Backdated from Wednesday, April 20, 2005 5pm-ish (mined from paper journal.)

Northbound on a Cotta Norte bus, Jujuy, Argentina (through Volcan?).

I left San Salvador de Jujuy an hour ago en route to meet Andres in
Tilcara. My window seat (13) was occupied when I boarded, but I can't
really complain on that account (it´s not like I´ve never initiated a
seat change), so I took the aisle (14). That didn´t last long,
though, since one of the many passengers the already slow bus stopped
to pick up was an old woman, who stood unsteadily in the aisle between
me and the man taking up two seats, one with his body and the other
occupied by a large box. The driver came over to check out the
situation, but the man showed his two ticket stubs, proving his
rightful entitlement waste a perfectly good window seat with his
cargo. I, on the other hand, couldn´t justify the señora´s being
made to endure the entire trip on her feet, so I gave up my own seat.
Of course, this meant I had to put up with standing uncomfortably for
over an hour, unable to write or take pictures, until a whole bunch of
people got off just now in Terminal Volcan, thus freeing up seats and
allowing me to finally get out my notebook.

I feel good about leaving Jujuy. It turns out that Jesica, Pamela´s
sister, gave birth last night in San Pedro (?), but the baby was
brought to Jujuy to be put on oxygen in the hospital because there
were complications in the extended labour (or so it was explained to
me).

The scenery has been pretty cool, green and hilly, although getting a
lot more deserty (i.e., great and other colours of rock the region is
famous for and cacti and sparse shrub) as we climb. It´s also getting
chilly – pause to grab fleece from bag – and I´m thinking I should
have put on my long johns. Seems a recurrent bus theme. Anyways,
that kind of change is out of the question now, given I´m only wearing
my short skirt above my repaired Gaia-green-rainbow-back pants, nicely
covering the eternally open fly, and I already felt conspicuous enough
standing up with peering men below. It´s the first time in Argentina
sensing my obvious tourist-ness.

The guy in Jujuy who stapled the pink paper labelled with a 24
surprised me by asking for moneda (change), to which I asked ¨para
que?¨ (¨what for?¨)… When he answered ¨para mi¨ (¨for me¨), which I
still didn´t quite register since no baggage handler to date has ever
asked for a tip, I somewhat reluctantly handed over a 50 centavos, not
sure whether I was being played but knowing either way I wouldn´t miss
a quarter when back in Canada.

Aside: The low clouds up the mountain look neat!!

The whole tipping norm issue is something I should explore further…
I´ve realised that tipping norms, which seem natural when you´re in
one place, are really very arbitrary – like what tasks do or don´t
require or deserve a (voluntary) tip. For example, tipping waiters or
bartenders in Canada or the States is an almost compulsory 10-20%,
whereas in Argentina, that kind of tip is considered obscenely high,
and in some places in Europe (I´ve heard) it is virtually unheard of.
Then, there are all the other customer service agents who do or don´t
expect tips depending on their location, even though their job and
level of expected service is the more or less the same (i.e., taxi
drivers, gas station attendant, retail clerks…). Then you implicate
the unofficial labour force, where there is no primary mandatory
payment (i.e., squeegee kids, door-shutters, car-watchers, etc.), and
it brings in a whole other element.