El Tren. Departing Tucuman

There aren't many trains in South America, unlike Europe, and i'm a bit of an enthusiast, especially if they are steam. This however was not. An ancient rusting model run on diesel, but i was excited nevertheless. It seemed to stretch out forever, and when i got inside i was immediately transported back in time. This was of the variety we'd get on as kids when we traveled down to Invercargill to visit Granny. Cool and cute i thought. I did wonder about the perspex coverings over all the windows and thought perhaps it was to protect them from tree branches and stuff like that. We weren't long into the journey when i discovered and remembered all sorts of other train journeys in my travels. I forgot about the backyards, the out of the way tracks, the edges of things. It traveled through the poorest of the poor districts. Some kids waved, groups of young kids threw rocks, a young girl, maybe 12 or 13, dressed in pink tracksuit bottoms and a blue sweater stood with her hands on her hips and gave us all the finger. I felt ashamed about the way the world has been divided up. While i am in no way rich, by being on that train i had unthinkable amounts of freedom she didn't. The train rolled past kilometers of shanty towns put together with anything that was found and could keep the elements out. Loads of rubbish and plastic bottles were everywhere and smouldering fires of the cities detritus dotted around the yards of the houses. A lot of these people, the families, survive on being the recyclers and rubbish collectors for the towns. Their horses and wooden carts trot around the streets in amongst the cars and buses, collecting what the consumer has discarded. It was pretty bleak. In the middle distance a number of industrial size chimney stacks were belching some toxic looking and smelling smoke. I would have given the finger too.

'el cuarto sexo'

Museo Bellas Artes, Tucuman.

I love how they let you take photos, it's a bit of a guilty pleasure, i half expect some smouldering guard to come up, tap me on the shoulder and quick march me out the door.
This mixed media piece is by Elizabeth Cardenas, and according to my Spanish dictionary, cuarto means; fourth, or quarter; room. Sexo, sex.
Moving on, or diminishing from the 2nd sex?
A good place to visit when the weather is inclement.

Una cafe con leche por favor...

This is a typical set up of my work at an al fresco cafe. All the accoutrements are laid out, pen, notebook, Spanish/English dictionary, sunglasses, map, coffee and a local arts/theatre/music gig guide in Spanish.
Perfecto!
It is also the place that is vital for the call of nature. I don't know how other visitors and locals deal with the need to pee, there is a distinct lack of loos around the country. A catch 22, you want to go for a wee, and all the cafes have signs saying toilets for guests use only, so i bolt to the loo, order a coffee or juice and away the cycle goes again.
Always use a loo when it presents itself...

a rip in the time/space continuum.....

This an image of what a rip in time could look like, according to Dr Who. I still have other places to Blog about, and i will spiral back to them on the weekend....
I am now in Buenos Aires, a week and one day.
And what a roller-coaster ride! Arrived in on a Friday, hostel booked and pesos in my pocket. Discovered i was in Party Central, and the dorm room with five young women was HQ.
Sunday, one of the room-ies who is writing, invited me to Starbucks to be her writing buddy, that sounded cool, except for the venue...but that's where she regularly sifts off the WI-fi, when in Rome, or Buenos Aires.
First mistake. Starbucks. So we were in there, looking fabulously writerly, when this older woman (in her 60's) and a male companion, said to Olivia (writing buddy from Sao Paulo, Brazil) there was something on her back. Chocolate sauce by the look of it. So Olivia goes to the bathroom to clean it off . I'm left at the table with our notebooks and bags on the window ledge. The woman comes around behind me and taps me on the shoulder. Second mistake; I turn around. She is talking away to me in Spanish and while i'm distracted and saying the 'no entiendo', her accomplice swipes Olivia's bag. It was about 10minutes later when Olivia notices and runs outside. I felt sick. She was furious. Her flash camera, mobile phone, computer cord in the backpack and she had no travel insurance. I felt sicker. Dreadfully responsible for not keeping my eyes out. Horrible. Ended up getting money out for her to try and replace what had been stolen. Awful. That was Sunday.
Monday i though, 'shit, i need to find a job!' Bought the English Buenos Aires Herald, there was one situations vacant-for a teacher of English. Emailed the site that night with the CV and etceteras, checked Tuesday, a reply email for an interview that afternoon, Wednesday back in for an orientation, Thursday my first two classes, and now it's Friday again. I move to another Hostel tomorrow that promises to be a bit more tranquil, windows in the room, larger, with a sunny courtyard and $10pesos cheaper per night. I go into what is now my local Panaderia, and Diego(we did formal introductions today) says it's Argentina's best friends day, i say i have no amigos here, he kisses my check (as you do) and says 'you have one now.'
What a WEEK eh.
To all my friends/amigas y amigos, miss you, love you lots.

Streets full of OrangeTrees

Tucuman, Argentina.

And then the sun appeared.

The streets are full of dusty orange trees, it is quite enchanting to walk down the road and see their lovely round shapes lit up by the Sun

 (with a capital S).

The day before i left the city on the ancient rusting train, and with the sun out, i began to get the hang of the place.

a scary somebody

Tucuman, Argentina.

I have lost the plot a little, and track of what church i discovered this dude in.
Tucked away along a side wall in his sleeping beauty glass case is this....martyr...?
Of course you have to go in for the close-up.

Next stop....Tucuman.

Casa de Gobierno, Plaza Independencia,
Tucuman, Argentina.

Local government HQ that gets lit up spectacularly at nights.

I arrived in Tucuman coming down with a chesty cough, it was chilly, grey and raining and i was feeling like the city was a big dull anti-climax to my whizzing around the warmth of Salta.

Two days it was overcast, but the Art Gallery was paying homage to a famous Spanish print-maker, Pompeyo Audivert.

Things improved after that and then i found a tasty little vegetarian cafe just down the road that sold its goodies by the 100gms. Heaven. Valhalla....