, and flan smothered in a new favorite flavor, dulce de leche.
The police in Argentina remind me of Italian Carabinieri in the style and fit of their dark uniforms—it's a very good look.
There are loose dogs everywhere, which reminds me of Turkey. Istanbul teems with cats, too. They seem benign but I keep my distance as I can´t help but flash back to the dog pack that threatened Paul and me in Alacati. I think we avoided rabies vaccines only because a local fellow came to our rescue.
The road from Salta to Tilcara starts in green farmland and passes through many nondescript towns. A lot of the homes are topped with exposed rebar as in Peru and I wonder if it is also to avoid a completion tax—the Peruvian guide told me homeowners claim the buildings are still under construction years after they´ve been occupied.
After four hours the bus arrived in Tilcara, a half hour late as the driver stopped at the bus repair shop to have the door fixed and to do other stuff I couldn't see. It was almost dark when we arrived but my initial impression of Tilcara is very positive. The altitude, 2,500 m, will take a little adjustment though.
It is midnight and I am tired and I am sitting outside in the dark where I have a weak wifi so until tomorrow signing off.