Reclined in my retro-patterned, velvety seat, I sit back and enjoy the show. The sun hits the linear scratches in the window and gives the outside world a slightly purple, faded-polaroid kind of filter. The tourist next to me is sleeping and her head keeps violently swaying from side to side with each turn and curve. Every once in a while she wakes up and closes the corriagated curtains. Does she even know what she's missing out on? Does she have any idea the magnitude of beautify that is hiding behind that hideous mustard colored fabric? Clearly not. She's back asleep now so I shift my view to the left. There's a couple drinking matte and looking outside then occasionally looking at each other as if to make sure the other one is seeing the same thing.
We are in the Lakes district and have only been in Argentina for several hours now.
The woman next to me pushes away the curtains and the movie resumes. Paul Simon is singing in my head and my eyes are feasting on the landscape.
The hills are dry and barren. It must be windy here and as a result, only golden grass covers the dirt mounds; swaying back and forth like oscillating waves. Steep cliffs of red, lunar rock line the edges of the hills. In the distance, tree-less mountains fill the horizon. They are jagged and sharp and have rock spires that jut out straight to the sky, like a seedling growing towards the sun. We pass the occasional forest- a clump of short pine trees- but there is relatively no vegetation. Instead, the bright colors come from the lakes. We have yet to drive more than five minutes and not see one. They are enormous and appear to be very deep. Their dark blue color gives them a crisp contrast to their surroundings. The beaches are like combed lines of eroded white pebbles, lining the edges of blue and highlighting the irregularity of shape.
It's one of the most beautiful and unique landscapes I've ever seen. I think the woman next to me has also just had that realization too. She's trying not to fall asleep.
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