Way back in southern Peru last October, sitting in the Quinta LaLa campground in Cuzco and gathering around with überlanders from many countries, they all marked our map of northern Argentina with places they had enjoyed and thought we also might find delightful. Rather than squeeze these places in when we first came south from Peru, we chose to come back to northern Argentina now, after leaving Chile. The suggestions marked for us in Cuzco have become our treasure map of many exciting and beautiful destinations.
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Dropping down from the pass, we drove first to Uspallata, the pretty little town where I’d enjoyed roast kid on our first visit. This time I simply was content to get the laundry done. We spent a quiet night in this pleasant spot, and then the next day turned north on Rt. 412, along the east side of the Andes. The poplar trees are beautiful here, all of them turning bright yellows; in the distance they looked like so many tiny yellow popsicle sticks.
We stayed on Rt. 412 for another couple of days, enjoying the quiet and warmth, then turned east and down to San Juan, the provincial capital and a happening place during the cool hours. As with most of Argentina, in these areas of great warmth the towns are deserted mid-day, and then come to life again about 5-6 pm. We made a new friend, Manuel, when he agreed to have us spend the night ensconced in his parking lot in the center of the city (secure and really very quiet); he gave us baseball caps with the police department logo (he has the franchise to make them), and lots of bread and goodies his wife had baked (a peach küchen that was incredible); we decided he was pleased to have us gracing his establishment. A delightful fellow.
North of the city of San Juan we were back in scrubby desert; it seemed to us that so much of Argentina’s fertile growing areas have been carved out of very dry countryside, with water added. We drove through San Augustin de Fertil Valle, which tells it all, then up into drier desert.
Then we marched back up a gravel road into a mountainous canyon that led toward Laguna Brava (a lake) and a back road crossing into Chile. We weren’t interested in getting as far as the border crossing, but had been told the lake was swell. Well, we changed our minds on this side trip pretty quickly. The road was all torn up, which was okay, but the canyon was dull and boring and grey – Rick commented that he thought he was inside a mud dauber’s nest (is that how you spell that?). So we turned around and headed back down the mountain, back through Vichiña (the longest town in the world – about 5 miles worth of it along one central street that straddles the highway) and Villa Castelli and Villa Unión, and due north again.
We spent the night under the watchful eye of the local gendarmes, then moved on the next morning. At Londres, a grape-growing area, we turned east on gravel Rt. 46, at 3650 feet high, a scrubby desert road between two mountain ranges; we were reminded of the Texas hill country. This road had been marked for us as a great one and we were enthusiastically looking forward to it. As the day dwindled, we took shelter for the night in a dry wash off the road, which we shared with one cow and (for the early part of the evening) a carful of melodic troubadors ; by 9:00 they’d all gone and we had a very quiet night.
After a good night’s sleep, we headed north on Rt. 38 through Tucumán. We felt like we were in Hawaii, on Kauai, between being surrounded by cane and seeing the green forested mountains to the west of us; we were at 1200 feet. The cane was young, about half up, and a lovely bright shade of green; there were wispy clouds over the mountains. I closed my eyes and started humming “Bali Hai.” North of Tucumán, we were into rolling hills and green valleys. We climbed slowly, following the Río Salí into Salta Province.
We took a great trip up Rt. 51, a good dirt road; our destination was San Antonio de los Cobres, up in the altiplano; the pass was at 13,400 feet. The road follows the route taken by the famous Tren a las Nubes (train to the clouds); the train turns around at San Antonio, at the Viaducto Polvorilla which is close to town. We spent the night at the viaduct, getting a chance to appreciate how really high up it is; both above us and at high altitude: we both suffered from the elevation, and poor Rick was dealing with a cold anyway; he was pretty miserable. The cold, down to 31 degrees (minus 1 Celsius) didn’t help.
Late in the afternoon we reached Purmamarca, a delightful village with an indigenous atmosphere, the first we’d seen since we left Peru. The setting, among brightly colored rock formations, was magnificent. We puttered around, looking at the crafts displayed around the main square, said goodbye to our new friends (with promises to meet up with them in Sydney one of these years) and settled down beside a creek for the night. Actually, before we even finished unloading the Aussies, we met and began talking to Jürgen and Hilda, a delightful German couple traveling in a small camper. They are ten years older than we are, look great, and continue to enjoy tremendously their life on the road. We met up with them along the road twice more in the next few days, literally meeting while going in opposite directions down the highway; each time there was a quick stop, pull over for hugs, and catch up on where we had been and where headed. They are an inspiration to us, as we surely hope that ten years from now we’ll still be writing messages to you about our latest adventures in some corner of the world.
We finally turned south again, heading back toward Salta. We didn’t want to go that far in one day, and found a turnoff (Rt. 4) to a provincial park west of Yala, north of Jujuy (try writing that out in longhand). We headed west up into the forested mountains – up, up, up; road turned to gravel and got steeper. We finally reached the park, a lovely and wild place, and spent the night in a quiet spot. Our map told us the road we were on was a loop, and that it would return to Jujuy if we kept on. But we checked with a local in the morning; he grinned at us and shook his head; the road was cerrado (closed) just ahead of us. So we went back down the mountain, enjoying the greenery and little waterfalls (two water crossings), then back to the main highway and down to Salta. Between Jujuy and Salta there is a back road (Rt. 9) that we were delighted to take; it reminded us of the Blue Ridge Parkway, it was so green and quiet and windy; we toyed with the idea of camping, but were getting low on propane and thought we’d better get back to town.
No surprise, we wound our way higher and higher; northwest Argentina is made up of valleys and passes between them; the valleys have been gorges cut by rivers through the remarkable and colorful rocks; the entire area is lovely to see, although mostly rather arid.
Trekking onward, we continued to see huge bushes of yellow daisy-like flowers along the roadsides, and then at one point passed tobacco drying on the fence. Tobacco! We passed through Cafayate, another interesting town. But they were all beginning to look alike (as were the rock formations), so we headed for the barn. Back to Salta. Our treasure map had been splendid, taking us to many interesting and beautiful places.
We knew our shipping choice would be a major factor in deciding what to do in the meantime and where to go. So we pondered. And for awhile, even dithered; actually floundered around for just a bit. And ultimately, the dithering told us what we knew in our hearts – we were ready to go home. Later, in talking to good Aussie friends Yasha and Jürgen, who have left South America and are now in Germany, they agreed: “When it’s time, it’s time.”
We would give up Brasil and Bolivia, perhaps saving them for another journey. We would still be able to see several places in Argentina that interested us mightily, and spend some time in Uruguay, but we would begin making arrangements to ship home from Buenos Aires.
It also turns out that Argentina has a huge holiday (25 de Mayo), that coincides with the U.S.’ Memorial Day weekend, and treated in a similar fashion. Nothing happens for about a 10-day period down here. So working on shipping is proceeding slowly. We’ll let you know how all that works out.
We are quite content. It’s been a good run here – a very good run. And our end game is in place, however the shipping date works out. They’ll tell us when they can fit us in, and we’ll occupy the time between now and then. Pretty simple. At least that’s the plan…stay tuned!
Ta-ta for now from Rick and Her Gimpness
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