· Salta is a popular tourist destination, and for good reason. There is a gondola that takes you to the top of a hill for great views of Salta and the surrounding Andes. There is a strip of bars and restaurants with live Andean folk music. There are hostels everywhere, and hippies selling jewelry in the parks. I took advantage of my time in Salta. Not only did I do a lot of resting, I did a fair amount of shopping, still trying to replace the gear that was lost after the bee attack. I was able to find some tools, spokes, warm alpaca clothing, and a few other odds and ends like a shoulder bag and dry foods. I could not find a SteriPen for treating water or Avid BB5 disc brake pads, so I made some last minute arrangements with the family in Arizona to FedEx me a package ASAP. I love you guys! And then I started riding north.
The plan: Climb, climb, climb up the Quebrada farther into the Andes mountains until I get to Bolivia and its "altiplano" or high plain, a cold, flat, windy expanse at about 12,000 ft. elevation. When my package arrives in Salta, and before I cross the Argentina/Bolivia border, take a bus to Salta to get the package, then return to the bike in Humahuaca, again by bus, and continue riding toward Bolivia.
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17 February, 2009
Salta to El Carmen, Argentina: 72 kilometers
I could not believe my eyes! As soon as I rolled past Salta's tall buildings to the outskirts of town... there was SNOW on the mountains! A local Argentinian told me the mountains were a lot farther away than they looked. That snow is in Bolivia, 400 kilometers away. And it isn't snow, he said. It's hail.
Forest and tiny waterfalls trickled by me and Skinny Horse as we slowly pumped our way up the mountains. Switchbacks for miles, and kilometers too. I reached a pass! Downhill... YEEEEWHOOOO!!!
Uphill again. More up. Down, up. Downhill. Climb, up. up. up. dooooownnnn........ ah, the mountains! And the greenery scenery was like nothing I had ever seen. Well-preserved forest, a giant statue of Jesus, small tourist towns, giant mountains in every direction!
I crossed paths with two Israelis who have been travelling by bicycle for 3 years! http://ourbicycletrip.blogspot.com/
Then 5 minutes later two Kiwi's coming from Bolivia! http://kateandmatilda.blogspot.com/ They were surprised to hear they were only a few minutes behind two other cyclists riding in the same direction.
All four were headed in the opposite direction as me but they tell me there is a solo rider named David two days ahead of me riding toward Bolivia also.
This area is quite touristy. Not only have I come across more cyclists, but also more travellers in general. Upon arrival in towns along this route, I am no longer as special as I was in, say, the Chaco. Finding places to stay is getting more difficult.
I spent hours roaming El Carmen for a host family. I also tried the hospital, the police station, and the fire department. At sunset I gave in and went to a hostel. After all my hard work, the owner ended up letting me sleep in the garage for free :) I met some Germans as they arrived at the hostel, then I went across the street to the bike shop, chewed some coca leaves and drank mate with the owner, then had a quality pro-environment talk with the owner's wife, who was the local natural sciences teacher in the school. Too bad the teachers were on strike, she told me, otherwise she would love to have me as a visitor in her class.
Then, pizza and wine with the Germans. They taught me about the importance of notaries in Germany and also that "radler" is a fun German word for cyclist.
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18 February, 2009
El Carmen to El Volcán, Argentina 75 kilometers
As I write this I am sitting in a chair outside in the dirt under a tree. I am eating tamales, and a soupy dish called locro (hominy) complete with veggies, sausage, and cow intestines. There is a pregnant cat rubbing against my leg. A chicken stirring up dust next to my bike. My clothes are hanging on my bike to dry, getting dusty. I eat lunch and write in my journal as I mentally prepare for the days of climbing ahead of me. I have been told I have to climb La Quebrada from about 2,000 ft elevation to 12,000 feet until I hit Bolivia next week.
I will fail trying to describe La Quebrada's beauty to you. Picture the Grand Canyon's red rocks covered in lush green grass and trees, the red rock exposed here and there. Put the Grand Canyon on a slope, add a road next to the Colorado river, and imagine bicycling up the slope alongside the river. As you gain elevation, mountains beyond the canyon grow, become snow-capped, and the canyon itself begins to shed its lush green skin, revealing its red rock bones beneath. After 3 days of riding through the Quebrada, everything is bone dry. Pink, grey, orange, and even blue rocks protrude from cliffs within arms reach as you climb slowly beside them at 10, 11, 10, 9, 12, 7 kilometers/hour. From time to time you earn a descent and there is little more than a red-gray blur to your right and left, but the snow-capped giants in the distance do not move a centimeter. You wonder if you will ever make it to Bolivia at this rate. But there is no other place in the world you would rather be stuck in time than here, now.
I arrived in a town called "The Volcano" and Officer Jesus Emmanuel gave me permission to camp behind the police station. Then his boss vetoed him. So, generous Jesus Emmanuel invited me to stay at his house with him and his mother! I accepted, walked the bike with the officer 4 blocks to their house, pitched camp in the grass inside thier fence, showered, washed laundry in the shower, and then I drank mate with his mother until sunset. Then I got pizza with the mother's friend, and she told me Bolivia is the worst place on Earth; it is poor, isolated, the roads are rough, it is hard to breathe at such high elevations, and it is dirty. I should go to Chile instead, she said. Perhaps if I was travelling in a rental car and checking into hotels with all the comforts of home, I would go to Chile. But as it is, I am drawn to the barren altiplano, the lack of "development", the population in Bolivia that is poor and mostly indigenous, and even the rough roads at 14,000 ft elevation. I look forward to learning Quichua, too. I can hardly wait for this most difficult leg of the tour!
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19 February, 2009
El Volcán to Tilcara, Argentina: 65 kilometers
The most beautiful day of the trip so far. I said goodbye to my friends in El Volcán, snapped some photos of the gorgeous peaks blanketed in clouds, and rode north again. David Gordon, the advertising manager, and I often joked about how horrible of a decision it was to ride north from Paraguay to the U.S. instead of south from the U.S. to Paraguay because north is all uphill and south would be all downhill. But in the case of the Quebrada, it is no joke. North is up.
I met a couple from Buenos Aires on their honey moon (luna de miel) today. They were riding from North to South, a weeklong trip from Bolivia to Jujuy, Argentina. What a honeymoon! We were headed in opposite directions but we were all three turning west to go the extra 3 kilometers to Purmamarca at the same time, so we rode those 3k together, and then got some lunch in a restaurant with some live Andean wind music.
I have never seen landscape like that of Purmamarca. It is home to the Cerro de Siete Colores
La hermosa Purmamarca, La Quebrada, Argentina
, or the Hill of Seven Colors, a giant rock hill that combines all the colors of the rocks I have been seeing in the mountains over the past few days. I had lunch with the Argentinian newlyweds, then said goodbye and hiked a couple of hills to snap some "aerial" photos of Purmamarca and its Martian landscape.
I arrived in Tilcara just as it began to rain. Again I had trouble finding a place to stay, especially because we were now in the epoca of Carnaval. But I toured the town in the rain and ended up finding a home owner who was renting out his yard to backpackers (bikepackers, too) for 8 pesos, or about $2.50 per night. My body was tired from all the climbing. I showered, ate a colorful Andean salad
An Andean Salad
didn't do laundry, drank sweet mate with some backpackers from Buenos Aires, and then slept.
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20 February, 2009
Tilcara to Humahuaca, Argentina: 47 kilometers
Tilcara is home to Incan Ruins, called Pucará (literally "fort") in Quichua. I had to see them, so I rode up to the top of Tilcara's hill, left my bike with a guard, and toured the ruins with my camera in hand. I was impressed at the simple broken rock construction (no cutting necessary) with cactus/bamboo/mud roofs. And of course the pyramid monument. All of this at the top of a hill surrounded by even taller red rock Andes. If you see no other photos from my trip, see these. INDESCRIBABLY BEAUTIFUL.
I returned to to my bike, slightly winded after just walking around the ruins. It was the elevation. So of course I paid 2 pesos for some coca leaves as I was leaving the ruins. Coca is the plant cocaine is made from. When chewed in its natural form it is supposed to give a slight amount of energy and help acclimatize. I would need it today as I continued to climb another 47 kilometers up the steep road to Humahuaca, which I think sits at about 9,500 ft. elevation, the same as the base of Snobowl ski resort in Flagstaff, AZ.
On my way out I noticed a variety of flyers requesting that the people unite to win the fight against chemical mines moving into La Quebrada. I have heard the mountains are rich in Uranium.
It was a hot day. Another recently married couple waved me over to the side of the road and offered mate and a sandwich. I accepted, but had to leave after just a few minutes to beat the approaching storm. I made it up to Humahuaca with the help of a strong tailwind, just as the rain began to fall. But I didn't expect THIS: Thousands of tourists. Tomorrow is carnaval and Humahuaca is THE place to be. Campsites were loaded with drunk tourists, even the hostels were full. I needed to find a tranquilo secret place to store my bike, relax, do laundry, and sleep. I did not feel like partying. My body has been put to the test in La Quebrada. As manipulatively as possible, I finally convinced a girl working at a hotel to let me store my bicycle in the closet. I set up camp behind a brick wall across from the hotel, showered/laundry, and locked the zippers when I went to find food. Lot's of food. Beef and pasta and bread and soda. Everybody was drinking beer, and I love a good beer after a long ride, but I couldn't do it. I ate and ate and ate, watching the frenzy in the streets: spray foam, water balloons, powder being thrown in people's faces. I felt like Richard in "The Beach" when he left the island to go buy food in Bangkok. It looked like fun, but I was too tired to participate. I slept hard. People on the streets would be too drunk for me to ride safely, so I stayed in Humahuaca an extra day, partied in the streets alongside devils and hippies, met people from all over the world, and then slept a few hours before taking a bus back to Salta to get my FedEx package. So now I have the disc brake pads and SteriPen water treatment UV light necessary to travel safely through Bolivia.
I am in Salta now, typing on a hostel's computer. As soon as I post this, I will take a bus north to Humahuaca, and ride 3 more days to Bolivia. The next time you hear from me I will greet you in Quichua from "the worst place in the world."
