So yesterday, I got an injection in my butt.

They said it wouldn't hurt! But it did! Boohoo. I hope Cushion appreciates how I'm always offering myself to check out local health services on our travels. The doctor thinks it might be food poisoning. Too many empanadas maybe. More likely, it's the fig jam I bought from a dusty roadside stall in the mountains - forgot to mention that to the doctor - which I am still eating because it's so good. I must be learning how to live dangerously.

Personally though, I think it's the change in weather that's messing me up. 

Less than 2 weeks ago, we were walking around in heavy rain and wind. We were constantly soaked and cold. 

As you can see, only mad dogs and turistas go out in this sort of weather.

A week ago, we arrived in Salta, which is in the northwest of Argentina, at the foothills of the Andes. It hasn't rained here for 8 months and everything is brown. The air is hazy with dust.

It's hot in the day, very cold at night. I wake up every morning with blood plugs in my nose. My eyeballs are gritty with dust. Even our underwear washes out brown though how dust could have gotten in there is beyond me.

Despite copious amounts of body butter, coconut oil and pawpaw ointment, my feet cracked in 2 days.

Not so Cushion, who did absolutely nada and still has baby soft feet. Life can be so unfair.

Salta may be unforgiving to namby-pamby turistas, but it is beautiful. 

The city is famous for its colonial architecture. I found the street art more interesting.

Work is being done on the stunning San Francisco Cathedral. It's a mess outside, but inside, it's cool and peaceful.

It would be very cheap to live here, no doubt about it. A few days ago, I went to the local supermarket and bought 2 bananas, 2 mandarins, a head of lettuce, 2 tomatoes, 2 avocados, an onion and 4 bread rolls for 21 pesos (and got 5 sweets in change). If you were smart (like us) and got the unofficial blue exchange rate, that would be AUD2.30 which is less than what I would pay for one avocado in our supermarket in Balmain (usually around AUD2.95).

Every one tells us life here is muy tranquilo. Sitting in the sun, blowing bagsful of yellow snot and squinting at the ants working hard at hauling leaves to god knows where, I understand what they mean. Who knows. Now that I've got some Salta germs in me, maybe I'm a little more resilient and can live here too.

DOGGY TITBITS

In our neighbourhood of San Lorenzo.

The local vet lets street dogs sleep in her clinic and feeds them every day. On very cold nights, she puts coats on them. How can you not like a place like that?

Kanocky can be belligerent.

Cushion named these 2. Timido (Shy) in the front and Hambre (Hunger) in the back. Hambre is exactly like Georgia and lives for food. 

These happy dogs were off-leash but looked like they might belong to someone. 

Around here, it can be hard to tell a street dog from a dog with a home who enjoys wandering. They are all equally dusty.

Riding in the hills around our neighbourhood.

Pedro has a lot of dogs and they all came along for the 3 hour ride. 

And if you've ever wondered...yes, real gauchos do use mobile phones. 

Piriapolis, Uruguay.

Despite the gangsta hoodie, some dogs are obviously not from the street.

Montevideo, Uruguay.

It is our conclusion (not verified) that everywhere is off-leash in Uruguay (and probably Argentina too).

Salta, Argentina.

Look at that! Dogs on leashes! They exist!

On the road from Salta to Cachi, Argentina.

Dogs living on the tourist route know how to get a handout.

 These 2 came running as the bus pulled up.

This one in Cachi tried asking politely for food. He didn't get any from the table, stingy sods. Luckily, Cushion always travels with a bag of kibble.

And finally, for all my neglected friends out there in the dogblog park - sunset over the Rio de la Plata,  only 10 days ago.

Much love from a snotty dusty exhausted person who wishes she could be home in her own bed but still has 2 months to go X

P.S.   We're having a parilla night. Barbecue. Out host tells us the butcher at the supermercado only makes an appearance at 6.30pm. Like everywhere else outside of the tourist strip, the siestas here are serious and a few hours long. 

At 6.29 precisely, Cushion gets ready to walk out to the supermarket. "But what time is it now?" our host asks, puzzled. "6.30." Cushion tells him. "The butcher should be open?" "Maybe. Maybe no." our host replies. "It's good to wait another 15, 30 minutes. This is Argentina, yes?"

So I'm learning. Mañana isn't necessarily tomorrow, yet life goes on and all is muy tranquilo.