I can’t imagine driving two days without seeing another vehicle in the United States. So I certainly don’t expect to find a national park all to ourselves. But in Argentina we do. In truth we are surrounded by life; avian creatures much more adapted to the cold and altitude than we are.
The sky is savage here, even in its deceptive, lavender hues. The steel grey clouds swirl and twist above flattened earth. The volcanic mountain remnants meet the lake in ripples, lips and curves like frosting on an old, dry cake. There are no campgrounds here, or showers. So we strip down naked in front of ostriches and pour gallons of chlorinated water over our heads as the sun sets, swatting at the hordes of primeval mosquitoes that emerge out of nowhere at the smell of intruding human.
Follow this bonus-material blog and ride along on a one-year road trip that inspired the memoir The Drive: Searching for Lost Memories on the Pan American Highway. On sale now. Get yours through the buy-the-book links at the bottom of the landing page on my teresabrucebooks.com website or here or here. Planning a road trip? Buy the audiobook here. Like The Drive’s Facebook page and tweet back at me @writerteresa. Like travel anthologies? I’m in a brand new one called Alone Together: Tales of Sisterhood and Solitude in Latin America which you can get here.