At Jorge Newbery Airport, Buenos Aires’s hub for domestic flights, we embarked on our two-hour flight to Salta in the northwest corner of Argentina.
A city of some 620,000, Salta is capital of the province of the same name. It is located in the Lerma Valley at the foothills of the Andes, approximately 300 kilometers from the border with Bolivia.
After settling into the gorgeous Kkala Boutique Hotel—in the charming northeastern suburb of Tres Cerritos—we headed into the city center and Plaza 9 de Julio (July 9, Argentine Independence Day). There we explored the park and neighboring streets, people-watched and took pictures.
We stayed in town well into the evening, dining at Aires Caseros, a charming and highly-rated restaurant right off of the park featuring both local dishes and “fusions” with other cuisines.
A Sherman tank would have been more
comfortable than the punishing, nearly
suspension-less ride of this bus.
WITH THE FLOW
The challenge for Dan in planning our activities in Salta was that many of the most interesting attractions require a day trip out of the city. So we’d settled on the one such destination he felt might be worth the time and expense: La Quebrada de Humahuaca, a narrow valley known for its location along an historic Inca caravan road and for its breathtaking, colorful geologic formations.
So, next morning we're picked up by our tour guide in a half-full medium-size bus. (Alas, we’d expected an intimate group of six to eight people in something more like a van.) As it turned out, the people were fine; our guide was fine; but a Sherman tank would have been more comfortable than the punishing, nearly suspension-less ride of this bus.
For nearly three hours, though, we made the best of it, observing the slowly-changing landscape, trying in vain to hold a camera still enough to take a picture or two from the window, and Dan striking up a long, animated conversation with a fellow passenger, an amiable young man from Italy.
The first colorful geologic formations abut the edge of the small town of Purmamarca. El Cerro de los Siete Colores, the hill of seven colors—or, as the locals call it, the hill of the seven skirts—features a rainbow of color laid down as sedimentary rock starting over 15 million years ago, and then folded during eons of tectonic plate subduction. Blues, greens, mauve, orange…it’s hard to tell where one color ends and the next begins.
 |
| IMAGE: Google Maps |
Our guide got word that the landslide had been cleared, so we got back aboard the thrill-ride bus and gave it another try. But alas, by the time we returned to the same intersection, we learned the road had once again been closed, this time because heavy rains in the mountains were expected to trigger more landslides.
All around the room people begin
singing lustily along. It seems we’re
the only non-Argentines in the place.
SURROUNDED IN SONG
After such a disappointing (and physically jostling) day, we were excited about our dinner at La Casona del Molino, a restaurant known for the groups of talented young musicians who drop in to play and sing traditional Argentine folk music among the diners.
We arrived shortly after the place opened—9PM—and, along with other early arrivals, wandered through the rambling old house’s many rooms and patio areas looking for the best table.
I finally saw one that looked to have a good view of a large room that spills over into an outdoor patio area, and we sat down. (As luck would have it, the table right next to ours ended up being the one where one of the musical groups would perform.)
By 10:00 the place was full, with folks enjoying their first bottle of malbec or a few Quilmeses (national beer brand) and ordering their food. Soon some spectacular-looking parrilladas, or barbecue medleys of beef, chicken and various sausages, began arriving, each order presented on its own little hibachi and still-red-hot bed of charcoal.
That looked like more than we could handle, so Dan ordered beef once again, while I decided on the locro, a hearty traditional stew comprising several types of beans, squash and various meats. Both were excellent.
As we’re eating, several young men, one with his guitar, another with a drum set, sit down at the table next to ours and, after a brief warm-up, begin playing and singing Argentine folk songs.
All around the large room and then spreading out onto the patio, people begin singing lustily along. Once again, Dan has done his trip-planning magic; it seems we’re the only non-Argentines in the place. It’s another of those delicious moments when we’re reminded what a special, privileged glimpse we’re getting of a place, not dumbed down for surprise-averse foreigners, but steeped in authentic, spontaneous spirit.
 |
| PHOTO: Daniel Willius |
A couple gets up to dance in the aisle right next to us. He's a hefty, ruddy-faced cross between John Wayne and Jeff Bridges; she, more of a plain Jane. But the chemistry between them is palpable, their sensuous convergings, raised-arms flourishes and seductive expressions reminding us of Greek folk dancing (think Zorba the Greek). (I think the quality and intensity of their performance actually discouraged anyone else from taking the floor.)
How amazing to be there, right at the center of it all, close enough to the musicians so I could simply lean over and chat with them between numbers. Though the performers at La Casona are neither paid nor even tipped for their talents, I did manage to buy them a round of beers, for which they all offered a nod and a thumbs-up.
On my way to the baño, I wandered around some of the other rooms and found no fewer than four of them rocking to their own combos. In some, the patrons were actually sitting in with the group, jamming with the musicians like old friends.
LOCAL FLAVORS
The next day, still sated from our musical-immersion dinner, we returned to the city center and Plaza 9 de Julio. This plaza, after seeing a couple of others that seemed less inviting, is more like the ones we’ve experienced in other larger Latin American cities: nicely landscaped with mature trees and shrubs; family-friendly with lots of activities going on; and surrounded by some serious architecture.
Among the notable examples are a couple of the city’s churches, the Cathedral of Salta and the even-more-beautiful Church of San Francisco.
For lunch, we managed to find the much-touted El Patio de la Empanada, a small complex of food vendors surrounding an open courtyard. Each offers its own take on the savory little turnover that Salteños claim originated here. Alas, only two of the stalls were open, but we enjoyed an assortment of empanadas with various fillings. These, unlike others we’d had elsewhere, were baked instead of deep-fried. (I prefer the latter.)
Dan took advantage of the opportunity to try a glass of torrontés, the crisp, white wine for which Salta Province is best known. (Though Salta lays claim to its own wine culture—most notably around the small town of Cafayate, about 200 kilometers south of Salta—we decided to put off any serious indulgence until the next leg of our trip, in the even-more-famous wine center of Mendoza.)
UNCOMFORTABLE HISTORY
The Museum of High Mountain Archeology (MAAM, for its name in Spanish) features both works of art and craft, and artifacts collected in Andean sites known by the Incas as high mountain sanctuaries—areas where many sacred rituals, including human sacrifice, took place. Supporting exhibits explain the incredibly challenging logistics and sophisticated technology employed to excavate in such remote sites under such extreme conditions.
Because of the extreme fragility and sensitivity to light of the artifacts, MAAM’S exhibits are in continual rotation. What we saw centered on the discovery, excavation, preservation and cultural interpretation of the 1999 discovery near the 22,000-foot summit of Llullaillaco, a long-dormant stratovolcano along the Argentino-Chile border. There, archeologists unearthed a site where Inca children were consecrated, drugged and then left to die of exposure.
Included in the exhibit was a truly spooky little mummy of a seven-year-old boy, whose death has been dated to around 1500AD. He is displayed in a sealed, refrigerated case under very low light. We managed to snap only a couple of pretty bad photos before the burly guard charged at us with a scowl and a waving finger.
 |
| PHOTO: Angelique Corthals |
After a delightful few days in Salta, we were ready to see more of the country. So we headed back to the hotel and started packing for the next morning’s flight to our next destination, Mendoza, wine capital of Argentina.
No comments:
Post a Comment