Humahuaca, Iruya, y San Isidro

When we returned from our road trip, we spent a couple more days in Salta with Steffen eating ice cream, hanging out with people dressed as giant kidneys, and visiting a folklórico museum dedicated to a banker, bohemian, and patron of local arts who went by the name Pajarito (little bird). Sadly, we had to say goodbye to Steffen yet again, but we hope to meet up with him in Cochabamba or in La Paz. Steffen took a bus to Missiones and Iguazu Falls and we got on a bus that took us through the otherworldly Quebrada (canyon) de Humahuaca to the town of Humahuaca. We got there after dark so we didn't get to see much of the town, but I did get to have my first taste of llama. Put it on the recommended list.





Early the following day we got on a bouncy bus that took us over a pass over 4000 meters above sea level (over 13,000 ft.) and down to a wonderful little indigenous village called Iruya nestled in another spectacular canyon. That day we took a walk up to the holy mirador to look down on the city and also visited the chanchos (a word that means both filthy and pig). We slept in a very comfortable and inexpensive hospedaje with a view of the muddy river and we were joined by our Austrian friends, Katrin and Wolfgang, who we met in San Martín and Mendoza.







In the morning we started walking down the canyon and then up another to the village of San Isidro. On the way we met a nice woman from Buenos Aires named Gabriella. After a while the trail crossed and recrossed the river. We saw a couple of locals do it but it was very swift and deep. We started up a trail that took us high up above the river but I foolishly turned us around because I thought the trail was too dangerous. It turned out to be a good alternative to crossing the river. Hilary kindly told me to go on to the town. San Isidro was similar to Iruya only smaller and inaccessible except by horse or on foot. After crossing the river several times, I came to enjoy it and ended up crossing it twelve times on my walk back to Iruya. The evening sun in the mountains was spectacular and donkeys stood patiently at the sides of the trail. It is a very different world in northern Argentina.










After two nights in Iruya we took a bus back to Humahuaca, had a little time to explore, spent the night, and then got on a bus to the unknown unknown that is Bolivia.

On the road again

We arrived in Mendoza and promptly got Mike's daypack stolen by a smooth character in a café near the bus terminal. We spent quality time at the Mendoza police department where no one acted like we were wasting their time. Then we went to walk forlornly through the neighborhood looking in trashcans and the two-foot deep trenches that run down the streets here. The most valuable thing we lost was Mike's journal since Ushuaia. He has been valiantly reconstructing it ever since.

At our hostel we met up again with the nice Austrian couple we met in San Martín, Katrin and Wolfgang. And we took in the sights -- a small aquarium which includes a giant sea turtle named Jorge who had found his way into the Rio de la Plata. Why he was then flown to a solitary tank in the wine country we didn't figure out.





From Mendoza we went to Cordoba which is a university town. Apparently it is a tradition when someone graduates to celebrate by tearing their clothes to shreds and pelting them with raw eggs and sawdust. This tradition is alive and well. Mike got his hair cut and we continued on the museums, plazas and churches tour. We also passed an affecting memorial to los desaparecidos, people disappeared during the dictatorship.











We caught a luxurious cama suite bus for Salta -- for $10 extra you get seats that recline fully, a blanket and a little sleep. In Salta our friend Steffen met us at the bus station, took us to his hostel for showers and medialunas (little croissants) and then we lit out for the open road.

Two Norwegian guys we had met in Córdoba recommended renting a car from the incredibly helpful people at Loira and driving to some small towns near Salta. We headed first for Cachi which is at the end of a lot of gravel road that stretches through the Parque Nacional Los Cardones. Cardones are saguaro-like cactus and endowed with similar weird evocative formations. The desert-like landscape is full of other spiny plants and stunning rock formations, also foxes and bluish-gray parrots.







Outside Cachi we picked up an elderly woman named Señora Alfonsina. She crossed herself when she sat down, whether as protection against car accident or gringoes we weren't sure. She was lovely and we let her out at the plaza. Cachi is a small colonial town set around a beautiful plaza with stone arches at each corner. Our little hotel was built around a central courtyard and had an enormous and laden grapevine in the center. Driving out from Cachi the next day we passed through tiny tiny towns where people grow tomatoes, onions and red peppers. The peppers spread out to dry in the sun are stunning.






We also passed our first llamas. We've been used to the more attenuated and red haired guanaco in Patagonia. The llamas are much burlier and solidly colored chocolate or tan or white. A little herd passed our car as they trotted down the dirt road. A minute later we saw the apparent patriarch of the group bouncing along toward us. His gait was hilarious, actually bouncing, and we realized his front legs were tied together at the ankles. Someone told us this was so he wouldn't run away.


From Cachi we drove through more stunning landscape to Cafayate, a wine town. Outside of town we stopped at a little winery, La Bodeguita, to try torrontes, the local vino blanco. It's delicious, dry but flavorful, a white wine Mike and I agree on. One of Steffen's wonderful traits is his habit of immediately striking up conversation with people, remarkable in the only German who doesn't drink beer or wine! We chatted for a while on the front stoop with Señor Juan de la Cruz Rodriguez and his family and enjoyed their delicious wine.








In Cafayate we found a wonderful hospedaje and ate pizza at the little place on the corner. Toward the end of the meal Steffen fell into conversation with the owner and we spent another couple of hours trying wines with him and with two other local men. The older man spoke in a gravelly whisper sounding very much like the Godfather, though clearly a remarkably gentle person. After Steffen sprayed Mike in the face with a soda water siphon we had a good conversation about the Marx Brothers and Charlie Chaplin.





Back in Salta we divided our time between churches and plazas, and jumping through bureaucratic hoops for Presidente Morales of Bolivia. Today we may have a couple of visas to show for it. The weirdest part was depositing the visa fees in person in US dollars CASH ONLY, directly into the bank account of the Bolivian Consulate. After the bureaucratic and logistical tedium it raised our spirits greatly to chat with Señora Sofia, a lovely Bolivian woman at the consulate who told us wonderful things about the people and land. We can't wait for this next leg of the journey.