Carrie Frye: “Let Us Go Then,” from An Experience Definitely Worth Allegedly Having: Travel Stories From The Hairpin.
CF: The trip to Guatemala and Argentina that I wrote about for my essay happened in 1995 and lasted about seven months. These pictures were taken when my mom visited me in Buenos Aires, when I’d been away five months. Because I didn’t have a camera, she packed a few disposable ones for the trip. It was December and her main goal was to get nice pictures of the two of us to send with her holiday cards, and so a lot of the pictures are us attempting that: her seated on a tiled bench in front of a church, me standing next to a pillar in the lobby of the opera house. I remember also wasting a lot of shots on some trees at my favorite park. (That roll of pictures has gone missing, which is too bad, but reconstructed it would go: blurry upshot of branches… blurry upshot of branches… blurry upshot of branches…)
 I feel like I remember a booth devoted to old swords but that might be a false memory: is there that big of a market for old swords among casual Sunday shoppers? Maybe? How many would you need to sell to make a go of it? (I got an old, old silk purse at this market that I loved and which finally gave up the ghost and disintegrated into pieces at a wedding a few years ago. That ghost is anticipated here by the blob of white on the right side of the picture.)
 I walked to the Recoleta neighborhood from mine a lot during my stay and when you were outside the cemetery it always seemed sunny and to smell like a really tasteful bistro: like wood-fired ovens and starched shirts and lightly dressed field greens.
 An easy thing to do was to take a ferry over to Colonia in Uruguay, stay the weekend and then re-up. Colonia’s a very small pretty old town, and I brought my mom to see it as a sort of compare-contrast from Buenos Aires. This shot is of its Calle de los Suspiros—you can go here for a 360 view that gives a good feel of things.
 At the end of my stay in Argentina I went to Chile for a week, and one major reason for the side trip was so I could cross the Andes before I went home—even if it was just by bus. I have a distinct memory of having to draw them on a map of South America in elementary school—one of those maps that just has the outlines of the countries and you have to label them and draw in the major natural features while the teacher tells you facts about each country—and the Andes were this long line of ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^s going down the page that I wanted to see.