Sun and stone
December 3, 2011 § Leave a comment
I’m writing from the town of Cafayate, on the southern edge of Salta province. A small but stately cluster of buildings around a central square, it sits in a broad valley surrounded by vineyards. This is Argentina’s second most important wine producing area, and I have been taking full advantage of the possibilities to visit the bodegas and, obviously, sample some of their produce.
Being back among mountains, and free of humidity, is wonderful. Today I set off up a rocky valled full of cacti in search of some apparently beautiful waterfalls. My guide book had suggested it was a straightforward, if fairly lengthy walk…and failed to mention that to get to the waterfall(s) – I only saw one – there’s plenty of scrambling and leaping from stones to cross the river.
Luckily enough, I ran into a group of German girls (also exchange students from Buenos Aires) and a guide, which made things a lot easier. And it was certainly worth the effort to reach the waterfall, take a dip in the pool, and enjoy views like this:
(not my photo – I’m being too lazy to deal with the ‘hassle’ of uploading from an Internet café, sorry. I’ll get my act together soon!)
I came here yesterday (Friday) from Tucumán, with an overnight stop in the tiny mountain town of Tafí del Valle. The hostel I had booked there, called the ‘Nomade’, had appropriately enuough upped sticks and moved to the other end of town from the address indicated on the website. Once I found it, though, I had a brilliantly relaxed evening watching trashy American movies and chatting over dinner with the couple who run the place and two builders from across the road.
I’m going to permit myself a horribly general observation here: Argentines love to talk. Silence is not one of my great virtues either, so this suits me just fine. It’s never just chat about the weather, either: people will nearly always get stuck in with politics, culture and the economy on the smallest or grandest scale.
Another related (and probably unfair) general observation, then: lightheartedness is not a common national trait. My friends and I had already drunkenly arrived at this conclusion in Córdoba, and I still think there’s some merit to it
Much has been written about Argentina being a nostalgic, backward-looking, melancholic nation. Two examples of this sort of view are on my Christmas wish list – V.S. Naipaul’s The Return of Eva Perón and Miranda France’s Bad Times in Buenos Aires. I’ll let you know what I think.
The city of Tucumán itself (San Miguel de Tucumán) only managed to keep hold of me for half a day on Thursday. There are some interesting things to see, such as the house where Argentine independence was first declared. Sadly, though, the historical monuments and the like are fairly drowned out by the grimey roar of what is another large Argentine city – see my whinings about Córdoba below.
My main memory is of oppressive heat, and of the strangeness of walking through a market selling tinsel and Santa Claus hats in shorts and sweating.
I’m off to the city of Salta itself tomorrow – traveller capital of the northwest, if not of Argentina.
P.S. To attempt to make the title relevant – I passed through a little town yesterday that claimed to have 360 days of sun a year. My British insides churned with jealousy.