After grandma's 'breakfast' (bizarre seedy cactus fruit, dry mini pastries and a coffee that had only had a passing introduction to coffee beans) we jumped in the the Chevy and hit Salta rush hour. Destination Cafayatte, a days drive South of Salta. Wave to grandma Formia. Vroom vroom!
Red light. Window down. "Hola muchacho! Donde esta Cafayatte? ... De recho? Si? Bueno! Adios amigo..."
It quickly dawned on us that space around a vehicle and speed limits are foreign here. Lanes are also a flexible construct. Fortunately Sandra is the helm for the first shift. She's from Madrid and says they drive like this there. I'll give it a bash later eh? When it gets nice and easy in the countryside. There's nothing like me starting a road trip with a crash.
Outside Salta were rolling with the traffic, who all fragrantly ignore speed limits. Us cruising at 80kmph we're regularly overtaken as we pass 35kmph signs.
It's not long and were in the landscape we came to visit. Vast valleys of brown and green, wide empty riverbeds sprouting with lush foliage, dusty roads and terracotta earth. Windows down, a fresh breeze and baking sunshine. Passing scrub lands and fields of giant cacti, fully wild west style.
Chevy becomes 'The Cowboy' and the three of us pull in to a little pueblo (village) for a picnic. Cheese and salami sangas, fashioned with a Swiss Army knife, are consumed as we watch small children ride big bikes round the treecovered plaza, backed by a fantastic Jesuit style church. A real life gaucho trots by in chaps, buys a coke from the kiosco without dismounting and clops off.
After lunch, we pass through the Quebrada de Cafayatte, and the landscape shifts from open plains to high canyon-like gorges. Mineral-rich mountains spill colourful strata; red, green, blue, yellow and white. Distinctive red sandstone towers spike the vistas, a gleaming silver river winds its course and llamas dot the cactus-ridden landscape, chewing on grasses. We climb and drop endless passes, stopping in to join the tourbuses at 'the devil's throat', a massive box canyon gash in't mountain. It feels like we stop round every bend to grab another photo. This becomes a theme, but the cowboy is most obliging.
Eventually, 170km on the clock, we arrive in Cafayatte, find a cheap room full of bunks and walk to the nearest winery. Cafayatte is famous for it's Torrentes grape. A dry but fruit-driven number with a grapey winey flavour. It's five to six, and they're about to shut shop. A tour is nearing it's end, so we tag along just in time for the tasting.
After sunset we grab dinner in the busy square; a fine bottle of Torrentes, empenadas (mini Cornish pasties with various fillings), humitas (mashed corn with onions & cheese, steamed in a corn husk), tamales (similar to humitas, but with sundried steak) and locros soup (a beany cassulet style chorizo broth). Sitting outside we watch the local collective mill about and finally, full and knackered we hit the haystack.
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