We didn’t know what to expect from Salta. We heard it was a cool colonial city with good restaurants, museums, shopping, parks, etc. It was. We did that stuff and took some photos. We also had a contact here that hooked us up with some bus parts we haven’t been able to find in a while (thanks Martin, Guille & Andre!)
But, there are really just two things I’m going to remember about this town.
First, there is a damn good car wash next to the main park. We’ve been anxious to give the bus a good scrubbing to rid it of all the salt from our drive through the Uyuni salt flats. This place had a lift and a guy that stood under the car and pressure washed the chassis for a solid hour. He then called me over to inspect it make sure I was happy with the results. Haven’t been to a car wash like that before.
Second, Bode blew chunks in the Micky D’s. We haven’t seen the golden arches since Trujillo, Peru and he absolutely insisted we had to go. They either put an addictive chemical in the food that makes you crave it fortnightly, or it’s the Happy Meal toy (which should be outlawed). Either way, we gave in and went for some good ole’ fashioned American Fast Food. We ordered up (7 bucks for a Happy Meal!) and a few minutes later Bode started complaining of a bad smell. Not surprised – but not smelling anything ourselves – we stuck around and waited.
The kid is a canary in a coal mine. He kept complaining and we kept not understanding what was wrong. Then came the big event. Angela had gone to pick up the food at the counter, so it was just me left to watch my kid eject the contents of his stomach through his mouth – right in the middle of the restaurant.
It’s funny how many things can go through your mind in that split-second between the start of projectile vomiting and when it splatters on the floor. Of course, I was worried about Bode, but I was also wondering what the heck I was supposed to do? What is the proper etiquette here? Do you flag an employee to come over to clean up the mess, so future customers won’t slip and fall in my son’s puke? Am I supposed to clean it up? Should I make apologies to the curiously unfazed onlookers? In Spanish? While my kid is doubled over?
I followed my instincts. We fled.
Even though we saved it, he never ate his cajita feliz.