Valle de la Luna

From our camp Near Las Flores, amongst the white cliffs, through red rock gorge country on another tight road to San Juan de Jachal. The town provided ingredients for a picnic lunch and an Australian feel - we are back in a climate that suits the big eucalypts, it seems. Provisioned, we pointed the starship towards a place called la Valle de la Luna, or the valley of the moon.




We never got to the moon, stopped in our tracks by a mushy, gooey river flowing about 100m wide. We had been following one of those dotted-line-on-a-map kind of roads, and it just sort of petered out.




Truckies working on roadworks told us there was no point crossing the river, so we didn't, instead happily heading back whence we had come.


Back past our picnic site under the prickle tree,







back across the recently broken bridges and floodways. We reckoned the place we had found ourselves was just as good as the valley of the moon itself. The journey, after all, is said to be more important than the destination.