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Published: March 22nd 2007
*Sorry, it's a long one*
From Tarija, I wanted to cross into Argentina, which meant taking a bus to the nondescript border town of Villazon. Nothing against the town or anything, but the only reason to go there is if you're going to or coming from Argentina. I got to the border a little after 9AM, and after waiting a half hour to get my Bolivian exit stamp, I got in line to get my entry stamp for Argentina at about 10AM. I thought it would be a breeze, but one hour quickly became three, and three became six. By about 4.30 PM I had finally crossed the border. It was a nightmare (and that's an understatement). It had taken me almost seven hours just to advance a few hundred meters. The line wasn't even that long, but the border officials must have been even worse than incompetent (if that's even possible). After finally getting my entry stamp I jumped for joy (no, not literally), only to realize I had to stand in another line to go through customs. My patience was gone at that point.
The Argentinean border town of La Quiaca has little to offer, like
Villazon, and I went straight to the bus terminal to catch a bus to the town of Humahuaca. I got there late at night, after a 13 hour day of waiting in lines and a bus ride. The town of Humahuaca in northern Argentina is quaint, but a main reason for going there is to visit the Quebrada de Humahuaca, which extends some 160KM. I met a few Australians in my hostel and we decided to rent a cab together the next day to see the sights. The surrounding area had beautiful, jagged formations and rock faces of varying colors. The most amazing ones were at the town of Purmamarca, about an hour south of Humahuaca. Purmamarca has the famous Cerro de Siete Colores (Hill of Seven Colors) which towers over the small town. As you can see from the pictures, the Cerro does indeed have seven different colors, and the setting of the town is simply idyllic.
That night I was ready to move on to Salta, the largest city in the North. Salta is what gave me the severe culture shock. At night the town looked glitzy and glamorous, and the highway to Salta was well-paved (something
which is almost nonexistent in Peru and Bolivia, especially the latter. For example, only 5% of Bolivia's roads are paved). When I went to explore the city the next morning, I was dumbfounded. Tall buildings and sparkling department stores and boutiques were the norm, as were beautiful buildings and yes, beautiful women too. The bathroom sink in my hotel room even had a hot water faucet! The last time I had a sink with hot water was back in the US, 9 weeks before. Also gone were those temperamental electric showers in Bolivia. And the sidewalks here are ACTUALLY wide enough to walk on.
All of this ¨luxury¨ comes at a price. After living so cheaply in Bolivia (on only about $20 US a day, including food and hotel), I was suddenly paying $13 for a hotel room and $8-10 for a meal. I shouldn't be complaining (for the US these prices are almost unheard of) but the sudden drop in my bank account was immediately noticeable. But...you get what you pay for. I may have paid up to $10 for a meal, but it was the best food I had had in months.
Salta has your typical
The beautiful Cerro de los Siete Colores
The Hill of Seven Colors overlooks the small town of Purmamarca. Stunning is the only way to describe it. museums, but it also has Cerro San Bernardo, with beautiful views overlooking Salta. The surrounding areas are equally impressive, and I did 3 tours in 3 exhausting days. The first tour took me to Purmamarca (again, but this time the weather was better) and then to Salinas Grandes (Big Salt Flats). After seeing the Salar de Uyuni, these salt flats paled in comparison. The last stop of the tour was the mining town of San Antonio de los Cobres, possibly the dullest town I have ever seen (sorry San Antonio). All the buildings and houses were brown, and the roads were dusty. Except for the white church, the town only knew one color. The ride back to Salta took us over the puna (high plain) typical of northern Argentina. The puna is eerie simply because there is nothing. Once in awhile we passed a small adobe house, but other than that, silence. We even got out of the car once and for the five minutes we were there, we didn't hear a thing. Not a thing.
The next day I took a trip to the town of Cachi, a few hours away from Salta. The trip there is supposed
to be amazing, and it didn't disappoint. Rivers and lush, green valleys abounded, as did endless photo opportunities. Although the trip I went on was on a Monday, I was lucky to witness a festival honoring San Jose (Saint Joseph), Cachi's patron saint. I also got my first glimpse of the famous Argentinean gauchos (cowboys) and my first asado (barbecue). The menu had grilled pork and grilled goat, and there seemed to be endless amounts of it. I explored the town with another member of the group, and we came upon the local town hall, which was hosting an asado criollo in honor of the festival. Hundreds of people had gathered for food and traditional folk music. We also got up close to the grill outside, where several men were busy preparing the beef. No less than four cows were being grilled to serve all those people, and watching them work was definitely a sight.
My organized trip the next day took me to the Quebrada de Cafayate. Again, there were some beautiful formations, including La Garganta del Diablo (The Devil's Throat), but at this point I had had enough of rock formations, even if the area did have
ones in the shape of a toad and the Titanic. The tour ended in the small town of Cafayate where we were able to visit a local vineyard and sample their wines. Argentina does have amazing wine, but I am waiting for the heart of wine country, Mendoza, to really find it. A local ice cream parlor in Cafayate is famous for its wine-flavored ice cream, so of course I had to try the two available flavors: torrontes (a type of white wine) and cabernet. Big surprise, they tasted a lot like wine, but after that the novelty quickly wore off.
Rather than returning to Salta with the tour, I decided to stay in Cafayate and continue my journey south. After another hour in Cafayate, I took a bus to the small town of Santa Maria and then connected to Tafi del Valle.
Tafi del Valle is yet another small town, but it's different than most. For one, the surrounding green hills are beautiful, and the town itself has its own unique charm. There is plenty of great hiking in the area, but I decided against paying a fortune to climb one of the higher hills with a
Salt Flats near Cachi
After the mesmerizing Salar de Uyuni, these salt flats were underwhelming, but still nice nonetheless guide and instead went out on my own. My plan was to climb Cerro El Pelao, but defined trails and signs are almost nonexistent. I tried to find the trailhead, but only ended up going through private property and hopping some metal fences before I finally found the way (Bernie you rebel you). After climbing Cerro La Cruz (Cross Hill) I wanted to continue on to Cerro El Pelao, but without any clear markings, it was impossible to know where it was.
And that's where the trouble started. I decided to hike a couple more hours to the top of a distant hill, and then turn back. As I got closer to said distant hill, the way suddenly went steep down and I couldn't continue. Moreover, a heavy fog suddenly rolled in, so I decided to turn around and head back to the center of town.
I hiked another hour in the opposite direction, thinking I was going the right way, but even that area got foggy so by now I was totally lost. Crap! Even Tafi below was shrouded in fog, and I wasn't sure if that was even Tafi (on the opposite end of the valley
there was another town, so it could have been that one). Thinking I was the smartest man alive, I took out my camera and looked at the pictures of Tafi I had taken to see if the town below resembled it at all. Pfft, that worked out well! After hiking a while longer, I realized I was screwed and my only option was to hike down the side of the steep hill and get to the main road. Of course the side I went down wasn't a trail at all, and it was a dangerous mess, with plenty of bushes and rocks to slip on. After awhile I came upon a barbed wire fence that I had to get around. The wires were very rigid and couldn't be pulled apart to create an opening. Again thinking I was the smartest man alive, I threw my backpack over the other side of the fence and created a pile of rocks to climb on and then swing my way over. Didn't work. I walked a little further and then found an opening at the bottom of one part of the fence that I could crawl under on my stomach. After grabbing my
pack and continuing further down, I entered what was like a swamp, and got nice and wet as I trudged through. After finally finding a small trail, I stealthily passed a small house at the bottom of the valley. I guessed that the barbed wire fence was probably theirs, and any minute I expected a guy dressed in overalls to come at me with a shotgun. But there was silence. At any rate, I was probably thinking too much that this was the US, where getting a shotgun pointed at you on private property in the middle of nowhere probably isn't out of the question. I had to go through some thick underbrush to continue on, and by the end my pants were covered in dirt, grass stains and little prickly things (for lack of a better term). At the bottom of the valley I went through a field of lettuce (sorry Mr. Farmer, I had no choice!), and then had to wiggleunder another barbed-wire fence to get to a dirt road that led to the main road. I innocently passed a few farmers in a field, greeted them with a convincing ¨Buenas tardes¨ (Good afternoon) and sheepishly walked on,
hoping they wouldn't say a thing. And they didn't. They were probably scratching their heads, wondering what I was doing there.
When I finally got to the main road, I knew which direction to go to get to Tafi but had no idea how far away I was. The map I had was little help, but when I came upon the town of Santa Cruz I realized I was several kilometers away. Uh oh. I knew it would take me a couple hours to walk the whole way, so I decided hitchiking was the only option. Mind you, I had never hitchiked in my entire life, so I was little wary about the whole thing. After trudging on for a half hour and letting a few cars pass, totally apprehensive, I spotted a pickup truck going towards Tafi. I put up the best hitchiker's thumb I could muster (I actually have a pretty good one - thanks for the genes Mom and Dad!), only to be dejected when it sped past me. Suddenly the driver slammed on the brakes and stopped on the side of the road. Oh hell yea! I ran to the driver's side, mumbled my thanks,
and hopped in the back. The ride to town took 15 minutes, so who knows how long it would have taken to walk back. Once I got back to town, I went immediately to the bus station to check the bus schedule. The next bus for Tucuman was leaving in only 20 minutes, and the one after that three hours later. I thought I should decompress for awhile and get some food, but I realized that waiting around didn't make sense (I wouldn't have gotten to Tucuman til midnight if I waited). So, I ran back to my hostel, grabbed my pack, and ran back to the bus station. I made it just in time. Of course I had had no time to shower, so on the bus ride I was dirty and probably smelly too (I didn't check, I swear). I felt bad for the guy next to me, but he didn't seem to notice. So in that one day I got lost in the fog, stumbled down a steep hill, hiked through thick underbrush, crawled under barbed wire fences, trespassed on private property, hitchiked back into town, and caught a bus within 30 minutes of my arrival. To
top it all off, I got the worst sunburn of the entire trip. Things got even worse when I got to Tucuman. The hostel I went to didn't even exist, and the next hostel I had in mind only had one expensive room left with an aging bathroom. At this point I was so exhausted I didn't even care. For dinner I decided to try my first parrillada (mixed grill), which consists of various types of meat. I didn't know what to expect, but when the food came on a small grill, I was in for a surprise. Along with beef, there were various organs and the like. I didn't even want to know what they were. I decided I'd go for it, but only the huge pitcher of lemonade I had ordered allowed me to swallow most of it without having to chew (reading in my guidebook later, I found out it was blood sausage, intestines, liver and other innards). Let's just say that'll probably be the first and last time I ever order a parrillada.
What a day Argentina, what a day.
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Folkert
non-member comment
Man oh man
Bernie, das ist ja lustig und ereignisreich. Heute haben wir auch einen Bericht von Deiner Schwester Antje, der antipodin bekommen!! Mach weiter so. Gruß Folkert