Once upon a time...

Dear future me,

Over time I find that I have a very valuable skill in my backpack for traveling: the ability to marvel and awe over everything I see. Even if, by now, I already have encountered everything before and every colored rock reminds me of another colored rock. Or every waterfall looks similar to another gravity-based movement of water from rocks (although now I think about it, I’ve never seen a waterfall coming down from a colored rock formation). Yet, as I entered ruta 40 to meet the gods of color and shape, I still felt like a youngster seeing all these goodies for the first time in her life.

Once I left Cafayate in good weather, I braved a dusty and stoney road up to Cachi through sandy carved rock formations. The pueblo is full of colonial houses and very charming, while you are in the middle of nowhere. But the people are more indigenous and bring out a very nice vibe. Up north in Argentina you will find more traces of the people that lived here before Europeans came over. Dwelling for a while in the provinces of Catamarca, Salta and Jujuy reminds you that there were ancient times before our western world started to long for new territory and expanded overseas. And thankfully in these last two weeks, I found more than vivid traces of these ancient cultures. Not only in the features of people, but also in stories, archeological sites and ceremonies. My next stop was Salta and my tires danced happily over the beautiful paved road through Cacti country (Cardones in Argentinean) going to a top of 3457 meters before a big drop brought me back to the earth of Salta. My lungs also appreciated the lack of dust on this road, so my decision to skip a rough part of ruta 40 made me feel very good. Salta is the main capital of the region and here I could sit back and relax. Meeting fellow bikers, enjoying the dance moves and music of the modern age youngsters and watch ancient youngsters in their sleep as they once were offered to the gods by being buried and frozen on the highest mountains in the Andes. Or visiting this digital museum about the general of the gaucho army who stood up against the Spanish rulers. I was very impressed by this virtual storytelling in an old house that brings me back to my youth visiting Villa Volta in the Efteling, except that this house kept his piles on the ground (sorry folks, this is an inside joke for people from Holland).

From Salta I started my last tour through this part of Argentina, pushing up north first on the marvelous ruta 9. At first a small winding cute little road through forests, but growing in confidence and widening up to a brilliant soothing road through color wonderland. I don’t know if the whole area is known as Quebrada de Humahuaca, but I think this is truly the birth ground for the rainbow. You can try to count them (some say 7, some say 14), but I would say the rocks in this valley has 50 shades of all colors. I stayed in Tilcara to sleep, so I could visit the famous 14 colored Hornocal the next day. Well I did see it from far away, but I changed plans due to an Argentinean guy who insisted that I should visit Iruya. A UNESCO old village of cobblestones in the north that you can reach by a beautiful offroad that takes you up and down the mountain. I must admit that the views were stunning and just riding there in, again, the middle of nowhere, filled my heart with pure joy. By this time I had to give my eyes some rest, as I started to see too many colors. Or are the heights getting to me? Back to exploring the old times, I visited a Pre-Columbian site in Tilcara, where I couldn’t believe what I saw. This fortified town, once build by the Omaguaca tribe and later concurred by the Inca’s, has a very special monument right in the middle of the site: a huge pyramid. Funny thing is, that it is an ode to the original archaeologists (early 19th century) and has nothing to do with the original tribe, the way they build or even the Inca’s. Fortunately the modern archaeologists make very clear that they don’t approve of this conduct by the many signs telling about the ancient people and how their voices live on in the generations of their descendants that still occupy this area.

Back to the reality of the here and now, I moved on by exploring new mountains and valleys going towards the west. This time I passed the 7 colored mountain which obviously made the other less colored mountains very sad. They have been weeping for millions of centuries and you can still see traces of their sadness: the water of their tears dried up, but the salt remained. I wish I could have enjoyed the view on the Salinas Grandes (salt flats of Argentina), but I was too busy struggling with the deep rocky sand road of the old Ruta 40. The favorite road of my fellow biker Erwin. Sometimes I had to check twice to see if I was really riding on a road or by accident on a dry riverbed. But no, it was and is the highway of hell. Ending in the sandy small town of San Antonio de los Cobres. Happy to be still alive, I caught my breath (being at 4000 meters) and took a long dive back to Salta which is practically low land with its 1500 meters of altitude. While I was descending rapidly, I managed to pick up a small road up a small mountain again, to visit an unknown treasure:  de Ruinas de Tastil. Imagine living on top of a mountain with 3000 other people in the first millennium of our time, overseeing all the crossroads. This giant solo person felt very small seeing these ruins in the fierce winds, while there was nobody there. Not a soul, just me. Wow!

Does this story ever end? No, but to help make this story a little bit shorter, the weather started to turn into autumn and hastened my travels. Back in Salta I met this beautiful Spaniard who apparently eats a lot of Bananas, as it is his nickname? He invited me to join him and some friends for dinner at a popular restaurant for its parrilla’s and live music. On a Wednesday night I discovered once again that Argentineans are the loveliest persons that you can meet: the food was great, the vibes where fantastic with a lot of dancing, singing and they love to party. I found out yet again on my age that drinking too much wine doesn’t help if you are forced to dance in a gaucho style, keeping up appearances that you still have the sense of rhythm. Time to sober up and head east. Wondering if there are treasures to be found in the provinces of Corrientes and Missiones that can marvel me the same way the other parts of Argentina did. Just to let you in, I did see something yesterday that I haven’t seen before in my life…but hey, this story is getting too long.

See ya later,

Annemieke