Sensually Transmitted Wanderlust: Talampaya & The Cuyo

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22-09-08

Argentina is so full of tourist wonders that many are not even marked on any map. The locals must be so used to such a natural abundance or, perhaps, it is assumed that Argentines already know it and foreign visitors are too few to cater to. The lovely brochures we found in the Argentine Embassy in The Hague were full of generic lovely pictures and vacuous write-up, good enough as a coffee-table read but hardly of any use to a curious explorer.

You really need to know how to get to the Cabra Corral Dam to find it. An unsignposted exit off the national route leads to an unpaved road that does not promise much to a sightseer. We kept persisting because we were lucky enough to have the only existing map where tourist attractions were designated. Our reward was a magnificent view of a huge water mirror rimmed with picturesque mountains. White yachts moored along its shores and the warm humid air made Ascona on the Lago Maggiore immediately spring to mind. The water is kept inside this artificial lake by a 93-metre dam, a remarkable feat of engineering highly popular among bungee-jumpers.

Our further descend from the Saltan heights brought us to the phantasmagoric rocks of the Quebrada de Las Conchas, the Gorge of Shells in Spanish. Whimsically monickered Devil's Throat, Amphitheatre, Toad, Friar and Castles quite live up to their names. Such bizarre rock formations crafted by thousands of years of water and wind erosion would be a national park anywhere else but in Argentina they are just a drive-by curiosity of nature.

Thousands of cawing crows nest in towering ochre cliffs. This eerie landscape was once inhabited by a number of native tribes. There are still people living here in mud huts with llamas grazing nearby. into The abandoned dwelling we peeped inside looked cramped and austere, haunted by the ghosts of obstinate persistence in the face of hopeless poverty.

We did not pay enough heed to the clouds gathering on the horizon but we really should have. We could see them unloading far away and that gave us a false sense of relief. But things in nature are connected in mysterious ways. Just a few kilometres from Cafayate, a swollen stream apparently fed by that distant downpour flooded the road and the traffic stopped. Long rows of vehicles lined up on both sides of the water vigorously eating its way through the softened road. Watching the stones noisily rolling down the stream, we were thinking about our almost empty gas tank. Other disheartened travellers stood around excitedly chatting or quietly contemplating the water slowly spreading wider and wider.

This big despondent stalemate continued until a huge antique bus loaded to the brim with farmers and their produce braved the troubled waters without even pausing to ponder the risks of such an undertaking. The weather-bitten face of the driver had just half a smug smirk as the muddy water splashed into all directions under the bus wheels. First the trucks and four-wheel-drives followed the suit. After a few smaller passenger cars made the crossing we summoned enough guts to try it too - with a success!

We made it to the outdoors capital Cafayate on our last drops of petrol. Rarely does the Esso sign stir such an explosion of joy and celebration. Cafayate, a laid-back and atmospheric town is surrounded by nature wonders that attract thousands of local outdoorsy types ever year. The street between the Plaza de Armas and the post office is full of excellent - and this comes from someone who really does not care for mantelpiece dust-gatherers of any kind - souvenir shops. An abundant choice of beautifully designed and useful handicrafts and clothes, medicinal herbs and herbal teas, all reasonably priced sent me into a wee shopping spree.

This town is worth staying for at least a few days but we only have time for dinner to reward us for the stress of fording the wayward stream in the Quebrada de Las Conchas. The Native American influence is strong in local cuisine and local wine is a perfect accompaniment to gently flavoured tamales and humitas - corn husk wraps.

The picture- perfect vineyards sprawling around Cafayate are home to the fragrant Torrontés, Argentina's trademark white wine: think Alsatian Riesling, fresh and just vaguely sweetish, with an overpowering field flowers bouquet. At about 1,700 metres above sea level, it is owing to the area's mild microclimate that viticulture is possible at all.

The sunset is nigh but we decide to push on. There is never enough time for all worthy sites: we have to whiz by the site of a fortified city built by the Quilmes people who put up a fierce resistance against the Incas only to succumb to the Spaniards in the end. Well, perhaps, next time. As the darkness sets in, the road climbs up higher and higher. The tarmac grows thinner until what is designated as a national route on the map turns into a gravel path. By that time we are way up in the clouds that our car lights cannot cut through. Switchbacks follow one after another every few hundred meters.

Those very same rains that thwarted us just a few hours before caused a landslide block the road right after Tafi del Valley. Hunky policemen turn us back

The Talampaya - Argentina's own Monument Valley.

La Rioja is an unassuming little city with a strong countryside vibe set amidst Argentina's second largest wine-making area.

my impression of Miyazawa Rie's infamous Santa Fe album;
goat herds, animal cadavers and clouds of white butterflies on highways;
sun-parched saline deserts;

edible cactus plants;
the eerie lunar landscape, barren peaks, ancient petroglyphs, wind-erroded rocks resembling people and animals and towering red-sandstone cliffs of the Talampaya National Park (1,500 meters above sea level);
vintage steam engines;
the quaint resort town of Capilla del Monte famous for Spanish villas, cabrito, holisitic medicine, a spectacular dam amidst some lunar-looking landscape as well as the Cerro Uritorco Mountain allegedly frequented by UFO's;
huge steaks of the best beef I have ever eaten;