OK, I can’t leave off Argentina without mentioning our meal in a bus. A meal of meat. Two symbols that have come to mean so much to us in this country.
Not 200 metres from the border, we saw this bus with smoke coming out of it. Upon closer examination, it turned out someone had taken an old bus, installed a grill where the engine was, and opened a little restaurant. How many opportunities do you get like this? We hopped up the steps and ordered a couple of plates of meat.
The smoke filled the small cabin as people slowly came in (there were also some tables outside). A small fan lazily spun, keeping flies off the pile of meat waiting to be grilled up. A couple of buckets of water served for washing duty behind us and pre-boiled potatoes sat in a bucket. A cooler was somewhere on the bus, as we got cold Cokes with our dinner.
Of course, the food was nothing spectacular, but the experience itself was just fun. And that, my friends, is the end of Argentine food for us for a while.