On our way to Cafayate from Salta we travelled through the Quebrada de Cafayate, another valley with spectacular rock formations. The landscape is reminiscent of the Western USA, the colours not as diverse as in the Quebrada de Humahuaca. Here the rock formations are the star of the show. We climbed a formation called Garganta del Diablo (they seem to like this name in Argentina!) essentially a narrow rock-amphitheatre enclosed in a cave. Then we saw that Toad, the Castle and many others. Once again the scenery was spectacular, especially at sunset. The drive took us to Cafayate, a small town famous for its wineries. I will not talk about the wine-tasting we did at Cafayate, as I intend to dedicate a whole blogpost to it.
Cafayate is a small and peaceful town , blessed with a great climate year-round. For this reason, it is rather popular with expatriates and has a fairly interesting foodie scene. Obviously, the wine is the focus of most menus, which pair local producers with interesting dishes such as lama confit and roasted vegetables and quinoa soup. Also, Cafayate must be the only place where one can have wine in ice-cream form! Wine ice-cream was invented by Heladeria Miranda, although every other ice-cream parlour offers it these days. There are two flavours of wine ice-cream to choose from: white Torrontes, Cafayate's most famous grape, and red Cabernet Sauvignon. I asked Mr Miranda why he didn't make ice cream with Malbec, Argentina's most famous wine. He just said he thought Cab Sauv was better. We spent a couple of days tasting wine and cheese in Cafayate, before planning to head south to visit Talampaya National Park.
The drive to Talampaya was over 600 km, about half of which were unpaved. It was supposed to be our adventure stretch on the Ruta 40, which runs alongside the Andes from the Bolivian border to the far south of the country. Unfortunately our car was not designed to withstand these conditions. It coughed and spluttered uphill, whilst we, squashed by luggage inside, prayed it was going to end soon. And it did. My father hit a speed-dip at 80km an hour and the luggage collapsed on mine and Nick's head. We weren't hurt, so we quickly rearranged our load and took off again. After 10 minutes or so we had a very bad surprise. The oil warning light illuminated. We were petrified, after a mixtures of curses and prayers we dismounted the car to find out what we already knew; the oil tank was ruptured, oil was leaking rapidly. In a fit of fury mixed with panic my father took off again, wishing to get as close as to the nearest service station as possible. We quickly checked the map; Belen, 50km away. Would we made it? We were going to try.
We decided to keep going until the engine would seize. Nick and I would either walk or hitchhike the rest and come back with help. Phone reception? Not at all. We were honestly contemplationg the idea of being stranded on the Andes for hours, considering that it was Sunday and the traffic was almost non existent. Luckily, I don't know how but we made it. We reached Belen's service station, when the serviceman extracted the dipstick from the oil it was dry as a bone. He pointed to the Virgin Mary's statue overlooking Belen as to say that she helped us. once at Belen we had to find a mechanic to repair the car. A rather difficult task at lunchtime on a Sunday. Argentina have an abundance of tyre-repair shops, but mechanic workshops are a rarity. Once again our lucky star shone on us, and we knocked the door of the mechanic's house as he was about to walk out to go hunting. He agreed to weld the tank back together for us, and in less than an hour our car was as good as new.
So we kept going towards Talampaya. After a couple of hours we stopped for a drink and we noticed the car was leeking oil again, much slower than before though. Not willing to take any chances, we abandoned the route for Talampaya and headed towards the closest airport at La Rioja. We were able to arrange a flight to Buenos Aires for the following day at 5pm, which left us with a night and a day to spare in La Rioja. What a dreary place! We found a hotel that looked straight out of The Shining and ate gummy ravioli for dinner. The following day was Monday, closing days for museums, hence there was absolutely nothing to do. We sat in a public garden chatting, waiting for the time to pass. We eventually flew out. And we had never been so happy to be back in the city... with his thought, I fell asleep amongst the crisp sheets of our luxury hotel.
The drive to Talampaya was over 600 km, about half of which were unpaved. It was supposed to be our adventure stretch on the Ruta 40, which runs alongside the Andes from the Bolivian border to the far south of the country. Unfortunately our car was not designed to withstand these conditions. It coughed and spluttered uphill, whilst we, squashed by luggage inside, prayed it was going to end soon. And it did. My father hit a speed-dip at 80km an hour and the luggage collapsed on mine and Nick's head. We weren't hurt, so we quickly rearranged our load and took off again. After 10 minutes or so we had a very bad surprise. The oil warning light illuminated. We were petrified, after a mixtures of curses and prayers we dismounted the car to find out what we already knew; the oil tank was ruptured, oil was leaking rapidly. In a fit of fury mixed with panic my father took off again, wishing to get as close as to the nearest service station as possible. We quickly checked the map; Belen, 50km away. Would we made it? We were going to try.
We decided to keep going until the engine would seize. Nick and I would either walk or hitchhike the rest and come back with help. Phone reception? Not at all. We were honestly contemplationg the idea of being stranded on the Andes for hours, considering that it was Sunday and the traffic was almost non existent. Luckily, I don't know how but we made it. We reached Belen's service station, when the serviceman extracted the dipstick from the oil it was dry as a bone. He pointed to the Virgin Mary's statue overlooking Belen as to say that she helped us. once at Belen we had to find a mechanic to repair the car. A rather difficult task at lunchtime on a Sunday. Argentina have an abundance of tyre-repair shops, but mechanic workshops are a rarity. Once again our lucky star shone on us, and we knocked the door of the mechanic's house as he was about to walk out to go hunting. He agreed to weld the tank back together for us, and in less than an hour our car was as good as new.
So we kept going towards Talampaya. After a couple of hours we stopped for a drink and we noticed the car was leeking oil again, much slower than before though. Not willing to take any chances, we abandoned the route for Talampaya and headed towards the closest airport at La Rioja. We were able to arrange a flight to Buenos Aires for the following day at 5pm, which left us with a night and a day to spare in La Rioja. What a dreary place! We found a hotel that looked straight out of The Shining and ate gummy ravioli for dinner. The following day was Monday, closing days for museums, hence there was absolutely nothing to do. We sat in a public garden chatting, waiting for the time to pass. We eventually flew out. And we had never been so happy to be back in the city... with his thought, I fell asleep amongst the crisp sheets of our luxury hotel.
No comments:
Post a Comment