I’ve been numbering my blog
posts for every week I’ve been here. I got up to 12, and then I lost count. The
week I spent in Salta was somewhere between 13 and 14. I think.
Jessica and I had to take our midterm before we
could begin our 22 hour journey in a bus to the North of the country. Salta is
in the Province of Jujuy, very close to Bolivia and not far from Paraguay.
There are also a lot more “indigenous” people there, or at least they were here
before the Europeans settled in. It is a very unique place, partly because of
the people, but mostly because of the landscape. It’s nestled on the edge of
the Andes, with a desert characteristics and dramatic rock formations.
The 22 hours in the bus passed without much
excitement, although the mozo (waiter) brought us food occasionally and we did
play bingo for a free bottle of wine. I had all but one number before someone else
called it. Too bad, the wine would have made the 22 hours a lot more enjoyable.
I sat next to an Argentine who did not speak to me and had no sense of personal
space. They played a mix of movies in Spanish and English, although there were
all from America. (I swear, people here know more movies and American celebrities
than I do. A lot of times they’ll dub over the English with Castallano and put
Spanish subtitles. Talk about confusing.)
When we finally stop, we get off at a gas station in
the middle of nowhere, holding our backpacks and wondering why they would just
leave us here. Turns out we had to switch buses for the last 30 minutes, but
somewhere in translation that was lost. Jessica and I where just about to head
off looking for a place that might have a map before I asked what was going on.
Good thing too, we would not have found a map (or much else) anywhere close.
We find our hostel without much trouble and meet
Diego, one of the workers at the hostel. He explained what there to do and recommended
good places to eat and tours to go on. I was very proud of my Spanish because I
could understand almost everything and was able to ask a few questions too.
That night we spent devising a plan for our week and buying groceries.
The next day we booked a tour to Cachi, a place
about 3 hours away that’s known for its beauty, cactus forest, and colonial style
streets. The tour guide was supposed to pick us up at our hostel at 7:15, but
they got there at 6:45 (yes, a la manana). It’s a miracle we had clothes on and
were able to run out the door. We were the first ones in the bus, so we got
first pick of seats. It was nice since we picked up 10 other people.
I like our tour guide a lot. He was patient with our
lack of Spanish fluency and explained things multiple times if we wanted. Along
the way, we stopped a lot to take pictures and were able to explore some.
Coca leaves (native to Bolivia and Peru) were very
popular because they help with altitude sickness. Cachi is somewhere around 7500
feet (less than Gunnison, but it’s a lot coming from sea level). You could buy
them pretty much anywhere and you just stick a few leaves in your cheek and
keep them there. Coca leaves help suppress hunger, thirst, and pain, and they
also give you energy. Seems pretty cool to me. The taste isn’t too bad, just
like a really strong tea.
Cachi itself wasn’t very exciting, but the drive and
the stops along the way were well worth it. We got there in time for lunch. Jessica
and I had packed lunch (a cheese sandwich, apple, and almonds) so we didn’t eat
at the restaurant the rest of the group did. That gave us more time to explore
the markets, see the church, and visit the archeological museum. And 2 hours
was more than enough time.
The ride back was fine, pretty but long. That night
we discovered how cheap ice cream was in Salta. Less than half of the price it
is in Buenos Aires, and definitely cheaper than the States. So we made spaghetti
for dinner and indulged in mint and chocolate ice cream for dessert. Que
buenisimo.
The next day we took another organized tour because
it was a national holiday and a lot of stuff in town would have been closed.
(Ok this is exciting, I just learned that tense in Spanish. It’s called el
pluscaumperfecto de subjuntivo. Muchos de los negocios en la ciudad hubieran cerrado.
Yay.) Overall I liked the first tour best, but this one had amazing scenery
too. The destination was Cafayate (not to be confused with El Calafate, which
is in Southern Patagonia). But again,
the best part was the view along the way. We drove through los Valles de los
Conchas where there were a lot of amazing red rocks and unique formations. I
thought it was a lot like Garden of the Gods: only bigger, better, and nestled
in the Andes.
We stopped at the Garganta del Diablo (Devil’s
Throat, also not to be confused with the Devil’s Throat at Iguazu Falls). This
was a cave type area that was huge and gorgeous and had amazing acoustics. I
really wanted my chamber choir from high school to sing there. We also passed
the “Titanic,” a rock formation that literally looked like a sinking cruise
ship. Our guide even played Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” as we passed
it.
Cafayate is known for the best white wine in
Argentina. So of course we stopped and visited a vineyard and sampled wine. We
had a little tour of the museum and got to see them making wine. I liked it
better than I thought I would. My taste for wine hasn’t fully developed, but I
could tell this was the good stuff. I was surprised at how liberally the vendors
refilled sample glasses. It was only 11 in the morning. But I guess a tipsy
purchase is a better purchase.
The town was about the same as Cachi, but with a few
more people and more stores. Jessica bought some “love tea” for her boyfriend,
but we found out later from Diego, the guy from the hostel, that Muna Muna tea
is actually Incan Viagra. You can imagine our laughter.
The next day Jessica wanted to go bungee jumping (I
would have gone too if I thought that I wouldn’t pass out, but the doctor
warned me I might). So I went for moral support and was the official photographer.
We could have paid 20 bucks more for them to pick us up and take us to the
place, or we could take the bus for about $2 and find it ourselves. So we took
the adventure and went on our own. But it took forever to find the bus stop. Different
people told us different places and wrong information, so it was difficult.
Once we got on the bus, it was about 2 hours , parts of which were very crowded
and uncomfortable. And it turned out that the last stop didn’t even take us all
the way there. We had to take a cab for the last 6 miles. It was kind of in the
middle of nowhere, but the journey was a little ridiculous.
We met this guy named Carlos, who was very nice and
from Cordoba (in the middle of Argentina). He was also there to bungee jump, so
we formed a bond. We took his pictures and he bought our bus fare. We invited
him to a museum, but when that was closed, he took us for drinks (by drinks I
mean Jessica and I got smoothies and Carlos got a liter of beer). I was a
little uncertain on the safety of meeting a random man in a country where they
warn about mal-intentions, but he seemed harmless and Jessica and I were
together, and we were smart. It was really good practice for our Spanish, and
it was very interesting to hear about his life in another part of Argentina.
Plus, I got a free smoothie and empanadas. We exchanged facebook information,
but I was never able to find him. And I know there are way too many Angie Watts’s
out there for him to find me.
After we excused ourselves from our friend, we went
to the supermarket and bought fixins for dinner. We decided to be adventurous
and try to make chicken and mashed potatoes with mixed veggies. If you’ve never
been to hostels, then you should know that their kitchens are usually
functional, but never very good. So while cooking is expected, it’s kinda like
camping. Don’t ask, don’t tell.
So Jessica and I are the three stooges minus one
trying to find utensils and spices in a foreign and unorganized kitchen. Diego
pops his head in the window right as the washed chicken pops in the hot oil,
and asks if we need help. We say we have it under control, but he stays and
watches. Then, shaking his head, he asks what we’re going to do when we’re
married. Gee thanks. From then on, we stuck to pasta.
The next day we packed a picnic (with delicious
chicken sandwiches, however much Diego disapproved of our process, we were successful
with the product) and headed out to La Quebrada de San Lorenzo. It was 30
minutes away and a nice forest area with a little stream and plenty of wild
life. That’s where we met our butterfly friend. At first he landed a few feet
away, but got closer the longer we stayed. Soon he flew all around us and
landed on us. Having a butterfly on your nose is a very interesting feeling.
Just imagine what it would feel like for a giant bug to pick your nose.
After running into too many spider webs, we head
back to town and try again to go to the museum that was closed. It’s called the
Museum of High Altitude Archeology and is really important because it hosts the
Llullaillaco Children, who were discovered in the late 90’s and are believed to
have lived more than 500 years ago at the height of the Incan Empire.
We saw the boy first. “El Nino” was about 7 when he
died. His feet were crossed and his head pointed to the sun. He was buried
alive, sacrificed and believed to have greeted the Incan ancestors with pride
and royalty. There were a lot of children sacrifices. One ceremony in
particular, the selected 2 children, a boy and a girl, for their beauty and
skills, and they went on a tour of the empire. For some months, they would
parade around, getting gifts bestowed upon them, eating elaborate meals, and
dressed in ornate clothing. At the end, they were taken to the top of a
volcano, given alcohol, and were buried. I don’t know about you, but I think I
figured out where Suzanne Collins got her inspiration for the Hunger Games.
Creepy.
Seeing the boy was an odd experience. It’s weird to
think he lived over 500 years ago but there he was, sitting in front of me,
locked in his air and temperature control chamber, on display for the world to
see. Makes me question what’s the meaning of it all, what life is all about. I
wonder if that’s what the Incans had in mind.
After the museum we went and fed the birds in the
park. I got brave and let them eat out of my hand. Birds and butterflies, quite
the day for nature. While we were wandering around the market, Jessica and I
decided to get hair wraps. It’s like a bracelet, only tied into your hair. The
artisan offered to custom make them for us, so we got to pick out the colors.
We stood there for almost an hour, talking with him and watching him make our
hair wraps. It was a really unique experience, and he was very friendly and
patient with our Spanish.
Our final day we took another tour. This time to
Humahuaca, via los siete colores and Purmamarca. As far as the tours go, this
was my least favorite. It was hard to understand our guide, and the other
people on the tour seemed uninterested. However, the sites were still amazing.
The rocks and mountains and valleys, all gorgeous.
Our bus ride back was the next day. We checked out
of our hotel and got lunch at a pizza place. It was delicious, almost like
pizza back home. We also got ice cream one last time before it doubled in price
before heading to the bus station.
We get there about 20 minutes early and there only
10 or so platforms. There’s no screen that says which bus is at which platform
(like in airports), but they do announce it on an intercom. In Spanish. We knew
the company of our bus, Andesmar, and we knew it was headed for Buenos Aires,
or Retiro, the name of the Station. I asked a worker which platform we should
be at, but he just said they would announce it when it got there. All of the
buses have a sign up front that says their destination. They only Andesmar bus
that was there said Mendoza. Not thinking that this could be our bus, Jessica
and I wait for 20 or so minutes and then get worried. It was after the
departure time on the ticket, and we didn’t know where our bus was.
So Jessica went to ask what happened and we found
out that the bus that said the wrong city was really our bus. In my mind, there
was no way a bus for Mendoza could have been going to Buenos Aires—they’re on
the complete opposite sides of the country. So we talk to the company. They
tell us it said Buenos Aires, and the driver waited for us for 10 minutes
before leaving. We explained that it said Mendoza and they refused it, probably
because they would have gotten in trouble if it did. The company refused to
give us our money back and would not even change the ticket to a different bus.
After a few tears and several “now what?”s, we found
another company that went to BsAs and forked over the $150 for a new ticket. I
was not happy. But I guess I learned to triple check where the bus goes, even
if it says something completely different. It’s funny that the word they use in
Spanish that means “to miss” a bus, is perder, or “to lose.” I lost my bus.
I was much happier with the second company. The
seats were much nicer, bigger, and more comfortable. The food and service was
better, and we didn’t stop very much to pick up other passengers. We met some
guys who lived in Belgrano, one of who worked in Vail for a year at a ski
resort.
Overall, it all worked out. It was a good trip, a
nice get away from BsAs, and I had a lot of fun with Jessica.
