24 - Run Llama Run (Cafayate, Cachi)

Tafí del Valle to Cafayate, ARGENTINA - 14 february 2003

I left Tafí del Valle and kissed cool, alpine weather goodbye. The route to Cafayate was as I had previously described going to Amaicha del Valle and from there, the surrounding areas turned semi-arid, brown, dry and dusty. The whole place continued to be spotted with candalabra cacti, called cardones, posing in various amusing contortions, heeding Madonna’s advice of ‘don’t-just-stand-there, let’s-get-to-it, strike-a-pose-there’s-nothing-to-it, vogue’.

Cafayate is one dusty, hot little town, set amongst mountains. Similar to Mendoza, Cafayate is also famous of its wine production and is surrounded by fields of vineyards as well.

I hid from the sun until late afternoon before venturing to walk along Route 40 to try and get out of town to better view the mountains. Route 40 is the famous highway that, at about 3500km long, nearly crossed the entire length of Argentina.

From the map I was issued at the tourist office, there was an El Molino, 3km off the highway, which from the legend, appeared to be an archaeological site or something and I decided to walk there just for the sake of walking.

The sun was in my face when I veered left off the highway. I passed by numerous vineyards and later, bare, dry grounds spotted with your garden variety of prickly, desert flora. Although not as high as Tafí del Valle, at 1660m, the sun in Cafayate still boasted harsh rays.

Behind me, I could see gorgeously red mountain ranges with strips of beige and orange. As the afternoon sun was shining right at them, the view was perfect. I frequently walked backwards just to admire the view. That was Quebrada de Los Conchas along Route 68.

An hour later, not unexpected, I could not find any archaeological site whatsoever and after a nonchalant shrug, I returned to Cafayate.

Well, at least, the walk had touched up on my fading Brazilian tan.



Cafayate, ARGENTINA - 15 february 2003

By 10am, the heat was already intolerable. I bought some pastries and found a shady spot in the plaza to sit and eat. I was onto my second pastry when I heard a crack and a crash. Not more than five metres from me, a whole HUGE branch of a big tree, previously some six metres above ground, had broken off and crashed onto the plaza, taking along branches from neighbouring trees. It was an utter mess.

Upon inspection later, nosy as I am, I realised the branch was of the type with thousands of spikes and thorns! Oh no!! IMAGINE if I had chosen to sit under THAT tree! No one would be updating this article anymore.

Then, I met THE GUY to marry in Argentina. As soon as he set eyes on me, he could not stop giggling and smiling. I squatted alongside him and started chatting him up. He was playing with two coins and I asked if they were for me. “NNNNNOOOOO”, still giggling, still smiling.

One coin rolled under the car. He asked for my help to retrieve it, still giggling, still smiling. I retrieved it but “NNNNOOOOO” the coin was still not for me.

“Me voy [I go]” he announced, still giggling, still smiling. “¿Para dónde? [To where?]” “Mi casa [My house]” “Voy contigo. [I go with you.]” I suggested. “¡NNNNOOOOOO!!”, mildly horrified but still giggling, still smiling. Playing hard-to-get.

Oh, my heart totally melted. His angelic eyes, his impish grin, his adorable dimples. My ANGEL!!! He is Ezekiel. He is four. Sound the wedding bells.

I made a slow walk to a tiny hill 2km away, Cerro Santa Teresita. At the top was an altar which provided much-needed shelter from the sun. Gracias, Santa Teresita. From there, we were offered a view of Cafayate and the surrounding mountains.

I somehow became the photographer for three families as they each sought me out for their ‘top-of-the-world’ shots.

On my way down, I met Nelson who is a ceramic-potter. He chatted with me and upon learning that I wanted to walk to Rio Colorado, 5km away, tomorrow, he suggested coming along with me. Sure, why not? He said 7am. 7am!!!!! Unless it was to catch a bus, I had not woken up so early in a LONG time. But I guess it was necessary to beat the heat. OK.

I had booked for an excursion to visit Quebrada de Los Conchas in the late afternoon and this was one of the best things I had done in Argentina.

If I had written that the mountain scenery from Mendoza to Chile, passing Puente del Inca was GORGEOUS, then, I am sorry, but this one TAKES THE CAKE, man.

The view along this route was ASTOUNDING, BREATHTAKING, STUPEFYING, MARVELLOUS, IMPRESSIVE, SPECTACULAR, etc… and yes, I am using the Thesaurus to help churn out these adjectives. Otherwise, I would have to resort to SUPERCALIFRAGILISTICEXPIALIDOCIOUS.

The various oddly sculpted mountain formations are of red, ochre, yellow, beige, orange, coral, sienna, brown, grey, hint of lavendar, etc… a sea of wondrous colours. When I am back to the civilised world and doing stupid things like buying lipsticks named Sienna or Terracotta, I will surely remember this incredible route.

For eons, wind and water had eroded and twisted the mountains into structures with names like ‘Los Castillos’ [The Castles, they looked like…], ‘El Sapo’ [The Frog, it looked like…], ‘El Obelisco’ [The Obelisk, make a guess…], etc… But those other poor nameless ones were equally jaw-dropping. My head was turning here and there and everywhere to savour the views.

The ‘Anfiteatro’ [Amphitheatre] is a narrow gorge between two walls before opening up into a ‘stage’ of sorts with very high walls of great acoustics. We were leaving this place, when a lady, thinking that she was alone with her family, started to sing in the middle of the ‘stage’. She sang a familiar little opera tune, starting and ending with ‘M-M-aaaaaa-ah---RRRRIIII-y-YAAA’, probably titled ‘Maria’.

Her rich, moving voice resonated on the ‘stage’. All of us stood in silence, utterly stupefied. I closed my eyes and indeed, I felt myself soar into the sky with her voice. I seriously sensed that I was floating. My eyes brimmed with tears when I re-opened them. This was so special. She had a gift and unwittingly, she had shared it with all of us that afternoon in this amazing place.

After spending some time climbing into and out of ‘La Garganta del Diablo’ [another ‘The Devil’s Throat’], we headed back. A pity the sun had started to set by now, for there were some other sights we had driven by just now without stopping, meaning to stop by later. Still, my guide drove us off-road at one point and told us to walk in the desert.

The moon was almost full (it would be full tomorrow), so it was more or less bright enough to navigate but some small cacti and thorny bushes were not so easy to avoid. We kept getting lanced.

We arrived at ‘Las Ventanas’ [The Windows] and the almost-full moon could be seen beyond the ‘windows’. How wonderful! It was so beautiful to be out here in the desert at night with the moon and the stars above.



Cafayate to Angastaco, ARGENTINA - 16 february 2003

The early morning sun was hidden behind clouds and it was indeed a very nice, cool walk to Rio Colorado.

The river was just a trickle but I was not keen to hike further out to the waterfalls. So, Nelson and I sat under a tree and enjoyed the tranquility and the view. We had arrived at the edge of the mountain range around Cafayate.

I learnt from Nelson that one group of Indians that used to settle here were called Calchaqui, hence the area here was named ‘El Valle Calchaqui’. They were here even before the Incas arrived. There were some traces of their settlement nearby. For example, on some rocks there were holes which the Calchaqui Indians had used to pound maize. They resisted the colonization of the Spanish bravely but many died when they were brought to Buenos Aires to build the city there. I believe the race is now extinct.

Today was Sunday and soon, many families, armed with picnic baskets, came trotting by to find good spots by the river for a picnic. Nice.

I wanted to stop by Cachí, a little town further north but to get there, I had to first go to Angastaco, spend a night there and catch the 5:30am bus the next day to Cachí and this was what I did. In this ‘rural’ part of Argentina, to Angastaco, I encountered the oldest, dustiest, most broken-looking bus I had been on since China.

Though the sun had set, because of the full moon, I could still make out the shapes of more fantastic rock formations. There were many ‘Las Flechas’ [The Arrows] abound. They were sharp and pointing in one direction at an angle, with a vengeance, like arrows. Amazing view through and through.

Unfortunately for me, Angastaco was having a festival that night. Not another folkloric festival, I feared. No, this was worse. After the folkloric bit ended by 10pm or so, the plaza was blasted with loud, throbbing cumbia… continuous, repetitive, ‘happy happy’ cumbia. My WORST nightmare!

As you already know my sentiments on this, I LOATHED cumbia! The repetitive bass POM-pom-POM-pom remained indifferent as the cheesy songs changed from one to another, with a highly-excitable DJ-sort screaming and shouting delirious nonsense in between. I feared this would be another ‘until-daybreak’ party and I was proven right.



Angastaco to Cachí, ARGENTINA - 17 february 2003

I did not sleep at all. By 5am, I grumbly dragged myself to the plaza to check out the party. To my surprise, the plaza was deserted!! Yet, the HORRIBLE cumbia was still blaring away from the plaza’s loudspeakers. If I had a bazooka with me, I would have blasted the loudspeakers away. I could not believe that there was no one in the plaza and yet, the party music was carrying on and on.

The two Buenos Aires girls in my room, also going to Cachí, told me the party was held in a house, not in the plaza. OK, fine. But if it was held in a house, why not just blast the stupid music in that house? Why keep the entire town awake with stupid stupid stupid cumbia?!??! Get me out of Angastaco.

The route to Cachí is along the beautiful Valle Calchaqui but I could not vouch for it for I was catching up on my sleep.

Cachí is an even smaller, even dustier little desert town, at 2280m. Nearby are peaks like Nevado de Cachí which had altitudes of above 6300m. Cachí is very quiet, tranquil and time seems to stand still here. It retained an authentic colonial flavour. I read that people here died of old age because there was nothing else to die of.

Too hot. Too sleepy. I slept a great deal in Cachí, I am afraid, but while not sleeping, I walked around town, to a little peak nearby and a miniscule archaeological site, to amuse myself.

The houses were mainly painted white or beige. Many were made of adobe, or mud. There were little iron lamps outside the houses. Some windows, doors and street signs were made of the light-weight wood from dried-up cacti.

I was also spotting more gauchos in this part of my trip. These are Argentinian cowboys, who wear black, flattish hats and sometimes, colourfully weaved belts. Yeah, they ride horses occasionally too.