What Should Cm Look Like 5 Days Before Period

Argentina

through Argentina for almost the entire width (1570 km), from Salta to Puerto Iguazu for more from the scenic spot of the bus is a little 'how about having an idea deep in Argentina, the endless space, endless fields of people moving on horseback, gauchos improvised but realistic, countries and cities, however great, are lost in the midst of all these distances uninhabited by humans, and only the kingdom of plants and animals.
The landscape changes several times in this country so great and so varied, from the province of Salta to that of Missiones. It 's a journey through space but also a journey back in time, where land is still the primary asset. It is bordering parks, sometimes dozens of birds of prey are there high in the sky, glide without moving their wings, with the grace and elegance that is just them, it seems almost natural, fly, did so, it seems that will not take much.
The roads are not always good, sometimes the bus is forced to slow down a lot to avoid damage from holes or from the asphalt ruined. But in any case, when it gets dark, firmly occupies the center of the road, so there's always a little traffic and so you have more space to avoid any potholes and animals.
Among colleagues, then, we always salute, blinking. The terminal
cities are always alive, even at night, there's always some people waiting omnibus and some open office. Sometimes the bar / restaurants are crowded even in the night.
The trip runs off smoothly, because the bus is almost empty (I had to take the cama but it was full, much better than this semi-cama empty ...). Arriving in the morning in Posadas, I scroll through the whole region of Misiones to get to Puerto Iguazu.
I was very hesitant, in fact, if you use the last days before the week bonairense to go south in the province of San Juan, in what is called the "Valley of the Moon", or Iguazu. Convinced me three things: that the valley of the moon is on Route 40, and then hope to pass on another trip soon. The second is a promise I made to go see the waterfalls. The third is that in fact the time was right, and because it is the suffocating heat that makes the summer, and because I had read that there are guided tours at night in full moon nights like this one.
So here it is, Misiones, a region of forest and plantation yerba mate, the mania of Argentina which I will talk soon, natural parks (he has three) and rivers that feed into and mark the boundaries of this land that stretches between Paraguay, Brazil and Uruguay.
The names of the countries here are similarities all completely dissociated: Baden Baden, Eldorado, Jesus, Puerto Rico, Monte Carlo ... It reminds me of the vegetation that the Tropic of Capricorn is a very close ... Arriving in Puerto Iguazu
after nearly 27 hours by bus, some 'tried and in fact, having dribbled skillfully types of HI, I can get from one type to see a residencial near the terminal, and eventually take it well: it is really very good at, but the location is great and then it only costs 50 pesos (10 €) including breakfast ...
pity, because in reality the hostel here was great, even with a beautiful swimming pool and lounge areas, but of course I found out later ...
Behold, then, in the mythical land of waterfalls, the most visited place in Argentina with Buenos Aires and Ushaia. The unique, in fact, after the capital, where I happened to hear speak Italian.
Soon the story of the falls.
But I take the long journey to tell of one of two things most often found along the streets of Argentina: the sanctuaries full of red flags of the "gaucho" Antonio Gil.
The history of the gaucho, which dates back to the last century, is a typical example of how to live together here a strong religious and pagan cults, not only in Indian but in the whole population.
Antonio Gil, who lived gaucho, has an affair with a widow and is drawn to the hatred of her brother and especially the chief of police, also in connection with the widow. To escape the wrath of the two, Gil enlists and fights the war against Paraguay (we are only half of the 800). When they return, they call for civil war in Argentina, but this time Gil desert along with two other soldiers. The three roam the countryside and woods, stealing cattle from the rich landowners and share with the poor peasants, who in return offer them protection and shelter. Eventually, however, are found in a forest and Gil was sentenced to death. Before being killed the policeman who tells him that if he has to bury executed (this is not possible for those sentenced to death) and pray you can heal her son from certain death. The Executioner, who still does not know that his son is actually sick, not by listening. But then he discovers that his son is indeed seriously ill, and then Gil returns to bury his son and prays to heal. The son heals quickly, the officer builds a shrine to Gil and spread the news of the miracle spread the legend of the gaucho who performs miracles and that he saved the life of a child of his Executioner.
Since then, every few kilometers on the roads there Argentinian There are thousands of small and large shrines, and then turn to the "saint" (which obviously is not such) for large and small miracles. In particular, travelers, when passing in front of a shrine must either honk, or make the sign of the cross, or in any other way to greet the gaucho, otherwise delays, setbacks or even impossible to arrive at your destination ...
January 8, the anniversary of the death, there is even a huge procession that attracts hundreds of thousands of people. There's even a site with the songs of Gil, and if you want you can ask for a miracle online ....... ( www.gauchogil.com ).
Then I will tell you the other shrine that is also competition to that of the Gaucho Gil, the difunto Correa.

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Iruya deep, or journey into the mountain

Go to Iruya was a worthy continuation of the adventure on the Puna.
waiting for, the terminal of Humahuaca, there are two buses that are at best of the 60s, and a bunch of Indians who were with him for the impossible, huge packs, plastic bags, giant, looks like a real exodus own (why I would have understood only the next day).
You load everything on the roof of the bus, really seems to be in Cuba is not clear then how do I recognize the parcels at the end, as are almost all wrapped in the same blue plastic. Let's begin the journey towards Irun. 54 km, three hours walk planned. I understand why little by little. At first, the road is decent after all, a couple of fords but nothing earth-shattering. I almost think I could do it with the car, but those of the agency I was very discouraged.
Climb the mountains, in the mountains, in the mountains. We make a stop in a country where that is no reason for being. Yet there is, and there are people. Climb, climb around us still wild vicuña and donkeys, so many asses. We get to the step that we did not even put too much are the usual 4000 meters, it seems that if you do not get there at least once a day are not happy now. The step change of province of Jujuy to return to Salta. And, as often happens, after the step change the landscape, but also changes, and definitely the road.
Road? It is not a road, this, now I realize, you can not even define the trail, a trail carved on the back of steep mountains, is way off even a hint of what a car, but we we're on a bus overloaded with people and luggage of all sorts.
The curves are becoming more frequent, gorges and cliffs are one step away from the wheel. I look forward and do not understand where it will end up, this thing they call the street. The valley narrows more Furthermore, ridges of rock that becomes ever more colorful but even more threatening more and more dangerously approaching the windows.
We stopped in places where there are no traces of human presence, yet there is someone going up or down. Every now and then, in the distance, a house of adobe, which almost blends in, but which there is a place impossible, impossible to get there, but even if you get there, then?
The landscape is always more breathtaking (literally), we go down slowly, passing the miles with a maddening slowness.
Then, around a bend, there it is: Iruya, the village perched in the valley, pseudostrada where this ends. Greetings to the flight the two girls from Buenos Aires who share the same with my bus and I head nell'hostal recommended to eat something (I was, as usual, without breakfast, but due to the road, the better!). The mountain in front of Iruya is impressive. I rest a bit, 'then I take a ride. It does not take much, really tiny Iruya. Here poverty is palpable, on the other hand, we are very close to the border with Bolivia. Epper is a wonderful school with a volleyball court, basketball, and there is a parable for the mega phone and TV. I climbed on the viewpoint that the sun is already almost hiding behind the mountains, there is a group of students / tourists who speaks to me of a fiesta the next day. In fact, going down, noted an unusual movement of cars, carts and donkeys for such a small country. We are preparing for the big party. After a dinner of local tubers (here we have an amazing amount of different types of potatoes!), And while I am surprised the collectivism of the country (we meet in a large salt to make decisions on holiday, and when someone is missing is called the speaker placed on top of the tower ...), I go to bed early. Tomorrow brings another great trek, this time not in the plan.
When I get up the next morning, after another cold night (despite the heater on), I a hearty breakfast and ask for information on the way to San Isidro, who have advised me. The girl does not seem convinced, saying that it takes more than two hours. I was told 4 round trip to Salta. I have exactly 4 hours before departure of the colectivo. I start with the idea of \u200b\u200bgoing back after 2 hours even if they have not arrived yet.
The first 3 miles are almost all downhill, and this raises my concerns for the return. But the mountains are beautiful, with their many colors. Then change the quebrada, I have to follow another river, and this time it's a nice climb, and the stream is strong enough, as water. Salgo while sun begins to emerge from the mountains and burn. Meeting dozens of Indians, on foot, horse or donkey, but they all go in the opposite direction to mine, to the feast day which is more of market: all bring their products to swap or sell.
I continue, "obstinate and contrary in direction," as some would say Italian singer. With me is a dog who follows me Iruya. It 's the second time, after San Lorenzo. Perhaps you know that if you accompany and act as guides and will have something in return. Meanwhile he is, before me, waiting for me, barking wild donkeys here have the annoying habit of "load", as some may charge an ass, but better have someone who defends you.
The climb is slower not only because it obviously more difficult, but also because tens of times you have to cross the creek. It is not always easy, even if there are rocks put there on purpose. But the current is strong and the rocks are often wet, or a couple were taken away and you have to find another point further downstream or upstream. I go out and greet everyone I meet. A couple of times I ask to know what information is missing. I'm also still struggling against the clock. But it is a matter of principle and we want to reach San Isidro.
Arrival at the mill is only a kilometer away, go ahead and send more, because I've already exceeded the time limit that I set for the return. And then, after one of the more difficult crossings of the river, there he is, San Isidro, a tiny village that we do not know how and why it is in this valley
forgotten by God I did not do the last climb, the last 500 meters, because I was already well out of time. But the important thing was to get to see him get there.
I did not know that the return would have been much faster, a little 'because there was a bit down' because I knew at that point to ford the stream, and then I found the shortcuts of the Indians who were save a few ford. And so I return to
Iruya even earlier, after only 3 hours. I also see some time 'the market, which is a strange market, not for tourists but for local use and consumption (and there must be a lot of opportunities for trade, sale and exchange, and indeed all things) . There is a bit 'of everything all mixed up. What strikes me is even here, will be the television, the boys try and dress the same way, a bit 'American rappers say.
In the end, galvanized by this latest hike in the sun (but this time I was a little bare, in front, and despite the fact that I had water to bathe in spades), I try to challenge Montezuma that have not miraculously touched me, and lunch (and then Humahuaca merendo well) from one of the many inviting vendors who are there to cook meat outdoors. Perhaps the hygiene is not their primary concern, but the Panozzo is delicious. And then, I've survived the infamous "fish kebab" fish cooked and eaten on the heavily polluted waters of the Bosphorus, so ...
Well, I take the bags from the girl who did not trust my strength, and perhaps even inflated the victory just achieved (I must admit that after this latest supercamminata to have more calves in the mountains of Rumenigge of the golden days ... in fact I'm ready for the Camino de Santiago) commits the fatal error: the bus I must return to Humahuaca, I sit right behind the driver.
Thus, for a better look.
But in life there are things that it is better not to know, and the truth about what's going to drive these buses is one of them.
Never, never, never do: it is better to sit back, stay in your blissful ignorance, enjoy the scenery without wondering how does the bus to stay on track.
First of all, behind the driver means left, and then I saw every time he looked down at how far (or rather how much non-distance) the wheel went over the edge: half a meter on average, but less often dangerously, and beyond without any kind of protection, a drop of tens meters.

Then, in turns, the driver expands so much that it seems that the left front of the bus is floating in the void ...
Then, the driver: he distracts often than not, watch the time on the phone, take the candy that has continuously near the door, but of course want every time and then choose the color and taste ... It then turns to look at the landscape, as if they knew him. Sometimes the guy who monitors and tickets are on and they talk animatedly, and I think 'nonlodistrarrenonlodistrarrenonlodistrarretipregotipregotiprego ... "
And then, the worst thing: the competitor, the Pan-American, has a single bus 15 minutes after my party. But obviously the bus is new or empty, because after a half hour journey, the driver looks nervously back and sees him, and I too with him, we Panamericana bus yellow heels, and earn street . My crazy driver begins to take the curves without slowing down, sometimes it does not enter the second and he got angry, constantly looking back, but there's nothing to do, the Pan-American is getting closer.
There's only one thing to our advantage, which is probably what saved our lives: the Pan-American will never overtake on this pseudostrada.
But the driver does not want to fool the cap of the situation, he feels as a Formula 1 car with a low but on a circuit where there is no possibility to pass, that's where the bus does snorting beyond their means mechanical and gravitational.
Va, as people sometimes go down in areas where there is absolutely nothing on the horizon, perhaps still need to make a few kilometers on foot, uphill, and on the other hand, there is something that impedes the view of the mountains to see.
But there is something that outperforms all plans to win the driver today is Friday and from incredible offshore school out here for all the students go home on weekends, after sleeping in the school Monday. Enter scores children, and one of these stops, fortunately after my pace and then at the least bad of the road, trumpeting Panamericano surpasses us to scorn.
We were beaten, but at least now we have nothing to lose. In the only proper that we stop, a terminal of a country halfway, the Pan-American has already arrived and the drivers are accomplices exchanging jokes and friendly.
obviously for them it is a game.
For me it was not, I almost look for a religion, any one, just to ask a favor. Luckily I have not had time to pick any ... In fact, sorry, but no pictures, I was too busy to stay alive.
short, if you happen, stay happy and sit back and unconscious, between the neutral bus Iruya and Humahuaca.
And anyway, it's amazing how this small town remains stubbornly clinging to the outside world through this one street when it rains it is not feasible, and certainly in the winter when the rivers are in flood, as the road passes through them several times.

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occupies the (already in effect) my blog for a necessary service notice: The D'Ambrosio family (which do not carry the surname, but it 's still my flesh and blood ...) and is' enlarged , and has been known multinational invaded another country, Denmark (yes', I know that stinks of rotten, but in the meantime have cleaned up and then make the best butter in the world).
The new entry, as I say the director, does not have a name, but being half 'and half Danish' Bari (the rhyme is not 'a coincidence), is certainly of the second and third name Lurpak Arciuli ( any reference to brands or stores really exist and are 'absolutely intended).
I have no pictures to post but not put them, I had one day in 18 years, have a complaint because from the first day of life the small (the criatura) was already on the internet ...

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Adventure Puna

With great respect for my way of telling absolutely acronologico, bypassing 'of all the last ten days and I'll tell you about what has happened two days ago. After a thousand
indecision on whether to rent a car or not (the two Argentinian girls - of which I still have to tell you - they were willing to split the fare, but they were already in the Quebrada de Humahuaca), I eventually took a bus from Salta to Abra Pampa, near the border with Bolivia. The trip was amazing, because to go through the Quebrada of night, with a half-moon suggested that the landscape without actually showing it, left almost everything to the imagination. Then slowly you climb up to the Puna, once again, but this time without seeing her. Dug up the iPod for the occasion, and gives me the random play of songs one after the other completely on topic. Then I try to do what I had in mind before you leave, that is, shoot Bjork, Post, and in particular, the lunar landscape (it must be said, at night) of Puna. The marriage is perfect, Bjork would certainly find good here. "Emotional landscapes / they puzzled me / confused." I imagine like in the video for "Army of me" (if I do not remember, here it is ) with that truck that we would be here so much!
Arrive in Abra Pampa, which is very late, and I'm also a bit 'anxious to find everything closed at 11pm. But in this small village lost in the Puna, incredibly there are still stores that are open (though "shops" may not be the exact term) and people on the street. I stop still in the first place that I find a house / restaurant / locutionary very spartan and especially without heating (we are still at 3500 meters). But the weariness of the long journey and the cold were rewarded just go out for a walk after dinner in the sky of Puna there are no stars, but lights, wisps, messages of light from other planets. The moon itself, though in half, as is maximized, as bright as the sun, almost blinding. And all the constellations are there, ever so visible. I remember something similar in a single night of San Lorenzo on a golf course in the Irish countryside, or the base camp of the Gran Sasso. But here, we will be higher, is that pollution (of all types, including light) does not even know what it is, everything is so defined that, she's not so cold, I would be willing to stand there and watch, and wait for the sunrise. What should be the sunrise on the Puna? But you have to gear up a bit 'to fight and night temperatures become polar. Conquistarsela must, as well as over all other sunrises. In my collection DI9 dawn, the sunrise on the Puna will have to wait a bit '.
the morning after a cold night like no other, go out and find myself in Pune that I had not seen coming.
Abra Pampa is a dusty city across sand color. The culture shock that you never get in Argentina, the most European of South American countries, have it here, where all are Indians. Arrive at the terminal with a bus ahead of time, according to the tourist office, had to leave to go to Laguna de los Pozuelos wait for all the tourists were returning from their tours and return. Of course there is no trace of this bus, and find instead that for once was right in the Lonely Planet: need to take a colectivo scheduled to leave before the guard, from where you have to walk to the lagoon (and at least 8 km walk ... I find that there is also another tourist in the city, a French girl who tells me that what she is taking the only bus that leaves this morning. I'll take it on the fly, but in doing so I did not do either breakfast or water supply. The French girl, whose name is Natacha and she took a six months time after being fired (it's already been a month in Mexico and one in Argentina), tells me that she had half a mind to go to the lagoon, but then the owner of the place where he stayed advised her to get to the last stop of this bus and get back, if his idea was to see a bit 'in Pune without much effort.
discover that she too would affect the travel I'm waiting for a week, and we exchange e-mails to see us in Salta and possibly go together. It 's a bit worried that I go alone to the lagoon without water, and in fact I want to do is a bit 'unconscious.

go down, are fully in Pune, around me there is absolutely nothing except the warden's house. I go, there's a girl with the cowboy hat, he explains how to get there and what time the bus back to Abra Pampa. I ask hopefully if there are other tourists (I'm hoping for a step back) but I say I'm the only one today, which is usually the case, one or two a day.
I do pay a very heavy two-liter bottle of water and walked, not before he had photographed the map of the place, you never know were to go back useful. The sun makes itself felt, at 3600 meters. Also because there is no trace of clouds. The lagoon is not seen, and it is not easy to walk in the sun at this altitude, every step is three times harder, but I want to get too much. The absolute silence is broken only by birds that occasionally rise from the bushes.
All around me, beautiful vicunas in small groups. There's always one that you bring a little 'more, perhaps the male, while others remain a bit' more remote. I try to crept up, but I can get up to about twenty meters, then they rightly wary of being wild vicuña human (being in danger of extinction thanks to him). But move away just a bit 'and then back at me, maybe too curious of the visit. Stoic surplus even if you do not see a point of arrival, with occasional (and stupid, they increase the distance) detours to get closer to the vicuña. On my way there is a house with a lady outside who does chores, and meat and skins hung in the sun, instead of the clothes to dry.
The dusty road has only traces of the tires of a car, animals (probably vicuña) and no trace of human foot (or shoe if you prefer).
keep straight, the vegetation becomes a bit 'greener and the birds grow. When I'm starting to lose hope of arriving, I see something on the horizon, at the end of the road. it is not clear what it is, but at least it's something. I go forward with renewed optimism, eating chocolate chip cookies, which fortunately I had bought for the trip the day before and had not eaten. I expect something like a center for visitors, I do not know, even a hut. Instead what I saw in the distance are the signs: they say you are almost there, ending the "road" and that there is still about a kilometer to the lagoon itself.
My smile widens, go further and actually begins to see the water, the reflections of the sun, so many animal species on the beach and in front of me, the birds. The sun is in front, and then unfortunately you can not see well the pink of toucans, but the feeling of having arrived at the end, and to have the lagoon (15000 hectares!) All for me is really exciting.
I've never been a bird-watcher, though I began to understand the reasons for a couple of years ago, reading the beautiful story of Jonathan Franzem, "My problem bird", published in the International New Year 2006 (between ' Another translated by my very good friend Silvia!).

I go, trying not to get too much attention. A little 'hard, being the only living thing that moves on two legs for miles. The ground beneath my feet as I approach changes three times: from the earth to the sun-baked land increasingly muddy. When I start to notice that the shoes are starting to stay anchored in the ground near a swamp and almost lose it, I wisely stepped back. Meanwhile, the birds are wary of me and get up all in flight to move 500 meters to the right. Watching them take off makes me feel in a National Geographic documentary.
bad I do not have the same tools to approach unnoticed ... And most of all, shame that I'm missing something very little better than my camera,: never before in my life I wanted a heavy, bulky camera zoom and a serious (or the presence of two or three people who have adapted to the task!) But anyhow. But I do understand why this place is not called such and such a park, but Monumento Natural Laguna de los Pozuelos . Because in fact the vision of so many birds that are there placid (and it is not the right season loa) is impressive.
I try to get close again, but in the meantime I discovered that the lagoon is alive. Not so much because there are birds everywhere, as far as the eye can see. Why has built-in alarm system: when you walk on, let's call it, "beach" the earth beneath you is noisy. E 'own land, because when I stop to take a picture, there's more. Will that silence (except birds) hearing is refined, or will the Pachamama, the Indian god par excellence, the motherland?
After an hour of chasing Toucans, I discover to my cost: the swampy land is covered with various insects that walk on my fly up and make a noise (really, it's a loud noise, I never could be said that the noise of so many small insects that flap their wings ...), but in the end, tired of my careless walk, I attack in swarms.
Obviously I, who have faced crossing the Puna with 400 cl of water (apart from the providential loan rangers but did not want to use if not wet, because until now I have miraculously avoided my favorite travel sickness, the curse of Montezuma), a bit 'of biscuits and some biscuits, without a shred of a hat or sunscreen, without binoculars, I had not even brought anything against insects, because stupidly I did not think the presence of insects in the lagoon ...
I walk away with difficulty by the swarm of insects incattiviti, and I try to approach the group of animals, "stranded." From a distance, there are some who seem to brown bears, but of course can not be and I approach to control. fact are guanacos, cousins \u200b\u200bof the funny and the most elegant vicunas nice blade. I walk over to one that looks at me astonished for a while before walking away. Then I look at the time and I understand that it's time to go, if I want to catch the last colectivo.
The return is of course more difficult, not having the objective of the lagoon (but we say that the objective of taking the last colectivo stuff was not so much). I am surprised to find in my own footsteps, as if to confirm that, at least for now, at least for one day, the lagoon is my thing.
Fatigue increases exponentially, because in fact I have never stopped (perhaps more so, he who hesitates is lost) and now i have so many kilometers. I get to say goodbye to the only blade in the area, approaching him curiously and then starts posing even when he shot the photo, choosing his profile clearly better ...
begin to doubt my strength when I see in the distance remaining to the guard house and I reassured. But I see also two buses that go by and I hope they are not mine. It 'amazing how in Pune you can see everything from a great distance, and in particular vehicles. Either because you hear them in the extraordinary acoustics of the plateau (perhaps also due to the silence that is). Either because you see them, or rather see the cloud of dust rise up running on dirt roads (we have an example in the photo of the blade). You see them from miles away.
In the end, about twenty miles after starting, I return to the starting point. But it's over.
I have come in possession of more than half an hour early, as indicated by the rangers, but of course the bus arrives an hour late. The waiting, still, under the hot sun, is the worst part. Also because the terror that the bus has already gone inexplicably increases with every passing minute. I'm burning and I take refuge under the only bridge there. Both the bus when the feel is still distant. From time to time I look, even for see in the distance if they pass machines to hitchhike, but pass all the other way.
the end arrives, heralded by a huge cloud of dust, is an older, dilapidated buses that you can not, and within full of dust that enters through the windows, but I greet you as if it were manna from heaven, and salvation .
I've done it!
I've done it.
Almost.
I just feel fit, I'm burning and I have a splitting headache. But I'm getting back to civilization (well, 'more or less ...), and it was like climbing a mountain. A mountain flat.
Around me the Puna is no longer so afraid, from inside the colectivo. And more and more you think you're on roof of the world. I mean, the highest point, not what is the roof of the world, by definition, the Himalayas. But it seems plain that you really a roof, as if it were under the real world, as if, through some complicated filtering system, the sun and stars and all pass through this and come in endless plateau, where there is the world that we are all used to know.
Arrive in Abra Pampa and take another bus to return back down the Puna in the Quebrada de Humahuaca. I stop just to Humahuaca, nell'hostal half where we had an appointment with the girls from Argentina, because tomorrow I expect the trip to Iruya.
Just before I look in the room and I understand that they are unconscious: are completely red from the scalp. I take a refreshing shower, and despite a high fever I feel the same I go for a walk, eat, take an aspirin and go to bed, ready for more amazing adventures.
For today I won on the Puna. Even if I were marks on him. But I know that is not the last time we meet, with this magical place that has such a hold on me.
If not for the excursion to Tolar Grande, a few days, it will be again, but I and the Puna we meet again.
And I hope I win again.