Road to Salta & Quebrada de Humahuacha

Given our slow progress the previous two days, we still had a lot of driving to do and only one day left to do it in. Of course there would be more stupidly beautiful places so we tried to make a rule that we would only stop to take photo's of the most spectacular places.

Five kilometres later we spotted our first Llama sign!

Should we have hired a car to drive around Salta? Absolutely. Should we have learnt the road rules? Probably. But, seeing as few Argentines followed them, if they even knew them, we were just like the rest of the rabble on the road. Driving down this road, we wondered if the speed limit could really be 60 and sometimes down to 40 kilometres per hour. Figuring it must be in miles per hour even though that didn't make a lot of sense either, we drove at 100 and we were still overtaken.

Next came the hairpins on a dirt road wide enough for 1.5 cars. There were very few places to stop as we descended through the clouds.

Cafayate is south of Salta and the next place we wanted to head to was north. Unfortunately there seemed no obvious way to avoid the city and we found ourselves in the very centre battling the traffic. Despite no lane markings, no use of indicators, cars moving fluidly around each other and right of way rules at intersections that seemed based on a battle of wits we made it through thanks to Jeff's skilful driving. He blended in so well with the manic drivers that no one even honked!

On the other side of town, the road narrowed to 1.5 car width and wound through leafy forest that was a total contrast to the desert landscapes of that morning. But past Jujuy, the next provincial capital north of Salta, we were back into the colourful, barren canyon.

It was already getting late and our destination, Humahuaca was a fair drive away, so we made few stops and for the first time in the last few days we weren't blown away by the view.

Other than the colourful walls and pavement made out of local stone, the town of Humahuaca was a disappointment. Around the main square, make shift stalls were full of souvenirs, their vendors hassling tourists who walked past. And there, amongst the native people we stood out, but we didn't feel very welcome. On top of that the streets were littered with rubbish.

In contrast Tilcara back along the route to Salta was a lot friendlier and prettier. From the top of the hill where we ate burgers in the company of a stray dog, we watched the sun set over the coloured peaks nearby.

Quilmes & the road to Cachi

We'd nearly given up on finding the ruins of Quilmes. Bumping down the rough bitumen road surrounded by cacti, we felt like we were in the middle of nowhere, except for the tiny villages the popped up every now and again.

When we finally reached the turnoff Jeff commented that the next five kilometres of badly corrugated road would be a very long trip. Nearing the hillside the ruins seemed to materialise in front of us. Camouflaged perfectly against the hillside were lines of stone walls climbing up into a valley.

There was a very brief tour, but it was only in Spanish so we were free to explore and guess the purpose of all the different shaped spaces. We wandered amongst the waist high walls and cacti until we found a path leading up the side of the hill to what appeared to be a lookout post. The city was a defensive one after all, the Quilmes Indians having survived contact with the Inca's but not the Spanish.

Up at the lookout the view to the obviously sprawling city was excellent. On the hill above, more lookout posts had now become apparent. So we kept going up and at each spot we realised there was even more and we could climb higher. But from back on the ground, the lookout posts were almost invisible.

 If the 5 kilometres to Quilmes had been bad, then the road between Cafayate and Cachi was excruciating. We travelled one hundred and fifty three teeth rattling kilometres until Jeff's hands felt like they were crawling on the inside. But my god was it worth it!

Quebrada de Cafayate

It was supposed to be a quick 190km to Cafayate, a small town near Salta! We picked up the car and after a jittery start which may have involved some very irritated Argentinian drivers in the no-longer-quiet town, we were on the open road.

So we set off towards Cafayate in search of the mysterious Quebrada de Cafayate that we'd been told was 'not to be missed'. Except it wasn't clear exactly where it was so we hoped we would get more information in town. We reached Cafayate a little before sunset after a 6 hour drive. It took us 5 hours to drive the 70km of the Quebrada de Cafayate, a stunning gorge.

At every corner the landscape seemed to change until we figured that it simply couldn't get any more beautiful. And then of course it did. We took an endless stream of photos, almost all of them right from the side of the road. There were so many, we should put them together into a video and we'd have a pretty complete picture of the drive, which must be one of the most beautiful in the world.

By the end of the day we were wondering how any other place we would visit in Argentina could compare. Until the following afternoon that is!

 We had to walk away from the road only twice. Spot the little person in the Garganta del Diablo (Devil's Throat).

And then in El Anfiteatro (The Amphitheatre).

What do you do when there's a stunning view everywhere you look? You take a panoramic video! Thank your lucky stars that we are not travelling with a real video camera.

But wait, there's more!

Salta! Not Salt-a

The guy at the bus ticket counter stared at us blankly when we said we wanted two tickets to Salt-a. Of course it was one of the many pronunciation mistakes we would make on this trip. We tried saying it a few different ways before he realised we were talking about Salta! He said it in a beautifully staccato way that I have since repeated to myself frequently while walking down the streets of Salta! An exclamation mark is required every time.

To be honest, it's a long way from Mendoza and San Juan and I genuinely wondered if we'd made the right decision to head so far north when our next destination would be Iguazu on the other side of the country. But whenever we mentioned we were headed to Salta(!) the reaction was always 'Ahhh, Salta(!) muy linda!'

And yes, Salta really is beautiful, with its old buildings, cobblestone streets and citrus trees whose fruits you can pluck while walking down the footpath.

We'd decided to rent a car to drive to the nearby canyons but we arrived on Sunday afternoon during the seemingly perpetual siesta, so we figured we would accomplish little that day. On Monday it turned out it was a public holiday for Columbus Day (which was actually the following day but they moved the holiday to Monday) and we could only hire the car from Tuesday.

So we ended up with a whole day to wander the streets of Salta! Now there isn't a huge amount to do in town, with just a few pretty churches (which were already closed for siesta by the time we organised the car hire) to look at and a nice town square. We had a lovely lunch of Super Panchos while sitting on a park bench watching the activity in the square of which there was actually quite little. In fact, with the amount of traffic that day, we figured driving would be a piece of cake.

After checking out the churches we wandered to another park, where most of the locals were hanging out and celebrating their day off. They had row boats for hire in the tiny lake which were very popular and everyone was eating ice creams, fairy floss or fruit cups. We wandered through the markets which were primarily selling gourds for mate. In fact, I can't imagine there is sufficient tourist demand for mate gourds and I'm sure every Argentinian already has 20 at home, so I'm not sure how so many stalls selling this and only this actually stay in business.

We then checked out the cable car that would take us to the top of the hill, but decided the view probably wouldn't be that exciting. Of course we could have walked to the top to get some exercise, but sitting in the park eating a fruit cup seemed like a much better idea. Hey, do what the locals do right?

Next Stop: The slowest 190km in Argentina

Cavas de Zonda

The other day trip that we'd planned from San Juan was to the Cavas de Zonda, a champagne winery just outside of town. We asked around how to get there and then waited for bus 23 for over an hour. No bus 23 turned up.

Once we'd given up, we accidentally found the other information centre inside the bus terminal that not only had a timetable, but also correctly informed us that the stop was in front of the station but not marked on the sign. Just as we were getting lunch at a nearby street stall, the bus pulled up around 10 minutes early but luckily still let us on with food.

Leaving town we stopped about 50 or so times, wherever someone hailed the bus and as they paid the driver, he would already be back on the road, juggling both tickets and steering wheel while counting change. At least it became clear that we could also be dropped off anywhere we wanted, so as we passed the cliff side entrance to the caves and went and jumped up and down next to him. It hadn't occurred to me to work out how to ask 'can you please let us off here.'

Cavas de Zonda boasts that it has a mountain for a roof and that's a pretty accurate description. The entrance to the winery is through a massive gate set into the side of a very steep, dry hill that Jeff had the urge to go walking on despite the hot sun. Outside a group of people waited to be let in.

The tour last approximately 10 minutes with a quick walk along the full length of the caves stone arch, up lit to create a warm glow. It included a detailed explanation of the champagne making process which sounded a lot like making home brew. It appeared to be similarly technologically advanced with old machines from the 50's.

In dozens of large plastic crates along the wall of the cave were Champagne bottles. Two men sat at a long table with a bottle stand in front of them, delicately applying each label by hand.

The tasting involved buying a bottle of champagne and taking it home to taste, but I suggested drinking the nice cool bottle in the park across the road, where the grass was green and the shade pleasant. My suggestion was turned down, despite the fact that we had hours to kill before our overnight bus. We had a nap under the trees instead, before waiting on the side of the road to hail our bus.

With another few spare hours before our bus to Salta, we sat in the main square and watched the locals enjoying their weekend afternoon as the sun went down. And much like our first impression of local fashion, we now pronounce San Juan the muffin top capital of Argentina.

No stray dogs were harmed during the production of this blog post.

Next Stop: Salta!

Parque Provincial Ischigualasto

It was still dark outside when the car pulled out the front of our hotel to pick us up to take us to the moon. At over 300km away we had to start early on the day trip. Bet you didn't think you could get to the moon and back in a day did you?

Parque Provincial Ischigualasto is one of the many landscapes across Latin America as being 'Valle de la Luna' or valley of the moon. This one which is apparently comparable to Bryce Canyon or Zion and is UNESCO listed. It's located in a desert valley surrounded by two mountain ranges and from the moment we left San Juan we entered that desert.

On the outskirts of town, mist lay amongst the vines of the bodegas and the sun glowed on the surrounding mountains. The 3.5 hour drive might have been boring if not for staring at those constantly changing mountains, in between observing the mate ritual happening in the car.

Our guide had brought his gourd, mate and sugar, while the other two Argentinian girls on the tour bought a Thermos of hot water. They filled up the gourd with mate, put about a teaspoon of sugar on top and then poured the hot water through it. Each of them took turns drinking the gourd dry before it was refilled and passed onto the next person.

We were invited in on the ritual, but decided to pass. While mate isn't my favourite drink, clearly the travel doctor had made me sufficiently paranoid to not want to drink out of the same straw thing as three strangers.

Along the way, semi wild animals roamed along the side of the highway and across it, including horses, goats, rabbits and turkeys. Every now and then we spotted vultures flying high overhead. But the most exciting animal were the Guanacos hanging out just outside of the park gate. One group stood munching on the dry vegetation while further down the road, another pack trotted across the road when they heard the car approaching.

Inside the park, we were surprised to discover that the visit would be in convoy with a group of other vehicles and a park ranger. We had to stick strictly to the road and only stop at the 5 highlights. I hadn't expected such a regimented visit in South America.

As we rounded the corner we had our first view of the whole terrain – red cliffs in the distance ringing a barren, white valley. You could imagine how this looked otherworldly.

Not far down the road was the first stop, where the ranger went into a very long explanation of the region. We understood some of it, but the view towards the cliffs was irresistible so we wandered around the carefully defined area taking photos.

At the first stop, it was the distant view which was remarkable, so we were surprised just how amazing the next stop's foreground was. Apart from the odd dry bush, the rutted ground really did look like the moon, except in various shades of pinks. From the lookout you could see the river that wound it's way through the worn mounds. Seeing that we'd wandered away from the group, our guide came over and explained that the national park is named after this particular formation.

We then drove down into the moonscape to a flat area where we could walk amongst the bare mounds. One of them looked like a sphinx, although I'm positive we weren't the first to recognise it's likeness.

But the main attraction of stop number three was the Cancha de Bochas, the ball table. On the flat plain lay perfectly spherical rocks, arranged as though someone was in the middle of a ball game.

Leaving the lunar landscape we drove up to another formation that were like windows facing the red cliffs.

We then approached the cliffs that had so far been in the distance. Near the base of them, stands the signature formation of the park, El Hongo or mushroom. Against the bright blue sky, the white stone with the red cliffs behind is very striking.

Finally we drove the full length of the cliffs back to the entrance, the red dust of the road filtering through the seals of the car and entering our nostrils. On one side where the red cliffs that looked like they where part of the ancient temple with intricately carved pillars. On the other was the white lunar landscape.

On the way out of the park, our guide spotted a condor eating a dead cow on the side of the road. He stopped and grabbed his camera, but unfortunately it spread it's massive wings and took to the sky.

To break up the 3 hour drive home, we stopped at the shrine of the Difunta Correa, near San Jose. I had only a very vague notion of what exactly the place was all about, as I'd filled it under the 'odd Latin American things' category. And believe me it looked odd.

On the ground next to the car where we pulled up in the messy little town lay a plastic figure of a woman lying with a bare breast where a baby was feeding. Following our guide up the staircase, the posts and beams of the low roof where covered in old licence plates that tinkled in the warm desert wind. On the ground on either side lay little home made houses that reminded me of architectural models.

At the top in the shrine proper the same breastfeeding woman that had lain next to the wheel of our car, was surrounded by candles and images of babies and other breastfeeding women. Our guide explained that she was a woman who together with her baby followed her husband and his regiment during the civil war of the 1800's. But in the desert she ran out of food and water and died. But when she was found, the baby was still nursing at the dead woman's breast. Our guides voice dropped to almost a whisper as he explained that it's believed that is the very spot where she was found.

At the shrine people from all around Argentina come to ask for protection of their houses, cars, assistance during difficult childbirth and miracle cures. On the rest of the drive we spotted shrines all every few kilometres along the road, where bottles of water where left for travellers in need.

Next Stop: Champagne Cave 

Mr Hugo

That's all I would need to say if you were in the know. But unless you've been to Mendoza in the last five years you're probably not. Even our Lonely Planet copy of 'Argentina' isn't. So let me explain.

Mr Hugo rents bicycles to anyone wishing to go head to head with Argentinian drivers and cycle between the wineries around Mendoza. His business has grown through word of mouth and is hugely popular with the backpacker crowd. And the other bicycle hire places are at a loss about what to do. Or so I'm told.

We'd never heard of 'Mr Hugo', before we were approached while on the bus to Maipu. We'd already walked from town to the 'not to be missed' Escorihuela Bodega, which the tourist information centre had failed to mention was closed due to renovations.

On the bus, we discovered the machine only took coins, which are rare as hens teeth, and we thought he would kick us off. Instead a fellow passenger got up, swiped his card twice and gave us the tickets. We were really touched by his kindness.

So when we were handed a 'Mr Hugo' brochure and offered to be walked to the hire shop we welcomed the suggestion. Just down the road a slightly battered gate led into a shady courtyard where lots of shiny bikes awaited. Within moments, Mr Hugo greeted us warmly, offered us a seat and with a big smile produced a jug of wine.

Soon after, we were happily wobbling our way down a tree lined country road to the first of the stops in the area.

 Inside a pretty little gate, 20 or so bikes stood lined up under a lean-to roof, many bearing the 'Mr Hugo' decal. In the little building, a group was already tasting the home made vinegars, olive oil, salsas, chocolate and liqueurs. Each sample produced satisfied nods and happy yums.

But the most exciting thing to taste was the absinthe. The pale green liquid was poured into shot glasses and a teaspoon of sugar dipped in. This was then lit until the flame caramelised the sugar which was then stirred back through. At 75% alcohol it was pretty strong, but I loved the taste.

The next winery included a museum where there was supposed to be a tour. Unfortunately none of the staff seemed interested, so we wandered around the displays which included wine making apparatus from pre-colonial times. After a quick sip of very young and rather unimpressive Malbec we retreated between the giant oak barrels that lined to entrance.

A little further down the road was a artisan beer garden. After turning and winding our way down the road following the signs we found a shack at the end of a gravel road. Around it were old couches decked out in colourful woven fabrics and cable drums as tables. The staff seemed to be having such a good time hanging out together, no one gave us more than a glance when we turned up.

Perhaps they were supposed to offer tastings, but in our case we were simply handed a menu where we could buy three different types of local made beer by the half litre. Jeff had a Melena de Leon, while we cracked roasted peanuts and chilled out in the shade.

The final winery that we had any hope of making it to, turned out the be a gem. Vina el Cerno, a family owned and run place, our host was brimming with enthusiasm which he happily shared with us. We tasted an old tempranillo and the local special, a delicious Malbec.

We had spent the afternoon cycling alone, but as we were leaving we found the rest of the group also heading back to Mr Hugo. In total about 15 foreigners on bicycles rode onto the main road headed for Maipu as the sun started to dip below the mountains on the horizon.

Apparently the local police were well prepared for the situation, with two motorbikes waiting to escort us all the way home. Stopping most vehicles from passing us on the busy road, they waited to make sure each cyclist turned safely into Mr Hugo's gate. With bikes parked for the evening, a cheerful Mr Hugo greeted us with jugs of wine which flowed freely until the last bus headed for Mendoza was about to leave.

Waiting at the bus stop, we watched as Mr Hugo came riding down the road. He stopped to check that we all had change and with another round of hearty hugs and kisses wished us all the best. I guess that's why he's so popular.

Next Stop: The Moon