If I thought this trip were novel in any way, I would be terribly mistaken. The road that has led me to Mendoza, Argentina and which will lead me soon to Santiago, Chile is already well-traveled, and I’m hardly the first wide-eyed adventurer attempting to pave the ground beneath her feet with the written word. Truth be told, in many ways, Latin America has always been something of a literary creation, fashioned out of the vision of its explorers: conquistadors and chroniclers alike. Christopher Columbus faithfully documented his perception of the New World during his three trips to the continent, for example, exciting fantasies of earthly paradise and material wealth for centuries to come. More recently, Ernesto “Ché” Guevara’s “Motorcycle Diaries” map his wanderings around South America as well as his account of an ideal, unified America, a vision that continues to divide the continent.
I am by no means the first person to chronicle this kind of journey through the south, nor will I be the last.
Accordingly, I find myself adjusting to the footprints left behind in the path before me—some of them belonging to members of my own family—and pages already written.
Like any good traveler, though, I continue to search for ways to make this journey mine--to find my own way and write my own story. So, as I roam along this well-beaten path, which will take me far from home and then back again, I hope to learn from the people who have made this journey before me, relishing in all of the steps and inevitable missteps along the way.
I am by no means the first person to chronicle this kind of journey through the south, nor will I be the last.
Accordingly, I find myself adjusting to the footprints left behind in the path before me—some of them belonging to members of my own family—and pages already written.
Like any good traveler, though, I continue to search for ways to make this journey mine--to find my own way and write my own story. So, as I roam along this well-beaten path, which will take me far from home and then back again, I hope to learn from the people who have made this journey before me, relishing in all of the steps and inevitable missteps along the way.
Crossing the plain in Argentina. The bus ride was 24 hours long. I read an enitre book along the way, slept, and was silent. 
I stayed with Valentina (to my left) while in Mendoza. Shortly after my arrival, we went to her friend's house for a girl's-only lunch, where we looked at lots of pictures and discussed politics. They were all GREAT!
On my last full (scheduled) day in Mendoza, I went with my hostess, her family (read: mom and dad, grandma, sister, sister's boyfriend), and best friend Natacha on a tour of the city. We even drove high into the Andes and took this picture from this less-than-steady bridge.
1 comment:
Are the feet in Argentina or Chile?
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