In Which I Apologize Profusely and Talk about Buses

I have to admit that I have been a shamefully poor blogger. It has been almost a month with no posts. I realize that I have brought disgrace upon my family and my name, and I hope they will find it in their hearts to forgive me. This has been for three main reasons:

1) two consecutive weekend trips
2) no internet in the house in the week between those trips, and
3) having my first real assignment for the university due Thursday.

Thus I am woefully behind on posts I have been meaning to make. I have about 6 in the mental works, so bear with me as I try and get them up over the next week or so. Ideally after I finish the midterm, but let's be honest, this is a good way to procrastinate.

To give you a little idea of what I've been doing, last weekend we traveled with Bettina from the Comisión to Tandil where we learned about the impact of the dictatorship in smaller communities, and then learned about really delicious cheese and sausage.

This morning at seven a.m., we returned from a trip to Córdoba, the name of both the Capital city and the province. Córdoba is known for beautiful sierras and charming villages, both of which we enjoyed immensely.

And now for a bit on Argentine long-distance bus travel. The buses, known as micros, are the most popular way to travel around the country due to the overall poor quality of the trains and the relative pricey-ness of flying. Two weeks ago, I had never taken a long bus ride in my life. This is no longer true. We got our feet wet with the 5-hour trip to Tandil, then went right for a 12-hour trip to Córdoba. This, of course, being mere training for potential future trips of 20 or more hours. My conclusions:

1) I much prefer micro travel to plane travel (largely due to the generous leg-room on the bus and the non-existence of said leg-room on the plane).
2) That said, a 12-hour bus ride is not particularly fun.
3) Long-distance buses are doubledecker, and this is simultaneously awesome and terrifying. An example:


On the way back from Tandil, we sat in the front of the top of the bus for a while. I was fairly convinced of death the entire time, but it was rather thrilling.



Perhaps you don't know about my inexplicable fear of dying in a bus crash. (Actually, I think I've discovered the root of it; I recently re-watched the movie Frida and had forgotten about the horrific bus accident that led to Frida's debilitating health problems. I think it left me scarred.)

Anyhow, keep checking for more blog action over the next few days. I promise to keep 'em coming until you're good and sick of me.