Visiting Argentina Part 3

Kyle Serikawa
Aug 8, 2017 · 12 min read

8/16/16

When I wake up, I feel okay. Right outside the hotel I noticed a cafe that serves breakfast and I go there for cafe con leche and medialunas (a local version of the croissant, often glazed with a sweet syrup). It makes for a simple, restful morning, made a little less so when I pay and the waiter tells me I have a counterfeit bill. He kindly shows how I can tell the difference (in this case, the text is slightly larger than it should be) and commiserates with me. It’s a good reminder that, whenever I pay in a large denomination bill and get change, to inspect my bills. Issues can happen even when avoiding the more obvious risks of the Cambio dealers. Fortunately, this is the only time I experience counterfeiting while on this trip.

The hotel calls me a remise (more like a town car than a taxi, and generally safer and more reliable) and I go to Aeropuerto Jorge Newberry to check in for my flight with LATAM, one of the main air carriers of Latin America. As the remise flies through the streets I am amazed no one gets killed. Drivers in Buenos Aires treat lane markings and pedestrian right-of-way in the same way a disgruntled employee treats the polite suggestions of a despised boss. However, watching closely it’s clear that this dance is second nature to everyone on foot and on wheels, and there’s really not much danger. Much. A Seattleite who was transferred here, though, had better learn quickly or would soon get a foot run over or worse. There’s no polite stopping for anyone crossing the street. You’re on your own.

The check-in area is chaotic, and the gates are a surprisingly long walk away. In this airport the gates are placed to the side of the check-in counters, rather than directly behind them. Still I have plenty of time, and get to my flight to Salta.

I chose Salta as one of my two main destinations in Argentina so that I could see a little of the diversity of the country. Salta was for many years an important colonial town and is situated at a high elevation, near the mountains, and close to several regions of natural beauty, as well as one of Argentina’s premier wine producing regions. There’re supposed to be some fascinating archaeological sites and history here, and cultural elements of the native cultures that were here before the Spanish.

When I arrive, after a very bumpy descent due to the drafts rising from the desert floor below, it’s an easy and quick step to get my luggage and find a taxi. During the drive the scenery we pass strongly evokes the American Southwest. Same aridity, same grey-brown-green landscape, faded paint on weathered buildings. The 80F degree heat, which is not unusual even now, in the middle of their winter, adds to that impression. I suspect summers here are brutal. Also, like many of the southwestern US cities I’ve visited, Salta is in a low point among mountains, in this case the Andean plateau. Mountains ring the city, dry and brown.

The hotel for this evening is the Hotel Las Vegas, which looks nothing like Las Vegas as I know it, and is instead a simple, clean building with spare units and wifi which, once my devices navigate a finicky connection process, is among the best I’ve encountered so far. My mission for the afternoon is several-fold: visit the bus terminal to ask about left luggage and get some bus tickets; go to the Museo de Arqueologia de Alta Montaña de Salta to see their collection of artifacts, including the mummified remains of one of the children sacrificed in a high altitude grave many centuries ago; and possibly visit some other museums. The first step seems easy enough. The bus terminal is about a mile away and I set out, stopping along the way for a bottle of water. After 20 minutes I take out my phone to check my progress and discover I’ve been walking in the wrong direction all this time. Technology can be a curse as much as a blessing. I’d checked Google Maps for the route before setting out but didn’t note some specific details about which way to turn. Right vs. left? So confusing.

Back at my hotel I decide that rather than spend more time walking, I’ll move to plan B and try using my Spanish and my International calling plan. In the past several days my meager but functional Spanish language skills have been coming back to me. The information person I reach claims not to speak English, but between my halting questions and a few words he does know (Friday? Luggage?) I find there is a left luggage site. This is important as I’m hoping to take minimal things for my overnight trip to Humahuaca tomorrow, and so need a place to leave my bag. Having confirmed all this, I no longer need to walk to the bus station and instead head to the town square.

The Cathedral in Salta

The town square is a lovely green oasis bounded by the Cathedral to the north and several government buildings built in the colonial style around the perimeter. Several cafes, restaurants, shops and bars strewn about complete the square. The center of the square sports an impressive statue of a general, I think, and I hope to figure out who he is at some point. However, task two — the museum visit — is thwarted. Because of San Martín’s Day on Monday, several museums that would normally be closed were open then and consequently have closed today — including the one I was hoping most to visit. This leads to some mental rejiggering of my schedule, since this is the one thing I didn’t want to miss here and I’ve scheduled other activities. I decide to scratch part of my return trip on Thursday, in which I was going to spend several hours in Tilcara, in favor of returning to Salta earlier and having the late afternoon to visit this museum. Which also obviates my need for left luggage, since I won’t be moving around as much. This is a big point in favor of solo travel — the ability to change my agenda on the fly.

Statue in the town square

After making my plans, I while away the afternoon visiting the few open museums, including the interesting Museo del Historio del Norte which contains artifacts from the pre-colonial, colonial, and independence periods of Salta.

Wooden stocks

A highlight is a form of stocks that lock up people by the ankles, rather than by the head and wrists. The things you learn! There are also fascinating relics of the indigenous peoples, and a good overview of the history of Salta. After leaving I poke into a few tourist shops. While souvenirs aren’t a big part of my agenda on this trip, I do want to bring my son back a few things, and possibly things for his cousins as well. I end the evening at the Van Gogh Cafe, where I finally sample a meat dish, pork tenderloin in a mustard sauce with fries. Still haven’t gotten to the beef, but the pork is tasty and I also try an Argentinian dessert, a Vigilante, which is a helping of cheese along with a slab of jellied fruit preserve. It’s good.

8/17/16

The morning is breakfast at the hotel with some good, strong café con leche, a medialuna, and some toast with jam. A small breakfast which works for me. Then, packing up and getting a taxi out after an abortive attempt to buy empanadas from a recommended place which, sadly, does not have any ready this early in the morning. I pick up a tuna sandwich instead, and a bottle of water. I’m not quite sure what to expect on the bus, so want to be prepared. It will turn out my worries are unfounded.

The bus station is organized and straightforward and once I buy my ticket, I wander around before going to the bus. Buses are an important way of getting around Argentina and South America, with several lines, each specializing in specific routes and regions. The company I am traveling with runs a route north and south, crossing from Argentina into Bolivia. When the bus arrives, it’s a double-decker affair with a servicio and very comfy seats. The route goes east for a bit before turning north to Jujuy. The landscape continues to evoke the American Southwest, down to the cactus, arroyos, horses and distant mountains. There’s a cactus variety that looks so much like Saguaro that I’m convinced it is, although later research reveals that it’s a different species. Here and there I see an incongruously colorful tree sporting bright cerise blooms. It’s almost cherry-like — the tree has no leaves, just flowers — but I assume it’s some other species. Perhaps at some point I’ll have the chance to figure out what it is.

At the first town we pull into, while people get on and off, vendors quickly hop aboard offering empanadas and other hand-held treats. So I could certainly have held off on food at least — a good lesson to learn about long distance bus travel in Argentina. It’s also clear these buses serve people needing shorter distance travel as well, as during the trip several people hop on and off for just one or two stops, sometimes simply standing in the aisle while we go. The bus plays a series of dubbed movies, starting with Blended, then Blood and Bone, a movie I never knew existed, and then Twins. Amazingly, and to their credit, they get voice actors that actually sounds like Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny DeVito. Just in speaking Spanish.

A small part of the Quebrada de Humahuaca

Halfway through the trip we start climbing and I start to see the beginnings of the Quebrada de Humahuaca, which was the main point of this part of the trip. On either side of this deep river valley dry, rocky mountains rise up. The colors begin as mostly dun and sand, but as we drive further up the valley and gain altitude, the character changes. We begin seeing amazing, sculpted rock formations and vivid reds, lichen greens, cuts and strata. Water has played a role, but I expect wind has also been important. However, something to remember for my return tomorrow: the best views are to the west. Through random chance, I happen to be on the east side of the bus. People are very charitable of me leaning into the aisle and taking pictures through their windows.

Hostal La Sonada

When we arrive in Humahuaca it’s warm, dry and a little dusty. I’m staying at Hostal La Sonada, and finding it’s a snap. My room is the first I’ve seen so far that seems more individualistic, with beautiful blankets and nice wall hangings, evoking the local culture.

Keys of classic design

Also really cool, funky, old-fashioned keys. It will turn out that this style of key is still alive and well in many parts of Argentina.

I put down my things and make my way to the downtown area where I pass some kind of assembly happening in one of the town squares. There’s an Andean flavor to the crafts for sale at the local shops and temporary kiosks. The plaintive notes of pan pipes sound out of the speakers at one point and, yes, they’re playing Simon and Garfunkel’s “If I could.” So, I realize, the music choices of Andean bands in the US isn’t just pandering to the locals, but is instead a universal thing.

La Monumenta a la Independencia

I spend a some hours wandering through the streets and seeing the kinds of handicrafts they have, as well as visiting their Monumenta a la Independencia, which is up a wide concourse of cobblestone steps from the main town square. I go slowly. We’re at about 10,000 feet above sea level here, and I can feel it. No drinking tonight. The mountains to the east of town are beautiful and the plaza in front of the Monumento is a perfect place to gaze at them. I’ll end up making this climb several times, to see the mountains in different kinds of light. After buying a few things here and there I end up back at my room for a nap. Tonight I hope to stay awake long enough to visit a local restaurant that says it will have music. I suspect that won’t start until 9 or 10 at the earliest, so we’ll see how long I last.

The view from the upper plaza

I do some writing and then go back to town. The sun is setting and a beautiful light is falling onto the hills to the east. A full moon is rising above it all and the reddish black mountains beyond are a stark contrast to the pale yellow sky that fades upwards to a dusty light blue. I climb back to the Monument, huffing and slow, to get the best view. I pass by a group of boys playing fútbol and, just as I go by, one kicks the ball over the edge of the Monument and it goes careening downhill. At the top it’s clear other people have had the same idea of enjoying the view and we sit or stand, watching the moon rise and the town’s lights go on.

It’s getting chilly after a while so I descend and go to Aisito, a small restaurant not far from the town square. The interior is dimly lit but warm and welcoming, with candles on each table. It takes a little while to order but I’ve been learning that dinner in Argentina is not meant to be rushed or quick. Besides, they have wifi. I decide to order their stew with llama meat (which doesn’t taste like chicken) and a salad of tomatoes, cheese, and quinoa. And water. Although I’m sorely tempted by the house wine, going for the equivalent of two dollars a cup.

Suddenly a party of twenty appears, and what had been a sleepy restaurant turns into a nearly full house. More people wander in and the house is full. I’m not sure how many people are here to hear the music, versus just tourists and others just looking for dinner. After I finish I move over to the bar to make space for others. I watch the crowd. The party of twenty, spread over three tables, is boisterous and loud and enjoying their meals. At another table a couple eats while their adorable daughter, looking no more than two-and-a-half and dressed in a pink ensemble, sleeps contentedly in her mother’s arms. I feel a little pang, remembering when I could do the same with my son. He now outweighs and towers over me so those days are long gone. Some couples and groups are clearly tourists like me; others it’s less clear. This is a town of over 10,000 people, and I assume some of them eat out some nights.

I wonder, like I do whenever I travel, what the local economy is based on. It is obvious that tourism has a role here — there are several hostels and guesthouses and also one large hotel. I wonder what other things might be done to make a living? Up and down the valley there were signs here and there of some agriculture. With a river nearby, it seems at least some small farms could function.

After dinner I head back to my hostel, wrap myself in the warm woolen blankets, and go to sleep.

Moonrise over the Quebrada to the east
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