2006: Trekking in Northwest Argentina
On my trip to Argentina in May and June, I went with my buddy
José on a week-long trekking tour to the northwest corner of Argentina. To see
what we did before that in Buenos Aires, go here.
José on the bus. He is crying tears of joy at the
serendipitous reality of our bus: far from a moving tin can filled with crates
of chickens, the Argentine buses proved to be luxurious treats. Especially this
camabus, which had chairs that converted into full beds. It also had a
stewardess that served us full meals including champagne. That made the 17-hour
ride quite nice.
Proof that the chairs actually converted to beds. The bus was
also fully equipped to play bad action movies and poorly-dubbed romantic
comedies at overwhelming volumes.
A cemetery near our first stop, a city called Humahuaca. This
was taken on a hike to a place called Quebrada de las Senoritas.
Part of the formations outside the gorge.
As with many nature pictures, this photo doesn't do the real
thing justice, but it's at least a start. This is inside the gorge, with a few
rocks that look like a cathedral.
José waiting for a bus on the way back from the gorge.
A old man also waiting for the bus, with his sacks of corn.
These next photos are from the city of Humahuaca. It was where
we met our guide Juan and started our trek. This picture shows a portion of a huge
monument in the city.
A small monument near the bigger one, with some gigantic
cacti.
Another view of the monument.
The city of Humahuaca as seen from the hill.
José taking it easy.
José and our guide Juan getting lunch ready. This was in Santa
Ana, a little village where we started walking on our trek.
A broken-down car in Santa Ana.
Trying a new thing: coca leaves. The locals chew it to help
give energy at altitude. It's the same plant that, after much refining, is made
into cocaine. But I was told by Juan that it takes 75 kilograms (and a lot of
work) to make one gram of cocaine. I didn't really notice an effect, anyhow:
just a slight tingle in the cheek.
José "coking up."
On the descent. We started at the dry peaks of Santa Ana,
which were around 5,000 meters. From there, we walked down into the moist cloud
forest, where we stayed a few nights. Here you can see Juan and José, with the
approaching cloud forest in the valleys.
The clouds were really incredible. They stayed at the same
height, but they were constantly moving, like steam off a boiling pot. Our guide
Juan was also incredible. He was a really nice guy, and when he wasn't singing
songs on the hike, he would explain important pieces of information, like the
best technique to cook a cow's head. Really.
José took this picture of me. We were staying in a sort of
community center, and after walking in the mud and dark for hours, we arrived
there to realize that there were no lights in the village, called Valle
Colorado. Juan went to a store to get some candles, and a local family cooked us
a delicious dinner of spaghetti stew.
José looking slightly maniacal with his hand-powered
flashlight, which would light up when you quickly squeezed a lever on the
handle.
Juan and José.
A stone oven outside the community building the next morning.
When I was walking around Valle Colorado that morning, I came
across this girl named Cynthia walking her lamb.
On the bridge out of Valle Colorado, on the road to our next
stop, Valle Grande.
Me standing by the start of a waterfall on our trail.
A cemetery just outside Valle Grande.
A mural on the side of a church in Valle Grande.
The place where we ate a schnitzel in Valle Grande. The kid
here is watching "The Rock." This place was also home to The Worst Bathroom In
The World. It was a half-shack with two walls. One open side faced the valley,
which was nice, but the other faced a pigpen with 12 grunting piglets. When I
left the "bathroom" I had to help chase away a huge sow that was trying to steal
a bag of corn.
The bus we took out of Valle Grande, to a town called San
Francisco. The route had all the death-defying cliff-edge traverses one might
expect from such a trip.
A lady and her grandson stopped the bus in the middle of the
trip, and when they got on, they brought their two goats onboard with them.
Apparently this leg of the journey didn't have the camabus option.
Making coffee in the hostel we visited in San Francisco. It
was a very nice place run by a veterinarian couple that came up to the village
to do work on the weekends, and lived two hours away in a city called Libertador
during the week.
The house on the far left is the hostel we stayed in. I took
this picture on a five hour roundtrip walk to some thermal pools in a nearby
canyon. For the walk the three of us hired a local guide.
Walking up the canyon to the bath. It turned out to only be
lukewarm and it smelled like eggs and ass, but it was still a pretty cool little
walk.
Our guide Miguel making a fire at the spring.
He was very quiet, and he carried a machete. He also said that he was a Boca
Juniors fan "to the death." We weren't sure whose death he might be referring
to, but we didn't press him on the matter, what with the machete poking out of
his backpack.
One of the thermal pools on the way up to the source. This was
the pool that José stepped directly into, believing a huge mound of foam and
scum to be a sturdy rock.
The other San Francisco.
Finally, a ride with some chickens! The family that ran the
hostel gave us a ride to Libertador. On the two-hour ride back, they packed
their converted truck with our guide Juan, José, me, a guy named Guillermo from
Buenos Aires, the family's two daughters, two dogs, some supplies, and a crate
of chickens. It was great!
The younger daughter, sitting in the front seat.
Throughout the ride, the family was preparing and passing
around a gourd filled with mate, a herbal drink made from yerba grass. I liked
it quite a bit, but apparently José got a bad sip here.
The older daughter, with one of the dogs.
Juan and José eating a bitter, tomato-like fruit. I'm telling
you, this ride was epic! The conversation topics ranged from popular Mexican
soap operas to why Bolivians and Chileans suck, with a healthy dose of World Cup
talk, of course.
The father of the house, driving and drinking mate.
Guillermo and the other dog. He was from Buenos Aires, and had
come up to work for the family.
This is in the last leg of our trip. We stayed in a larger
city called Salta la Linda. It was a really great place, and we had a chance to
meet some cool people and eat the hell out of a few piles of empanadas. This is
José in a cable car going to the top of a mountain on the edge of town.
Salta seemed kind of like a Latino-Disney.
See!
This is a piece of graffiti depicting the Virgin Mary on the
door of a toilet stall. At least it was in the bathroom of the town's cathedral.
José and I also went to see a small, local, independent film
while we were in Salta.
At the corner of a major plaza in Salta.
The church of San Francisco in Salta.
Back in Buenos Aires after our trip. I left a day or two
later, so we had a going-away meatfest. This was the first of many items.
José brought some tequila with him from Mexico, so we all
celebrated.
José and Andrés.
The returning adventurers.