Hurry up and wait for a credit card

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Having been foiled in my attempts to get to Santiago de Chile by the unforseen happenstance of an earthquake, I found myself once more in Argentina, where Luke, Ana, Andreas and I had all booked seats on a bus from Bariloche to Mendoza. For Luke, Ana and Andreas, this got them to within a six hour bus ride of Santiago, from where they had booked flights to Easter Island. I on the other hand was using Mendoza as a waypoint on my journey north to Salta, up in the north west corner of Argentina.

Why Salta? I'm glad you asked (even if you hadn't). Salta was close to San Pedro de Atacama, in Chile; one of the starting points for a tour of the Salar de Uyuni (a giant salt flat on the southern edge of Bolivia). Plus there were some good wineries in the region and a few interesting natural attractions. Most importantly, it let me continue north towards Bolivia without heading through the areas of Chile that had been damaged by the earthquake. I felt that the Chilenos had enough to do without being bothered by tourists trying to make their way north through a disaster zone.

Plus, all the buses to Chile were fully booked for the next four days.

Of course, more importantly, I'd arranged to have my new credit card delivered to the post office in Salta. I planned to spend a couple more days in Mendoza, then head up to Salta, see the sites around the town, and hopefully be on my way within a couple of days once the new card had arrived.

In hindsight, I may have been a little optimistic about that particular part of the plan.

The four days I spent in Mendoza, my Mendoza Redux period, were a nice break. I spent one day walking around the city, before going out to dinner with Luke and Ana the night before they left for Santiago. Unbeknown to us, we had arrived at the start of the Wine Harvest Festival in Mendoza. As a result there was an Italian Food and Culture Fair going on not too far from the hostel that first night. All in all it was a pleasant afternoon and evening of food and wine prior to a deep and relaxing sleep.

The next day I disappeared up into the mountains to go whitewater rafting and mountainbiking. I've got a CD full of photos of the rafting, but haven't had a chance to upload any of them. I was hoping I'd be up the back of the raft, where I could take it easy, but instead I got thrown in the front of the raft and told to set the stroke.

I didn't feel like explaining the fact that I'm rhythmically challenged, so I just nodded and did my best.

I was obviously the least worst choice, because my partner on the other side of the raft got changed three times before we'd actually hit the first rapids.

Again, with the benefit of hindsight, maybe the reason the other guys had so much trouble was my particular trademarked syncopated rowing stroke.

The rapids were Class III and IV, and were a lot of fun. The water was refreshing, rather than being icy, and, even though we all got soaked, no one was complaining too loudly. There were a few times I almost fell out of the raft as we went through the rapids. Everytime we entered the rapids and had to paddle hard, I could guarantee that the front of the raft would suddenly be airborne, meaning we were paddling air for a couple of seconds before we crashed back into the river, generally with a wave that would break over our heads.

Like I said, fun!

Of course the guys having all the real fun were the safety staff in the whitewater kayaks. Their job was to circle the rafts and help anyone who fell out. What that translated to was a license to have fun doing eskimo rolls and flips through the rapids.

I'm now a little bit jealous of the guys back home who've done the Whitewater Kayaking adventure training courses.

After the rafting, the mountainbiking wasn't quite as much fun. We rode along the lake and then did a bit of a climb, before riding downhill for the 10km back to the kayaking camp. It was hot and sweaty work, plus being at almost 2500m didn't help when we had to climb from the lake shore up to the Argentine-Chilean Highway. Fortunately, the downhill along the highway made up for the effort of the climb; there was a point, as I was catching up to a bus along this stretch, where I may have been hollering in excitement...

We'll go with excitement; terror may be closer to the truth.

The last day and a half in Mendoza coincided with the weekend and the main part of the Wine Harvest festivities. On the Friday night there was a massive street parade where the Queens of each region in Mendoza paraded on giant floats.

Again, in the interests of clarity, I should elaborate. This wasn't quite a Sydney Mardi Gras. The Queens in this instance were beauty queens rather than drag queens. There were even suggestions some of them weren't even local but rather were ringers from out of town; models chosen in the hopes of giving one district a winning edge over the others.

The floats were decorated with the symbols and trademarks of each region, and the queen and her helpers (that is, the runners up in the beauty pageant) threw various items that represented the region into the crowd. Young boys ran around with baskets on broomsticks trying to catch these royal favours.

And the rest of the crowd tried to dodge the larger tokens. By way of illustration, the floats that threw out paper coupons were harmless, as were the peaches, but when a couple of floats were lobbing grapefruit and apples with all the abandon of the Mad Hatter discovering his very own mortar.... well, accidents were bound to happen. Fortunately I avoided getting hit, although there were a few people close by who copped apples to the noggin.

I missed the festivities declaring the winner of the pageant, although I saw that it made the front page of the national newspapers in Argentina. The vote takes place on the Saturday night, following a second parade, and by that point in time I was sitting on yet another Andesmar bus and counting the hours until I arrived in Salta.

Salta is located close to both the Bolivian and Chilean borders of Argentina. It sits at about 1100m above sea level, and is surrounded by a number of very high mountains, plateaus and the Atacama Desert (to the northwest along the Chilean and Bolivian borders). It is also quite warm, and has a marked Spanish influence in the architecture.

So far I may as well be quoting the Lonely Planet. What the Lonely Planet doesn't tell you is the the fact that the town seems divided into two quite separate parts. The main square, or Plaza de Armas, and its surrounds are very well maintained, and full of the historic architecture that you come to associate with the Spanish Empire in South America. In fact, the city Catedral and the Iglesia San Fransisco are quite stunning. Proving once again the Law of the Pyramids: there is no limit on what you can achieve with a reliable source of slave labour.

Then, as you get further from the town centre the town becomes more modern and less presentable. Whilst I might not go as far as to say shabby, it did remind me of some of the more inner city areas of Sydney.

Anyway, Salta is a good town to see over the period of a couple of days. In fact, when you considered the outlying areas, including El Tren de las Nubes, one of the highest railways in the world, Cafayate, an area that specialised in high altitude wine, and the Juyjuy, an area north famous for the Seven Coloured Hill, there was probably a good five or six days worth of activities in the town.

My plan was to spend a day seeing the town, a day seeing the outlying areas, and then a day getting out to San Pedro de Atacama in Chile. Salta wasn't on my must see list and I really wanted to maximise the available time in Peru. I was already feeling the bite of my itinerary after the extra couple of days in Mendoza and was really concerned that I would miss the chance to do anything fun in Peru.

At this point, I still hadn't heard any word on the opening of the Inca Trail and Macchu Pichu, so I was resigning myself to missing that particular adventure. Considering the whole reason I came to South America was to do this hike, I felt I was taking the disappointment pretty well. Not having a credit card may have been taking up most of my thoughtsat this point.

I'd booked a hostel online, picking one more or less at random after checking the reviews tomake sure it didn't flag any of my veto criteria; words such as bed bugs, middle of nowhere, or take it in turns to sleep so the rats don't eat you. A mandatory requirement was free wifi. Now, everywhere in South America seems to have this creature comfort, but it still made sense to check. It's a bit of a difference from Australia, where you pay through the nose for wifi in most hostels and hotels. Over here it seems more like a given.

The hostel itself was an old house, in a typical Salta style. From the outside it looked rather intimidating, with a thick wooden door that could have done duty as a formidable obstacle in the event of a siege and a blank facade. There was a smaller door inset within the behemoth door, which opened onto a breezeway and courtyard. Considering that the facade of the hostel looked similar to a prison, with no windows and the aforementioned door, it was really pleasant inside. The rooms all opened off the courtyard, plus there was a good-sized common room with beer, pool table, kitchen facilities, and a barbecue out the back. No old rocking chair however...

In fact the only downer was the shower, which had two options: cold and colder.

I chilled out the first afternoon. It was a sunday and the post office wasn't open. I did the usual things: had a beer, wondered down to the Plaza de Armas, had another beer whilst watching everyone go to church, checked out the cathedral (I made sure I left the beer outside), and was accosted by a million people trying to either polish my shoes or else invite me to a folk music show.

Considering I was wearing my trail shoes I was a little curious as to how you polish goretex and suede. But not curious enough to pay to find out. And, after the time in Mendoza, I was also a little bit over traditional folk music.

Eventually I made it to a folk music free restaurant for dinner.

The next day was C-Day. According to my calculations, my new credit card was due to arrive in Salta that day. So, with great anticipation I made my way to the post office and cued up in line for poste restante. It was a busy day and there was a good sized queue in front of me, but it seemed to be moving quickly.

I eventually got to the front of the line and in best (Heggart) Spanish, requested Held Mail, gave them my name and passport, and waited whilst the lady went to check for my letter.

And waited...

The lady came back, spoke to the other lady at the counter and then they both disappeared into the back of the post office.

Still waiting...

Eventually the original lady came back, handed me my passport back and informed me that, sorry, but there was nothing addressed to me. Maybe I should come back later in the week?

Not what I wanted to hear.

So began eight days of time in Salta. I got to visit not just the post office but also the customs office, where I'd been sent by the post office just in case my letter had been held there. Plus I also got to make calls to Australia and Buenos Aires in the hopes of tracking down the letter.

Thankfully, I already had the card number and had activated the card, so I was able to Western Union money to myself. Even if I failed the inbuilt security protocols for WU money transfers.

In order to take my mind off the joy of waiting, I did get out and about in Salta. The main feature of the town is a huge chairlift/gondola to the top of Cerro San Bernadino, the mountain that dominates the city. The other option for getting to the top of the mountain is to take a path up the 300m to the mirador (lookout).

Being silly, I opted for the walk.

Some words about this path. The path itself has 1014 steps, and has a number of shrines dedicated to the Stations of the Cross on the way up the mountain. Every May, the local townsfolk make a pilgrimage up the mountain, stopping and praying at each shrine.

So, my thoughts at this point were along the lines of: If the old abuelas can do this every year, how hard can it be?

Turns out that it's a pretty steep walk. I was feeling it by the time I hit the Second Station of the Cross, and by the Fourth, I had convinced myself that the path was never going to end.

It did finally end, and only took about 30 min to get to the top, but by that time my shirt looked as if I'd been hosed down and even my shorts were sopping wet. In hindsight, the 38C temperature and humidity may have made it a bit harder than some of the similar climbs down in Patagonia.

Big props to those seventy year old abuelas who get up there every year.

And, in a perfect example of Mug's Law, by the time I got to the top, storm clouds had rolled in, obscuring the hills that surrounded the city. But there was a cafe that sold ice cold water and a beautiful park and garden up the top, so I could at least cool off before walking back down to the city.

Take my advice, use the chairlift when in Salta. Your clothes will thank you.

The other really cool site, as opposed to the churches and cathedrals, was the Anthropology Musuem. This was located on the Plaza de Armas and provided a basic overview of Incan culture and practices. The highlights/star attractions were the relics found in a number of graves high on a local volcano.

The Incas, like a number of other Prehispanic culture practiced human sacrifice. In the case of the Incas it was a little different to that of the Aztecs or Mayas. Every few years the Inca Ruler would stage a ceremony at the capital. The most beautiful children of the various areas would walk to the capital, take part in the ceremony, then walk back to their home town.

We're talking children under ten years of age walking a couple of hundred miles each way.

Anyway, when the tots finally made it back home, there'd be a huge celebration, where the child would be plied with copious amounts of corn beer. Once the child passed out due to the alcohol (or possibly sheer exhaustion after walking a couple of hundred miles), he or she would then be taken to the top of a volcano, or close to a lake, and entombed.

Now the written guides were a little reticent at this point, so I can't say whether the children were buried alive or if they'd been smothered before hand... I am hoping smothered.

At the top of a volcano close to Salta, at about 6000m, three child sacrifices were found. All of the children were under ten years, and they had been buried with a number of grave items to assist them in the afterlife. The big part of the discovery was how well preserved the children's bodies were.

So, the centrepiece of the Anthropological Museum is the display of these children. They only show a single child at a time and rotate the corpse every three months, and have big warnings about the fact that, yes, you are about to see a real body.

I found it a sobering experience. The child, a young boy, looked like he might only have died yesterday. It was difficult to believe that he had been killed by his family and community, but then again, it was a very different culture back then. I guess you were pretty happy to be a 'plain Jane' in Incan society.

Anyway, I recommend the Museum if you happen to be in Salta.

The day before my credit card finally arrived, I went for a trip to Cafayate. This area is south of Salta, and includes the high altitude wine producing areas of Argentina. When I say high altitude, I mean above 2000m. As a result their whites are very quaffable, whilst the reds leave a little to be desired. In all honesty I found the whites delicious. They reminded me a little of a Kiwi Pinot Gris, but with less greeness.

Plus, one of the local cafes sells vino helado, or wine-flavoured gelato. You get to choose a malbec or a white flavour and then sit there getting a good little buzz from your ice cream. I'm not sure why this concept hasn't caught on back home; or, if it has, why I haven't found these flavours on offer from a local gelatissimo.

The drive to and from Cafayate went through an area of badlands, where rain and wind had worked its magic on the surrounding canyons and rocks. Our guide would stop at various points to show us the key attractions, where rocks had been carved into shapes reminiscent of a friar, or a toad, or even the Titanic. I'll be honest here and admit that it helped if you were one of those guys who can stare at those abstract computer designed fractal images and make the 3D image resolve itself. Some of the shapes were fairly rough, a little like some of those celestial constellations I guess... you just had to look at a rock and imagine the missing arms/legs/head.

The colours were incredible though. Lots of iron and copper in the hills, which coloured the cliff faces these striking rust and green colours. Looking back at my photos, I couldn't necessarily tell what was meant to be the Toad, or the Titanic, but I did like the beauty of the colours.

Of course, little did I realise, but the really spectacular colours are up North in Juyjuy, at the appropriately named Hill of the Seven Colours. I got to see this place the next day as I finally left Salta and made way way into Chile for the third (and final) time on this trip.

Juyjuy is located as you head into the Atacama, and has similar features to Cafayate, but with the Heptacoloured Hill as an extra attraction. The hill was worth a look, although I chose to skip the climb in favour of a more rapid delivery to San Pedro de Atacama. Getting off to climb the hill would have been another day of delay, so I decided to live with the disappointment and hope that San Pedro and the Atacama lived up to their reputation.

My final adventure in Argentina, just as we crossed the border in San Pedro at about 4500m, was a great case of altitude-induced nausea. Yes folks, it turns out that I don't get a headache, or throw up when I get up above 4000m. Instead I just feel sick enough in the belly that I really wish I could throw up. It turns out that the sickness I felt when I went to the High Mountain Pass out of Mendoza wasn't just the Iguazu Flu, but also a little bit of altitude sickness thrown in.

With this knowledge in my head, and a little bit of concern, given I was off to play in the Salar de Uyuni, all of which was above 4500m, and I had (hopefully) an Inca Trail to walk, also above 4000m, I breathed a sigh of relief as the bus rounded the final bend and drove past the sign welcoming us to San Pedro de Atacama, at the (almost) sea level height of 2500-odd metres.

I was into my last 48 hours in Chile and about to head north to Bolivia, but that is definitely another blog entry.

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Photos

Random cactus photo #1
Pretty sure there aren't many more of these.

Mama, don't let your child grow up to be a cowboy
Or a guacho in this case. These little tackers rode in between the floats and seemed to think the whole day was all about them.

Being a guacho is thirsty work
These guys had the whole wine skin drinking thing down to a fine art. Very different to my memories of Montezumas a decade or so ago.

The Hills of Cafayate
There are some beautiful colours out there.

Random llama photo #1
Yes, there are more coming as I travel further north.

Salta Catedral
There was lots of gold and art inside, but they really didn't like photos.

Guemes Monument
Monument to Salta's favourite son. Guemes was one of the generals in the revolution, alongside General San Martin.

The Top of the Mountain
Monument at the top of Cerro San Bernardino.

Salta City
View from the Mirador at Cerro San Bernardino.

Anonymous
I found this statue in one of the parks, and I assume he is some literary lion of Salta, but I couldn't find his name anywhere in the park or the on the statue.

Cafayate Winery
If you get a chance to drink a white fromthis bodega, go for it!

Quilmes Ruins
Ruins of an prehispanic tribe that were eventually forcibly moved to Buenos Aires because they kept revolting. A good Argentine beer is named Quilmes, but for the suburb where this tribes ended up, not for the ruins.

Comments

[Heather]

I really enjoyed your Mendoza/Salta post! Reminded me of my own time there, and how amazing it was! I wish I had been there for the wine festival though! My blog is looking for travel photos, stories, etc, to share. Plus, we're giving away a free night in Peru or Bolivia right now, if you're headed that way, or know anyone who is. If you have the time, check it out at dirty-hippies.blogspot.com, or email me at [e-mail]. Continued fun on your travels! Heather :)

[Jason]

Medley
Dude, Have had a good read through and you are certainly getting about!! Looks like you are having a great time. Life goes on here at a steady pace, no change really. Regimental dinner on Friday, which was a blast - wine running through my veins all weekend!! Well take care and I will check back in a few weeks. Regards Jason