How do you end a blog that has taken you two years to write? I think it is a bit of a challenge. There is quite a lot of expectation on myself to conclude it in a way that does justice to all the content and wraps it all up nicely. My last days were spent in Peru’s capital, Lima. The city wasn’t all that special, so I’m going to dedicate this final post to doing some reflecting instead.
I am not one to leave my projects unfinished, and that’s why I have ultimately persisted in finishing my first and only travel blog to date. Part of the reason is that I put a lot of effort into my photography and wanted to see it all online. Another reason is that I wanted to feel free to start blogging about new adventures and interests, and I knew that if I didn’t finish this story, I would feel uneasy about moving on.
I started writing my blog in a ‘live’ sense – that is, I would go somewhere, take some photos, and upload them along with some writing about my experiences within a few days. As time went on, I found that my entries began to slip behind. For example, my entry about Salta, Argentina was uploaded four weeks late, i.e. around the time I was in Arequipa, Peru.
When you are writing in retrospect – and even more so once you are back home – it becomes much harder to motivate yourself. I think there is a valuable lesson in this for me. While you are on your travels, your blog serves as a way of letting your friends and family (in my case, mostly my anxious mother) know what you are currently up to. Once you return, though, this incentive vanishes.
As a self-confessed perfectionist I take a long time to select and colour-correct my photography, and to put all my experiences down in writing. Even more so, having had to use my smartphone to do it all. It is mainly because of this that my blog fell so much behind the pace of my travels.
Despite these challenges, I have now completed my blog, and feel very pleased to have a permanent record of a wonderful and special trip abroad.
Going forward, my aim is to develop a shorthand style, so that I can upload my pictures and stories more or less as they are happening the whole time. South America has summoned me back for further adventures, and as such I am visiting Colombia later this month. Further blogging may ensue.
Looking out to the Pacific Ocean from Antonio Raimondi park, Lima, on one of my last evenings in South America.
Arequipa was my penultimate destination before the trip would conclude. From Cusco the night bus took a very reasonable 10 hours. I arrived early in the morning, dropping my backpack at the hostel and then heading to the central square in search of a hearty breakfast. Right from the start I felt comfortable in Arequipa; the people were friendly and easy-going; a nice change from introverted (and even at times stand-offish) Bolivia.
During my stay I made a good friend, David, from Chicago: a genuine, kind-hearted and self-assured guy. He had come out to Peru to join a friend of his who had already been travelling for many months, however was now reaching a point where he felt he was cramping his friend’s style and wanted to go a bit more solo.
Arequipay Hostel, my lodgings in Arequipa. A detached villa with friendly staff and a homely atmosphereMy breakfast bar had an unusual façade – a bit like a theatre.
A suitable spot for breakfast was promptly located; a grilled sandwich and freshly squeezed fruit juice was thereafter consumed. Now sightseeing could begin. The cathedral in the main square (Plaza de Armas) was softly imposing, framed by a moody sky and reflective marble forecourt, and felt somehow cinematic. It is notable – as with many buildings in the region – for its construction in ashlar.
The Cathedral. To me this scene is reminiscent of some of the backdrops in Game of Thrones.Another view of the cathedral, with the main square to the left.Under the vaulted arches at the edge of the central squareStanding back, and taking it all into contextClose-up of the ashlar stoneworkThe central market, which we visited during a guided tour of the city.Our tour guide talks about the desiccated llama foetus hanging up for sale behind her. Apparently, these are buried in the foundations of new buildings to bring good luck.
Colca Canyon Trek
Colca Canyon is a stone’s throw from Arequipa, and the city centre is packed with small travel agencies offering walking tours here. I booked myself on one; I enjoy a good hike, after all.
The hike started early in the morning in dense fog.The atmosphere was eerie, but beautiful in a certain way.By mid-morning things had started to clear, and we began to get a sense of the huge scale of the canyon.David posing in the undergrowth.
We made our way from high ground down to the flatlands at the bottom, where we took a nice break for lunch and conversation. It unfortunately rained for most of the remainder of the day; my DSLR got wet and wouldn’t turn on anymore, which is why there are no pictures from day two. Luckily, I later on found out that only the rechargeable battery was damaged, and I had a spare. I will put a waterproof camera bag on my bucket list in future. Anyway, I digress: we stayed overnight in simple lodgings and hiked back up to the top of the canyon the next morning.
Cookery Class
Across the road from my hostel was a hotel, La Casa de Avila, that advertised cookery classes in the traditional Peruvian style. The setting was a semi-outdoor kitchen in their large and verdant courtyard garden; thinking this would be fun I signed up. I convinced David to come along too. We turned up on the day along with a group of French travellers who presumed to know more about cookery than the teacher, and proceeded to do things their own way. More butter, etc.
David preparing a mixed saladMaking the finishing touches.Me and my Rocoto Relleno.
Once the food was ready we were invited to eat our creations. I am not exaggerating when I say that my pepper was so ridiculously spicy as to be utterly inedible. The other ones at the table were more mild, so it was probably just bad luck. I know from living in Spain that peppers can be a bit unpredictable; there is even a saying in Spanish:
Pimientos de Padrón: Unos pican y otros no
The French guys thought I was being a wuss, until I invited them to have a taste — they promptly concurred with me.
Here is a selection of favourite photos from my visit to Machu Picchu. The ruin is accessed exclusively from the town of Aguas Calientes, where I stayed the night before in a very hospitable family-run hotel. Aguas Calientes is accessible only by rail from Ollantaytambo, where a connecting bus from Cusco leaves you. That’s right, there is no access by road, so unless you want to walk the railway companies have a virtual monopoly. You pay through the nose for a ticket. Well, whatever, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime trip.
Aguas Calientes
Machu Picchu
Travelling alone and focused on my exciting visit, I arrived on the first bus up the mountain at 5.30am, in order to beat the crowds. You only really get about 30 minutes of peaceful serenity before the site becomes infested with brightly dressed, selfie-stick touting tourist groups, and it is well worth getting there early.
Wayna Picchu
The next pictures are from a semi-solitary hike up Wayna Picchu, which is the large green mountain you see in the background of the famous, general view of Machu Picchu. The hike was optional and afforded some breathtaking views. It was also unbelievably challenging and after an hour and a half I felt like the hike would never end!
Cuzco was a major stopping-off point from which I would access various sites of significant historical interest. It is the gateway to the globally renowned site of Machu Picchu, and such is the touristic draw of the area, I squirm to think how many other backpackers have uploaded exactly the same photos to their blogs.
I generally like to feel like I am making some effort to be original regarding the narrative of my adventure, after all if you were a writer why would you tell a story that has been told a thousand times before, unless you had a new take on it? I also get the sense that in heavily touristed areas the treatment you receive from the locals is different; colder, less personal. Or there is some kind of ulterior motive, to get something out of you.
The more you travel, the more you start to understand which kind of destinations are meaningful to you. You tailor subsequent trips accordingly, like the American guy – Greg – I met in the Ibera wetlands. So I am happy to have visited Cuzco as a way of putting my other experiences into context, even if it wasn’t that meaningful in its own right.
Cuzco’s main square (Plaza de Armas), where tourists get harassed by local salesmen. The large ecclesiastical-style building currently houses a natural history museum.Walking up to the Santa Clara arch.A pretty little courtyard in the centre of a building called ‘La Casa del Abuelo’, in the city centre.I took a series of photos of traditional entrance doors and these were some of my favourites.Me posing with two baby alpacas. So adorable!Visiting the military ruin of Saqsaywaman. A fellow backpacker advised me to think of ‘sexy woman’ to help remember the name!
This meticulously crafted 12-sided stone is part of a stone wall of an Inca palace in the city centre
Another wall, not actually part of the palace itself, but an interesting point of comparison.
Here is an example of another wall of the same palace that was rebuilt in colonial times. A local man told me that these walls were built by the ‘incapaces’, as opposed to the Incas; a nice little play on words there
A lovely cusqueñian pastoral scene, complete with llama. It probably doesn’t get much more South American than this. I am really pleased with the way this photo came out.
I’d heard and read many good things about Isla del Sol, and at the very last minute I made an improvised visit for a couple of nights. I love improvising; some of my most special experiences have been those which have been on a whim and completely unplanned. I do it when it’s possible!
Leaving La Paz, I took a bus to Copacabana at the edge of Lake Titicaca (the highest navigable mass of water in the world), followed by a ferry across to the island. This would be my last stopping off point before I crossed from Bolivia into Peru, and it turned out to be very much a highlight of my three months abroad.
The following description of the island is from Wikipedia, just to save me paraphrasing:
Geographically, the terrain is harsh; it is a rocky, hilly island with many eucalyptus trees. There are no motor vehicles or paved roads on the island. The main economic activity of the approximately 800 families on the island is farming, with fishing and tourism augmenting the subsistence economy. Of the several villages, Yumani and Ch’allapampa are the largest.
There are over 80 ruins on the island. Most of these date to the Inca period circa the 15th century AD. Archaeologists have discovered evidence that people lived on the island as far back as the third millennium BC. . . . In the religion of the Incas, it was believed that the sun god was born here.
That last sentence is important as you certainly do feel the presence of the sun all day long. I alighted the ferry in the early afternoon and started my trek up from the beach in search of a hotel room. As the island is remote, and my decision to visit was last-minute, I didn’t have anywhere reserved like I normally do. That steep climb up the hill towards the village of Yumani was particularly punishing – it was hot and, in addition to having a fully loaded backpack, I was still weaker than usual due to the high altitude.
I was in a picky mood that day and fussy about what kind of lodgings I would accept. I wanted something just right – a friendly owner, a pretty view, and something cosy. First, I went looking for one of the recommended places in the Lonely Planet guidebook, but it took ages to find, and when I finally did I was informed that the whole place had been booked by a private party. So I continued to plod from terrace to terrace, up and down, looking for somewhere else ‘nice’. I found a couple more places that I approved of, but in each case there was nobody around. I can really be my worst enemy sometimes; there were plenty of reasonable options on the hillside and a bit of flexibility here would have been better for me given my exhaustion!
I eventually secured a dusty bedroom where I took a long and restorative nap. The place was a simple two-storey hotel set around a courtyard garden with a central outdoor staircase up to the first floor. Speaking with the native Aymaran owner was my first extensive contact with a person of indigenous heritage and I found her to be confusingly indirect in her manner. For example, when I initially asked if I could have one of the upstairs rooms, she told me that they were all taken and presented me with one next to her own quarters. Although this sounded reasonable at the time, I later on realised I was the only guest in the entire place. There was also a bit of fiddly negotiation about when I could use the shower. Fresh water is brought to the island by boat and then carried up the hillside by llamas or donkeys, so the inhabitants are right to be careful about water usage, of course.
Yumani villageThis early morning view over the lake is a favourite shot. A work colleague recently told me that he thought it looked like a stock photo, which I definitely took as a compliment.Panning down, we see probably the most idyllic breakfast I can ever remember having.Would anyone like to tell me what kind of bird this is? I rather liked the sight of it perched on top of this twisted tree.
After breakfast I set off for a long walk to the far end of the island and back to see the aforementioned Inca ruins. The restaurant owner where I took breakfast made me some lunch in a take-away container which was a bit saucy and unfortunately partly leaked out into my day pack while I was walking. Still, it was a worthy sacrifice for being able to fill up enroute – I didn’t take my chances as to there being many restaurants along the way.
The following images of my hike are in chronological order:
Agricultural terraces near Yumani villageApproaching the far end of the island
Backpackers wear the same clothes over and over (you can’t carry very much), so this was my standard hiking outfit. You quickly realise which bits of gear are the most comfortable or practical and they become indispensable. I guess they get pretty sweat-soaked; a girl I was seeing at the time jokingly said I should burn them all after I came back!
The following morning I got up to watch the sunrise from my hotel’s upstairs terrace, which was just spectacular. I felt I was witnessing something important given the sun’s spiritual significance on the island, and as a self-confessed night owl I was pleased with myself for being able to get up so early.
Standing in my hotel’s pretty courtyard garden just before sunrise.
After breakfast — in the same restaurant because I am a man of habit — I went for an energetic hike to the tip of the near end of the island. I didn’t have long before I needed to catch the ferry back to the mainland, so I made the most of my time.
I passed some crosses made out of interwoven branches supported by piles of small rocks. I imagine they were some kind of grave or shrine.
PD: As I write, this trip was well over a year ago now. I remain determined to finish documenting the story of my travels and with three weeks in Peru to go we are nearly there. It will be a great record for the future and selecting which photos to publish is good fun. Plus, it’s just nice to finish what you start, isn’t it?
From Sucre, I took the night bus to La Paz. I stayed here for nearly a week as my altitude sickness was fairly strong and I needed some time to recuperate. I stayed at an upmarket hostel not too far from the city centre, run by an enthusiastic local man who took a lot of pride in his recently opened lodgings, particularly the artisanal breakfast (it was good, but it wasn’t all that). Once again, I share some photo favourites.
La Paz as viewed from the neighbouring city of El Alto above during late evening. The low sunlight across the mountains was stunning. A budding network of modern cable cars makes it easy to get to high ground.Empanadas constitute a typical paceño lunch. On the advice of the friendly hostel owner, I visited a local joint that makes them in the authentic manner. The stew contained within was very runny and to avoid making a mess I observed how other locals ate them before starting mine. The method is to hold the empanada vertically, take a bite off the end, then scoop out the insides with the spoon. Certainly this was unique compared to the way I’ve seen empanadas eaten in other South American countries.Somehow this photo made the cut onto my blog! What a silly (but also adorable) dog. It was poking its head out from under the gate of its owner’s house. Just playing about, I think.The main bus terminal, housed behind a very grand façade.Inside the bus terminalBasílica de San Francisco
My next stop was to Lake Titicaca, which I’ll follow up with in the next post.
Here are a few selected photos (I didn’t take many) of my stay in Sucre, following on from Potosí.
Arriving into town. Nearly every car in Bolivia seems to be a used Japanese import, such as this taxi that has been crudely converted from right-hand drive. I had to do a double take when I got in as it just looked so bizarre!The lion in the city centre’s Plaza 25 de MayoChildren playing in Plaza 25 de MayoEating ice cream at a local heladeríaThe local buses in the smaller cities, like Potosí and Sucre, are Far Eastern imports. Many of them still have oriental writing on them, such as this one: ‘Sunfish Sports Club – Furukawa’.
The second stopping point I made in Bolivia was in Potosí, four hours’ drive along winding mountain roads from Uyuni. Founded in 1545, it is a small, relatively provincial city located an impressive 4070 metres above sea level.
Potosí has a beautiful central square surrounded by splendid colonial era buildings – including a cathedral and The National Mint (now a museum) – though away from the centre the ambience is less impressive. The edges of the city, apparently expanding rapidly, mostly appear to comprise reinforced concrete and red-brick utilitarian dwellings. In addition, the air is rather contaminated, due to a proliferation of aging city buses that belch out unsavoury clouds of black smoke. Although you wouldn’t think it now, the settlement was once the most prosperous in the whole of Latin America. The reason: Cerro Rico.
The main square: Plaza 10 de Noviembre
Translated as ‘rich hill’, this mountain once contained seemingly inexhaustible reserves of silver. When the Spanish discovered this, they founded the city and set about pressing thousands of indigenous workers, as well as many more African slaves, into service. They mined the silver relentlessly in some of the most appalling conditions imaginable and invariably lived short lives. The metal, which was sent back to Spain, was a considerable source of wealth for the empire for over 250 years by which time the reserves were virtually depleted.
Cerro Rico seen from the cathedral’s bell tower
Nowadays, mining continues to be a big business in Potosí. The mines are run as co-operatives, which means that the miners work for themselves and take home whatever they are able to extract. Each team of workers define their own area of the mine which is off-limits to everyone else. As there is no longer very much silver left, most of what is harvested from within the mountain is tin, lead or zinc.
As I learned more about Potosí in the days leading up to my arrival, I became increasingly keen to take part in an organised mine tour. Claustrophobia was never a concern for me, but I did fantasise about the mine collapsing while I was in it, something that happened in Chile some years ago leaving 33 men (affectionately known in Spanish as Los 33) trapped underground. Eventually, I decided that the chances of anything untoward happening were extremely remote, the oldest parts of the mine having been there for centuries and my foray inside being for only an hour or two. I was determined to explore.
So on the morning of my first full day in Potosí, I set off for the tour company office with a new Australian friend called Aaron. He was very hesitant to go into the mines, but between me and one of the tour guides that we spoke with the night before, we managed to convince him that it would be a worthwhile experience. From the office, a rattly old minibus took us and the other tourists to our first stop: the miner’s market.
Here, workers typically visit in the morning to purchase tools (dynamite, gloves, pickaxes, etc.) and food and drink. We were advised by one of the guides that we could buy gifts here to give to the miners once inside. His actual wording was, ‘it’s not obligatory but it is a bit necessary’; I found this contradiction rather amusing. I bought a bag of coca leaves (which all miners seem to be addicted to chewing on) and a pair of protective gloves.
At the next stop we were kitted out in full protective gear. This comprised overalls, Wellington boots and a hard hat with integrated headlamp. Curiously, the battery for the light was attached to a belt that we wore round our waists – perhaps it was too large, heavy or fragile to fit onto the helmet itself.
Aaron and I in our protective gear
After a short visit to a smelter to see how the ore is processed (and where I nearly stepped on a fragile plastic pipe carrying noxious metallic liquids – oops), we were driven up the mountain where we arrived at the entrance of the mine itself. This was the big moment.
One of the large machines in the smelter‘Consumption of alcohol is forbidden during working hours’
The six of us followed our Bolivian guide inside the opening. The twisting passageway was narrow and very low, but fortunately it opened up into a roomier cavern just as soon as daylight had completely disappeared. Here we encountered our first miner, who was hurriedly carting a wheelbarrow full of rocks out to the entrance. We were asked to move out of the way as he scuttled past.
Entering the mine for the first timeA miner carrying rocks out of the mine
The subsequent passageway was relatively large and propped up by wooden supports. Still, we had to be careful to avoid random holes and shafts that we could fall into (insert obligatory anglophile joke about lack of health and safety precautions). As we walked, I noticed we were tracing the route of a network of large pipes that gave off a high-pitched whining noise. It turned out that these were air pipes, which delivered pressure to pneumatic drills further inside the mountain.
Meeting a couple more miners – who communicate with each other in Quechua rather than Spanish – we were informed that there would shortly be a series of nearby dynamite detonations. This definitely got us on our toes!
We were lead into a quiet cavernous corner of the mine which was relatively safe from the dangers of falling rocks. Next to us as we sat down was an ominous looking ceramic figurine with horns, marbles for eyes and a large penis(!), lavished with multiple offerings of coca leaves and confetti. Empty beer cans littered the floor around him, and cigarettes had been placed in his mouth and lit. As the mines are hot and rather hellish underground environments, many miners conclude that they must be close to the devil, and that the metals they mine belong to him. Offerings are left at his shrine, therefore, in order to appease him so that they might avoid accidents – and, of course, strike it lucky in their hunt for precious metals. He is referred to as Tío (‘Uncle’) or Supay – but never as Diablo.
El Tio’s shrine is littered with offerings
Our guide explained the customs and beliefs of the miners, after which he proceeded to pass round a small bottle of 97% rubbing alcohol. Following his suggestion, we each poured a few drops on the ground, as an offering to Pachamama (Mother Earth), before taking a small swig. As you can imagine, it is extremely nasty stuff to be imbibing, but nevertheless one must respect a miners’ tradition. Finally, we were told that we could ask Tío for a wish. Many of the miners ask for more girlfriends; a lot of them already have half a dozen, or so they claim!
There came some shouting, in Quechua, from another part of the mine. It was to warn us that the detonations were about to begin. The seven of us remained quiet, and waited with nervous excitement.
BOOM!
The explosion shook the mine with a deep and vigorous thud that permeated every atom around us.
BOOM!
I likened it to being in the vicinity of a warzone, something I’ve fortunately never experienced.
BOOM!
(Etc.)
And so the detonations continued for a minute or so more. It was a visceral and humbling experience that I suppose brought our little group closer together, in a primal sort of way. At last, another shout from a distant part of the mine indicated that the detonations were over, and we could now relax.
We left Tío’s shrine and continued exploring the mine further, passing through narrow passageways and climbing rickety ladders; the smell of dynamite wafted through the air. We came across more miners, one of whom was completely covered in white dust; he had been using a pneumatic drill. I was glad to see that he was wearing a respiratory mask, but I think he was the only one.
Navigating the mine’s passageways was at times awkwardA miner hard at work
The miners didn’t seem to express too much gratitude upon receiving their gifts, or for that matter really very much of anything at all. Our guide later explained that they become reserved around us Gringo tourists, and spending a large proportion of their lives underground, are often in awe of how different we look from local people. We must take into account, too, that Bolivians are generally very introverted from a cultural perspective. However, the miners are apparently rather gregarious between one another when tourists aren’t around, giving each other rude nicknames. Our guide, also a miner, reluctantly told us that he had been christened the Quechuan equivalent of ‘donkey fucker’.
These sort of jokes assist with keeping up morale. A miners’ life often begins in early adolescence and is one of hellish and relentless toil; conditions have hardly changed since colonial times. Miners typically work for 10-15 years before becoming afflicted with silicosis pneumonia, a result of continuous exposure to asbestos and other noxious gases, eventually leading to death. Staying in good spirits is therefore of the utmost importance, and we were advised several times beforehand that we should enter the mines with a positive disposition.
A second series of detonations, some more shimmying around narrow passageways, and a pause at another shrine followed. After this time, we were lead back outside for a little debrief and the chance to ask any final questions.
A group photo on the top of Cerro Rico
Entering the mines in Potosí was a unique, once-in-a-lifetime experience that offered a glimpse into a totally different way of life from what I am familiar with. My lengthy write-up is surely testament to the richness of the tour. Even Aaron admitted that his earlier fears were mostly in his head, and that he too had enjoyed the experience.
I confess that it’s been a while since my last blog entry here. Actually, nearly two months have passed since I concluded my travels in South America and returned to England. I’ve so far documented the highlights of my seven weeks in Argentina from start to finish, but haven’t yet broached the latter six weeks spent in Bolivia and Peru. Rest assured I’m determined to finish my story, as a) I don’t like leaving projects half-way and b) I still have plenty of impressive photos and stories to share.
I ventured north from Salta to a small and dusty border town called La Quiaca, where I spent a single night before crossing on foot into Bolivia. From the other side of the frontier I would make my way up to Uyuni, a small city and gateway to the country’s fabled salt flats. I was pleasantly surprised to find out I would be going there by train: there is a narrow-gauge railway network that connects what I presume are the key mining towns of Bolivia together. Originally built to carry mineral exports to the Pacific coast via Chile, there are currently a handful of passenger trains each week.
A brief word about altitude sickness. Since Salta, I’d ascended from a modest 1,150 metres above sea level to 3,700m in Uyuni, and I would be ascending to a staggering 5,000m+ for a brief period during the salt flats expedition. The NHS website states:
Altitude sickness is a common condition that can occur when you climb to a high altitude too quickly. The decrease in atmospheric pressure makes breathing difficult because you aren’t able to take in as much oxygen. Most cases are mild, with symptoms that can include: headache; nausea; dizziness; exhaustion.
Proper acclimatisation to altitudes of about 2,500m (just over 8,200 feet) or more is the best way to prevent altitude sickness. It usually takes a few days for the body to get used to a change in altitude.
I was lucky enough not to experience any headaches, nausea or dizziness whatsoever. However, I did suffer from fairly extreme exhaustion for quite a few days as well as breathlessness when exerting myself physically.
After resting for a few days, I embarked on the Salar de Uyuni three-day expedition, in which you get taken to see the famous salt flats, and then up into the surrounding mountains. It is a breathtaking tour and is more or less the sole tourist draw to the city. Below are a selection of photos from the trip, which the iPad version of the WordPress website has arranged into a very nice mosaic-style grid.
The train from Villazón (town at the Bolivian border) to Uyuni
Just outside Uyuni is a steam locomotive graveyard, where many British-built engines rest, slowly rusting away. I spent a bit of time walking around and exploring the site
Just outside Uyuni is a steam locomotive graveyard, where many British-built engines rest, slowly rusting away. I spent a bit of time walking around and exploring the site
A salt miner’s workshop in Colchani was the first stop on the three-day expedition
Sculptures made from salt blocks in Colchani
It was very bright out on the salt flats; sunglasses were a necessity
The pattern of polygons is caused by erosion
Our guide picked out some crystals from this ‘salt eye’
Salt brick manufacturing
A small cone-like structure demonstrates how buildings can be constructed using salt
This monument is next to the salt hotel, which we also visited
A llama toilet; they all go to the same spot to do their business
The rock tree, a formation of cooled lava
The Siloli desert, which at 4550m above sea level it is the highest and driest in the world
The Salvador Dali desert
A view of the night sky on our last night
Hot springs up on the Sol de Mañana volcano, 5000m above sea level
Moving on from urban Corrientes in northeastern Argentina, I arrived in Salta where I would spend several days. It is an attractive colonial city with plenty of old buildings, good food and a lively atmosphere. As part of the former Inca empire, the area has a distinctly more indigenous feel from other parts of Argentina that I visited.
At the hostel I made friends with two Brazilian ladies, Anelise and Ana, and we decided to rent a car together for a couple of days to see Cachi and Cafayate. These are a pair of pretty rural towns to the south that can be easily visited from Salta, and thanks to the interesting routes one takes to get to these settlements, make for a worthwhile excursion. I was excited to be driving for the first time in South America, though as the girls didn’t feel confident taking the wheel on Argentinian roads, the onus was on me for the entire 500km!
On the road. We drove along national routes 30 (to Cachi), 40 (to Cafayate) and 68 (back to Salta)Some rather nice dahlias seen at a rest stop on the wayEntering Los Cardones national park, we begin to note the cacti adorning the hillsidesWe look back along the winding road after a steep ascent into the mountains
The Los CardonesNationalPark that we drove through on the way to Cachi was the most impressive part of the journey for me. The mountainous desert landscapes were littered with such large numbers of Cardon GrandeCacti I couldn’t believe it. I think I’d only really appreciated similar plants in conservatories and glasshouses in Europe beforehand, so it was impressive to see them proliferating in their natural environment.
Cardon Grande cacti – also known as the Argentine Saguaro – were everywhere
I got told off by a rather surly tour guide at one of the viewpoints for stepping outside the designated walking area – apparently this can interfere with the reproduction of the cacti, due to the way they scatter their seeds on the ground. To be fair on me, there were no signs or other warnings posted to this effect.
Just the three of us (four if you count the cactus)
We were running well behind schedule by the time we arrived in Cachi, so we had a late lunch at 5pm at the first restaurant we found, followed by a stroll to the main square for a quick coffee/ice cream and back to the car for the journey on to Cafayate. The road from here onwards was unpaved and very twisty and bumpy, so care and concentration was needed, especially after nightfall. Local radio and music stored on our smartphones played through the car’s hi-fi kept us motivated, and after what seemed like an eternity we finally hit smooth asphalt road on the approach to Cafayate. We parked the car just as it started to pour with rain, and we hastily searched for two of the most important things in the world after a long journey: lodgings and a place to eat supper.
If the town of Cafayate had something to offer culturally or otherwise, I’m afraid to say we didn’t have a chance to find out what it was. Anelise had a 4pm bus to catch leaving from Salta, so we had to hit the road right after breakfast. This may sound hasty for a return journey of only 200km on a properly paved road, but the reality was that we were going to be driving through Quebrada de las Conchas. Here, we would encounter a myriad of impressive natural rock formations that would urge us to stop and explore.
The sign says: Hydraulic action has eroded the red sandstone layers of this canyon, inviting you to see the interior with its endless number of magical geological formations. Ideal for short hikes.Me amongst the cacti in Quebrada de la ConchasI thought these stuffed cacti at a roadside gift shop were very cute, and am planning to have a go at making some of my own when I get back to London. Note the price tags: $65 refers to Argentine pesos (around £3.50); I didn’t previously know that the $ sign was used to denote other currencies than US dollars.La Ventana (the window) seen in Quebrada de las ConchasEl Anfiteatro (the amphitheatre) in Quebrada de las Conchas, our final viewpoint
The last part of our drive was somewhat rushed and after all that non-stop driving I did get a bit stressed, especially as we re-entered Salta with its congested roads and carefree Argentine drivers. But we made it on time, and once Ana and I had dropped Anelise off at the bus station, and subsequently left the car at the rental agency, I set about having a decent siesta at the hostel! A little more breathing space in terms of time would have been great, but having said that we packed a lot in and saw some wonderful areas of natural beauty, so really we couldn’t have asked for much more.
Same Planet, New World 