The days stretch on and Brazil still seems so far away. My personal finish line for this trip - the top step of the Corcovado in Rio - has started to enter my thoughts and this notion is predictably accompanied by a lingering sense of sadness that the end is unfortunately yet inevitably approaching. That day however is not today and I realise that there is still much to accomplish before I head back to Bristol and the dreaded "back to life, back to reality" that every traveller/bum fears. Today was instead a special landmark in the trip and as a way to spend my 200th day on the road, the 27th April did not disappoint because it was a day filled with adventure and a healthy dollop of new experiences. Salt lakes, vast badlands populated by cactus armies, the "Hill of Seven Colours", marching soldiers, galloping cowboys, cloud forests and a delicious steaming plate of Locro were all crammed into an exciting 24 hour period. But I´m getting ahead of myself so I´ll start from the beginning.
After a fairly uninspiring stop off in the city of Cordoba, I found myself on a night bus headed for the heart of North-West Argentina. To be precise, I was headed for the city of Salta which after a brief bit of research seemed to be the best place to take a pit-stop before plunging into the country of Bolivia which is where the next chapter of my story takes me in my pilgrimage towards Machu Picchu in Peru. Salta though turned out to be so much more than a mere pit-stop and I think that day 200 is definitely worthy of a space in this blog and hopefully a few minutes of your time. Upon arrival in Salta, I undertook my usual routine of checking out a few hostels before finally settling on the 7 Duendes hostel which rested about a 10 minute walk from the centre of town. Owned by the amiable brotherly duo of Carlos and Domingo, 7 Duendes seemed to attract a good bunch of people and I instantly clicked with everyone there which came as a huge relief after a fairly sparse introduction - friends wise - to South America. One evening, after going out for dinner with a crowd of people from the hostel (look out for the "Best Steak of My Life" post which will be up soon), five of us decided that it would be a good idea to rent a car the following day and make our own little road trip to see what the surrounding areas of Salta had to offer. So at 9am on the morning of the 27th, the gang formed and we piled into our newly rented VW Gol, and no that´s not a spelling error which ended up costing us a mere 60 pesos (9 quid) each for the day. The motley crew consisted of myself, Damien from Brighton, North-American Alex, Brazilian Steph and last but not least the wonderfully eccentric Roberto, the French/Italian flight attendant who was as mad as a hatter.
Cruising in the Gol.
This map covers the North West of Argentina. You can just make out Salta, San Salvador de Jujuy and Tumbaya.
Setting off towards a very ominous-looking gang of black clouds with Damien at the wheel, the chaotic one-way road system caused only minor problems in getting out of the city and we were soon on our way. Once on the highway we headed north with the intention of reaching the multicoloured Quebrada De Humahuaca gorge that stretches for 125 km north of the city of San Salvador de Jujuy; the capital of the Jujuy Province. After about 30mins we decided to pull over to the side of the road as we had seen a vast mystical-looking lake which looked incredible having been covered by a dense shroud of mist that curled over it´s eery waters. Bouncing along a muddy path, through puddles of stagnant water from the recent downpour, we passed through a stone gate and parked down by the water to stretch our legs and our curiosity. Now this next picture I think highlights a very important fact I have recently learnt about photography and the reason that I have included it is for purely comedic purposes. There are times when a photograph can sum up a moment perfectly and a well taken shot allows the viewer to join the moment and appreciate the object or landscape on display as if they were there. This as you will soon see is not one of those photographs because sometimes the only way to appreciate a sight is to keep the camera in your pocket and to instead take a picture with the best camera known to man, the human eye, and keep it locked upstairs in the memory banks. For now the thing to appreciate/mock is the four idiots stood in a perfect line, oblivious to what the others are doing and indeed what they must look like, that is, taking a photograph of what looks like absolutely nothing.
What a great view.....
After taking a few very discardable photographs in a futile attempt to capture what was actually a very beautiful sight, we all hopped back in the car and sped along route 9 which ended up taking us along a very scenic route through a vast cloud forest that marked the borderline between the Salta and Jujuy provinces. The road hugged the sides of the valley and visibility was poor due to the mist which had descended upon the vibrant green forest of trees but after many many turns we finally descended from the canopy of clouds and entered the valley. After a brief pit-stop in a run down town for petrol we sped along a stretch of road and came across a large road block which was preventing any traffic from passing through the small village. Getting out of the front passenger seat of the car, I tried to make out what the cause of the hold up was. In the distance, marching defiantly along the centre of the tarmac was a brass band headed by a massive brute of a man wielding a pump action shotgun. With our curiosity sufficiently piqued we parked the car up on a grassy verge and got out to investigate further as we had also noticed that the road was lined by crowds of local men, women and children waving banners and all dressed up to the nines. Standing to one side we watched as a full military procession proceeded to pass on by which ranged from regular soldiers wielding machine guns and shotguns to deadly looking doberman dogs leashed to their respective uniformed guardians and trucks which hauled along heavy duty mortar cannons and anti-aircraft guns. Completely baffled as to what was going on I noticed a sign which read, "Dia Grande de Jujuy" and after talking to a local police officer we soon found out that the procession we had stumbled upon in this quiet town was actually a celebration of the 27th April 1821, when the men of the Jujuy Province fought against a Spanish loyalist army in the quest for Argentina´s independence. Spotting a food marquee on the grassy banks next to the procession, we all decided to stop off and helped ourselves to some steaming plates of locro (a hearty thick corn stew popular in the Andean region) and a plateful of Empanadas (meat filled pastry snacks).
Locro and Empanadas.
Just as we were tucking into our food, I took a moment to look around and realised that we were the only gringos present and that nature had decided to respect the town´s important day by holding back the clouds which hung like a bubble around the celebrations. The brass band started up again when we had finished our filling lunch and a procession of Gaucho cowboys stormed through; galloping along on their fierce steeds which flicked their hoofs with outstanding discipline. With the food from the parilla grill all finished, the final few cowboys ended the parade and the roadblock was cleared allowing us to get back to our car and continue on with the journey. Here are some photographs of the procession.
The beginning of the procession.
The officers of Jujuy were dressed to impress.
Wielding the shotgun.
Some brutal looking dogs.
And last but not least the Gauchos.
Once past the town, the euphoric crowds of locals dissipated and were replaced by rolling hills; brought into visibility by the retreating clouds which had given up their attack against the sun that had started to shine valiantly in the grey sky above. The landscape started to shift radically as the kilometres flashed by; transforming and evolving into a decidedly desert vista populated by endless crowds of green men that waved at our passing car, slowly directing us to the ghost town of Volcan. Pulling over across the train tracks which spliced the town in two, we all got out and had a wander around the small dilapidated and forgotten town taking a few pictures and I ended up buying an incredibly warm and cheap scarf from the only local textile market which sold all sorts of local-made handicrafts. Here is Volcan:
The deserted town of Volcan.
Life on the train tracks.
A run down but photogenic town.
Spent fifteen minutes strolling along the eery avenues.
Volcan.
With my newly acquired scarf wrapped around my neck, we all bustled back into the car and tore off down the highway taking in the mesmerising and rapidly changing scenery. Columns of rock soared into the sky, standing proudly in front of the jagged cactus-lined cliffs that supported them from behind. The badlands had begun and looking out of the window constantly felt like staring through the looking glass into a scene from "She Wore a Yellow Ribbon" and I half expected to see John Wayne tearing past with his Smith&Wesson smouldering at his side. We barely made it ten minutes before we once again came across a small town by the name of Tumbaya which had an alluring looking cemetery ridge that looked down upon the sand coloured buildings. With time on our side due to Damien´s rapid driving we once again pulled over and started to hike up to the ridge coming across an expansive cemetery where gravestones populated the earth; guarded by the ever present legion of cacti. The ground was strewn with crosses and loose rocks but we soon made it to the top where we were welcomed by a simply incredible view of the multi-coloured valley that lay dormant behind the town. Biggle Vision takes you there....followed by some more photographs of the "Red Dead" valley. A lot more happened in this epic day which will of course be covered in Part 2 which follows shortly.
x
Tumbaya´s cactus graveyard.
The cactus seemed to guard the graves.
Reaching the top of the ridge offered some spectacular views.
Tumbaya
Exploring the Argentinian badlands.
On the way back to the car we were greeted by this furry little fella.
Llama time.
Cruising to the next destination....coming up next.
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