The table was draped in cloth that had seen better days – and cutlery that had had more mouths wrapped around them than a rent boys appendage…
Jesuit Missionary Ruins were next. Hopped on a coach – 5 hours – dropped at the side of a bare motorway. Where were we? The bus station seemed abandoned except for a few Argentine ladies babysitting traveller’s bags who were visiting the Missionary Ruins. http://www.welcomeargentina.com/posadas/san-ignacio-ruins.html
On walking the red dirt track to the village under unforgiving sunshine baring an unbelievable heat we sought refuge at the first restaurant (also to restore our stomachs). The empty 1970s restaurant was painted pink and the fridge in the corner running from a generator flickered on and off. A 60-something year old man enthusiastically greeted us. [We choose a table near the entrance for a swift exit should someone appear with a bloodstained apron and meat clever.] The table was draped in cloth that had seen better days – and cutlery that had had more mouths wrapped around them than a rent boys appendage.