Putting the right accent on the right syllables in the name of this town is one of the hardest feats of word gymnastics I've attempted. Even after asking for tickets at twenty ticket offices I still can't say it like the locals, and end up stumbling around the first few syllables until someone steps in and says it for me.
Anyway, we reached it via and overnight bus. Sleep was rudely interrupted by one of the random ID checks the police are so fond of here, and again later by another policeman demanding to search my backpack. We arrived, wandered and checked into the fabulous Hotel Colon, right in the heart of Resistencia. Ooooh, another hotel, and this one had a bath! Luxury unsurpassed.
Resistencia is not equipped to deal with tourists, the Information offices are hidden away and maps are hard to come by. The main tourist attraction is the collection of 400 or so decomposing and graffitied sculptures sprinkled about the city. Some had fallen over, and nearly all had the information plaques removed. A couple even had the sculptures removed, and were just bases crouching apologetically displaying some broken concrete and twisted reinforcement steel.
We got out of dodge via a taxi to the bus terminal. The taxi driver was loud, erratic, extremely impatient and disturbingly, kept crossing himself and stroking a piece of red ribbon hanging from the mirror for the entire, seat gripping ride. The bus was a much more sedate affair, and we slept soundly though the night and onwards.
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