Salta and Cordoba

A striking contrast to the sad bleeding Jesus you find everywhere else in Latin America. Doesn´t it look like he is hugging Pangaea??
Rabbits are pimps for blobs who please chickens. Any questions?
This cathedral of stone stands in waiting. Waiting for solemn souls to grace its face with appreciation and awe. Sitting in solitary silence I was accompanied by only the semblance of a phantasmic presence creeping up my spine and dashing towards the sky.
Man versus the wind. I was determine to sing with the canyon, not to it or through it, as I tried to wrangle a harmony of the wind as it swirled above my head and carried my reverberations to the unsuspecting tourists below. I was overjoyed with the photo this desert fox positioned on the roots of a stubby shrub...if only I had been able to get back there with the biscuit I promised him...

Sebastian was the first person I have ever had the joy to see unite the Charango and Sicus (or pan flutes) in a combination which conjurs up metaphorical notions of Neil Young under attack from an Ayamara warrior. Walking into the canyon with hopes of tasting my riffs after being processed through the natural reverb chamber, the two of us, armed with homologous music tools from our contextual arsenals, began to trade licks and share melodies and curious onlookers marveled at the strange fusion which existed for only a fleeting moment. Sebastian spent nearly thirty minute trying in vain to teach me to make more than a sound resembling the death throes of a condor with the pan flutes, though I failed and had throbbing cheek muscles to boot.