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Published: March 25th 2008
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Having entrusted virtually all our clothing to some unfortunate to launder, we left San Jose de Jachal, the cleanest, most neatly-pressed cyclists that you could hope to meet - a futile gesture, if ever there was one. Our road took us up to a hilltop where stood a monument to local poet and gaucho, Buenaventura Luna. What a marvellous name; I think I might adopt it. One of his poems was reproduced in a tiled mosiac, but I noticed that one of the tiles at the foot of a column was incorrectly placed. There was a good reason for this: in the absence of effective adhesive, it was supporting the remainder of the tiles, as I discovered when I helpfully tried to restore the mosaic to its former glory. Anyway, having rebuilt the monument, we scooted down the other side of the hill only to grind to a halt before a reportedly impassable section of road. The night´s rainfall had completely washed away the tarmac, but an older ford was passable by unloading the bikes and carrying everything across. The irony wasn´t lost on us; up to our knees in water, but with lodgings and water supplies uncertain, we were carrying
up to 16 litres of drinking water.
That evening we camped behind a service station, conveniently situated in the middle of nowhere. We were promised food for later, much later, as is the custom around here, and were waiting expectantly. At around 9 pm, coincidently as the Boca Juniors football was about to start on the telly, the entire local male population emerged as if by magic from who knows where, to settle in front of the telly. Equally magically, platefuls of roasted beef and mash appeared, courtesy of the harrassed wife of the owner.
It rained hard in the night, and the following day we realised the consequences: a few kilometres along, we were halted by a flooded section of road, too deep and fast flowing to ride or walk through. In a miracle of good timing, one of the few vehicles to pass that day arrived, and we were hauled into the back, told to hang on tight, and were whisked through the worst of the floods. We also gleaned much useful information about the condition of the roads several days ahead of us; information which encouraged us to spend an extra day in Villa Union
while our coming route dried out and reopened. This extra day we spent on a guided 16 km hike through the impressive Talampaya Park, setting for spectacular rock formations and neat little petroglyphs.
The following day, our tired, unused-to-walking legs took us up the beautiful Cuesta de Miranda. The rocks were a deep orange, flaky sandstone - burnt umber, according to my childhood paintbox - a rich contrast with the dark, deep green vegetation. Tall, cowboy-film cactus plants strode across the hillsides. Once over the crest, we swooped down to a campsite beside a river. "Are you expecting rain tonight?" I asked the old man. He peered sagely at the sky and said not. We chose our site carefully, just in case, and dug a little trench around the tent. Later that night, from a nearby shelter, we watched the lightning and lashing rain and observed the small moat developing around our tent; an Englishman´s home is indeed his castle.
A day´s washing, cleaning and tent drying ensued in Chilecito and we spent a pleasant time wandering the town. Whilst in a shop tasting local delicacies such as raisins, grapes and sweet fresh walnuts, we chatted with the
owner, who rushed out to his car, to re-appear with a tape recorder. Suddenly, we we subject to an impromptu radio interview. Topics ranged from Maradona´s Hand of God (again), Bobby Charlton, Ashington (birthplace to such famous footballers as the Charlton Brothers and Richard Peart), Paul McCartney´s divorce and the tastiness of the fruits which we had just been sampling. I suspect that only the latter topic will make it onto the airwaves to torment the unlucky listeners of Radio La Rioja.
The next two days to Belen were long; the road stretched endlessly ahead through a vast plain of desert and scrub. There were moments of relief: the curious incident of the fly in the ear - cured by much poking and prodling with a pen top. (I know, I know, you shouldn´t do that, but I´d forgotten to pack my ear, nose and throat specialist. Anyway, Dr Peart took a look inside, said it looked awfully dark in there, and declared me fit to cycle.) Further along we were stopped at a road block. At first we thought that it was part of the ongoing picketing in protest at the rising cost of meat, but after chatting
with the lady in charge, it transpired that the locals were protesting at the lack of medical facilities in their little town. As luck would have it, the Minister for Health was due to pass that way, and they were hoping to petition him. Perhaps he could take a look in my ear, I thought. Anyway, we wished them luck, pledged our support, and were waved on our way.
From Belen, we cycled to Amaicha, stoping at the tiny villages of Casa de Piedra and Los Nacimientos. The landscape for these two days was pleasant, flanked by green hills and distant snow-capped mountains. From Amaicha, we made a two day side trip to visit the lovely neighbouring valley of Tafi del Valle. First a steady climb through the (relatively) green landscape to a pass at El Infiernillo. On one side of the mountain it was dry and sunny, though we battled against a fierce headwind and a badly potholed road. As we arrived at El Infiernillo, a panoramic view opened up before us, the lake at Tafi glittering far below. With the crest behind us, we were plunged into another world - cool, damp and green - we were
Steak fest on the way
The Argentinians could show the Australians a thing or two about BBQ´s in Scotland; cattle grazed in the fields; the houses had real gardens with lush lawns and richly coloured flowerbeds; the campsite had grass. And hot showers. We spent a restful day, pottering about the town of Tafi, and gorging on locally made cheeses (well, what else can you do with all that lush grass), before riding back over the pass to Amaicha. By now the skies had cleared, the wind had dropped and we had a fabulous ride, stopping to eat lunch at El Infiernillo, and letting three children on hobby horses relieve us of our apple supply.
That evening at the campsite in Amaicha, we were in the mood for an Argentinian meat roast, and asked the owner where he might suggest. But he had a better idea; you buy it and I´ll cook it. He even came shopping with us to select good cuts of meat. And what a fabulous steak-fest we had.
The following day´s ride to Cafayate was level and easy, passing vineyards and bodegas. Cafayate is a lovely, lively town, with plenty of visitors. Local craftwork is on sale in shops and stalls everywhere. The designs reflect the prehispanic heritage of the area
and the handiwork is skillful and lovely. It was Good Friday while we were there, and in the evening everybody from miles around was gathered in the square around the church, which looked beautiful with the lights from inside shining through the stained glass windows.
The next two days took us, via La Viña, to Salta, capital of the province and the biggest place that we have seen for a long time. The road to La Viña was superb, passing through gorges of pinky-orange rock in strange and wonderful formations. There was even a natural ampitheatre, where local musicians played to demonstrate the qualities of the sound there. In Salta we are staying with cycling enthusiast, Ramon, and his family, plus several dogs and countless cats. Fortunately Ramon also works in a quality bike shop, and will be seeing to the repair or replacement of Richard´s front hub shortly. Meanwhile, we have been strolling around the city of Salta, looking at the beautiful colonial architecture and enjoying more steak dinners.
What´s next? Well, we are postponing our bus ride across to Misiones for a few days so that we can take in a little tour into the mountains
up to San Antonio de Los Cobres and the salt flats nearby. We´ll let you know how it goes.
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DAD
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these are great, so the original must be fantastic. Did you hit lucky or was it planned to stay with a cycle engineer. glad the weather improved. continue the good work. DAD