Salta i (Easter Weekend)

After a stomp round a depressing zoo full of closely caged and genuinely sad looking animals and kids knocking on the dirty glass we boarded our bus to Salta. This time a proper good Carma one. But I'll spare the details as I've dropped the bus chat already. Lets just say after I asked the cabin dude in my best Spanish "Please may I have a white water?" I fully exploited the free wine and drifted off to sleep after watching the brilliant 'Butterfly effect'.

Pulling into Salta, in Northern Argentina, at 1300 hours, Easter Weekend, we packed up and stomped the km to the hostel I'd reserved online. I say packed up, but Sandra dragged her giant wheeled suitcase. She's playing this interesting business class slash backpacker card at the moment. Over various squares and beautiful churches, and up the stairs to the hostel.

The Israeli with a sizeable gut, Jewish ringlocks and a patchy beard who sat behind the desk said they've never heard of hostelz.com and don't take online reservations. And this is a bad weekend to not have a reservation. It turns out that Salta is the place to be at Easter. As well as the residents, it seems a good 500,000 peeps rock up to dress up and walk round the square in some big old religious procession.

Grand.

Fortunately he's very helpful ringing around to find us an alternative. Unfortunately everywhere's full. So I set out to tread the streets with a subordinate of Boss Israeli. An hour later, everywhere we asked was also full, not even the 5 star badboys had space. However, I'm a big believer that when folk say bad luck, everywhere's full, there's always something. Even if it's staying in some granny's house.

So when we returned unsuccessful it turned out Sandra had found a place from her 'Reise' German Guide book, staying in a local house. An impressively cheap taxi later were being welcomed into Casa Formia Camble. Formia herself, a sweet, shrunken grandma in comfy slacks and white Reeboks, warmly welcomes us with a kiss. She introduces us to her friend in the lounge and shows us the room: two singles, a massive Victorian en suite, fills us in on the internet and breakfast, & lets us know that it's 20 pesos each (cheaper than a dorm room at 4 bob a piece). Result.

As soon as we agree, she starts to clear her stuff out of the room & sets it fresh with new sheets. It turns out we're actually sleeping in Grandma's room! The drawers and cupboards are packed with her stuff, a neat pile of comfy trainers, and loads of photos of grandpa who is no longer. It's bizarre and sweet in equal measure. Furthermore, while a fair walk from the centro, it's a block away from the best eateries and bars! I love it when a plan comes together.

I have made touch with a contact in Salta who deals with indigenous Indians in a mission in north eastern Argentina. In 5 days he's offered to let me join him on a trip up. So between now and then Sandra and I decide to hire a car and explore the notoriously beautiful Salta region. We duck into town and really shop about. We're back in the Easter weekend problem. Half a million peeps looking for interesting ways to waste their wonga. Most car hire shops have shut shop, but find two options both new cars and go for a Renault Clio and have our man Hugo drop it round the following morning.

The following morning he rolls up with a Chevvy Corsa with no license plates. Ok, so no Clio then. It's spanking new, has only 3400k on the clock and has those super stupidly sensitive new car breaks. With a rough route in mind, a free brochure map of red and green lines on a white page, a passing discussion about liability, no showing of driving licenses were off! Wild and free, on Salta's streets where a space bubbles round cars don't exist.

Barnaby Wild

Mental Juke box: Steppenwolf: Born to be wild.