25 July 2008. Creamy tan pink sky with lip of sun just appearing over hills to the east.
Chugo, an Argentine friend--well, in a vicarious kind of way. Pictures on line--"por Chugo", posing in front of small, battered white car, against the dry hills of Tafí. Travelling with his family, apparently--wife, three daughters, we follow them through rest stops, motels, a plainish little pizza place in Tucumán, the one with wooden tables, straw placemats, everyone sitting close together. It's wintertime, his wife never takes off her hooded parka, light blue, like her pale blond hair. (¿Lydia, quizás?) Then it's morning: one sloe-eyed daughter, the oldest, in black, at table with white cloth, wide glass of milk in hand, her hair damp from the shower, looking back at her father...
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