The Night Bus

The double deck bus sped through the moonless night, connecting Argentina’s northern provincial capitals – rough-edged Jujuy, colonial Salta, work-a-day Tucuman and the university city of Cordoba, in the country’s heartland.

Through my curtained window, the countryside was a dark, deserted mystery. But as we passed through occasional towns, I felt warmed by Sunday night family gatherings on dusty colonnaded porches, couples strolling along dirt streets under widely spaced streetlights, and surreal small-town bus stations teeming with travellers on their way to other facets of their lives.



My compartment – classe ejecutivo – was on the lower level; nine over-stuffed, black vinyl lazy-boy seats facing a flat screen monitor that warned us the on-board toilet only “recycled” liquids. For the first few hours, we had little choice but to watch Sandra Bullock adopt a black football player and Kate Hudson lose her body to a Louisiana Hoodoo spirit, dubbed and sub-titled in Spanish.

The ‘attendant made an appearance twice, to frantically mop aisle for dirt we couldn’t see.


The meal service started with a yellow cafeteria tray that we were to balance on our laps and a tin tray of cold cuts, plastic wrapped bread sticks, and a sealed container that might be either congealed gravy or chocolate pudding (the label listed ingredients that include “bones”). The ‘hot’ dish was a pound of buttery mashed potatoes and a sliver of boiled chicken. The “bebida” was a ‘gaseosa’ that turned out to be a splash of Pepsi in a Styrofoam cup. We were then left to balance the remnants on our laps for an hour while the ‘economy class’ passengers upstairs were served the same menu.

It was like some strange, half-lit, moving dungeon that we were locked into, subjected to bad American culture made worse by bad dubbing, at the mercy of the whims of a frantic, unpredictable keeper, denied basic washroom facilities. It didn’t feel like a luxury bus!


Thankfully, the magic of a little blue pill put me to sleep through half of the 13 hour trip. I awoke refreshed, but in need of a shower, and a ‘bano’ that “recycled” other substances than liquids. I could just imagine the condition of those who had another 24 hours to go on the bus before it reached it’s final destination south of Buenos Aires!


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“Las Rutas se Corto”* – Stranded in Cafayate

It was the buzz, all over town. “Somos aislados”, we’re cut off.


It had been raining hard for a week in the hills west of Salta’s wine region and the Rio de las Conchas, normally a scattered braid of a stream running through the Quebrada** de Cafayate, was now a churning torrent of chocolate-milk water.


It had washed out the main highway between where I was and where I needed to go. In fact, it had washed it out in four separate places.


Where I needed to go was the Provincial capital – also called Salta – and my home-away-from home for the next 3 nights before taking the bus south. Where I was … that’s Cafayate, a dusty little grid of a village 3 hours up into the hills.

There’s not much to commend Cafayate itself. The 5 aisle cathedral is peaceful, but plain. The green main square is cool and shady, but offers no stunning architectural perspectives. There are a few shops selling the works of local weavers, but most are stocked to the rafters with ‘artisenales regionales’ my guide insisted are made in China (or Ecuador).

But what Cafayate is known for is wine. Its arid, sunny vineyards, sitting between 1,300 meters and 3,000 meters (!) above sea level, produce highly aromatic wines with relatively high alcohol content – most notably, Torrontes. The various tastings I had attended suggested it was either an acquired taste … or I wasn’t pairing it properly.

And then the roads were washed away. In true Argentine fashion, there was no information available. I overheard conversations on the street; other guests who had set out in their car this morning were turned back. Of course my travel agency didn’t bother to call. I had no idea when, if at all, the car that had been sent to pick me would arrive.

So what to do? Easy. Have lunch. A really good lunch.

Find the best restaurant in town, “El Terruno” on the main square. Select a table on the sidewalk. Order a glass of their best Torrontes, a 2009 from Mayuco located at 3,000 meters. Enjoy it with Pate de Conejo (rabbit), rolled trout fillets stuffed with spinach and a local artisanal hard goat cheese - all of it painted with a Torrontes glaze, and accompanied by a cone of mashed Choclo*** .

Follow it all with a neat Expresso. All for 70 pesos including tip (under $18). Oh, and invite yourself into a conversation with the three charming Canadians at the next table.

The road was eventually repaired by running a bulldozer through the hillside a little further uphill or by dropping a few culverts into a shallow part of the river and covering them with rocks scraped from the shore. (Guess they don’t need environmental impact assessments here).

I was back in Salta in time for dinner.

But that meal, and the spectacular glass of Torrontes that accompanied it, will stand out as one of the best I’ve ever had.

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*The roads are blocked. ** Canyon. *** A type of corn with massive kernels.

What's the recipe for a good time?

Try this:
- Select a late-model, 10 seat van,
- Pour in six lively Argeninians: two adorable young couples (one of which just got engaged) and two smart, funny, wise women (one an actress, the other a psychologist),
- Add a shy Swiss German waiter who saved his tips for 4 years for this trip, and
- A middle-aged Canadian who’ll talk to anyone (that’s me),
- And top off with a driver / guide / entertainer named Turko with amazing green eyes and no sense of decorum.

Sit back and watch the chemistry.

Salinas Grandes and the Quebrada de Humahuaca

The wild child stood his ground, on the red dirt of Pumamarca, leaning into the stiff Andean wind, straining his tiny muscles against thin air and fatigue. He gazed out over the unexpected, folded landscape, splashed with an inconceivable array of colours, and was fascinated.


It had been a long drive from Salta, through the spectacular landscapes of the Andean Altoplano.



We had boarded the modified tractor trailer just before dawn and had slept through the verdant, flat fields north of the city, waking just as the road climbed into the valley of the Rio Grande.

We opened the hatches and climbed up onto the roof, raising our hands to brush the bottom of the heavy black clouds and casting quick glances over the edge to the deep valleys below.

As we climbed, the green rain forest slipped away and was replaced by arid, rocky slopes studded with Cardon cactus. Archaeologists believe these multi-armed monsters mark the location of Pre-Columbian and Inca settlements (their seeds germinated in latrines!). At 3,500 feet, they too disappeared.

We slipped over a spectacular pass, at 4,200 meters, with endless views of the dry, sensuous landscape, and coasted down to the salt plain of Salinas Grandes. Blinding white below the mirrored surface of a few inches of rainwater.

At the end of the day, windblown and sun-basted, we stood with the wild child on the red saddle of Pumamarca, and felt ourselves merge into the fading red light of the sunset




The drive into the "Altiplano", or high plains of the Andes north of Salta, Argentina is spectacular. Here are a few of the roadside vistas along the way.





The highest point on pass is 4,200 meters above sea level (above right).

The drive over the pass is spectacular, but nothing prepares you for the immense salt plain of Salinas Grandes (elev. 3350 metres). It stretches for miles in all directions - to the thin blue outline of the 1,000 meter peaks on the horizon. In normal summer conditions, it would be a hard, flat surface of blinding white, but Northern Argentina has had so much rain that it is a huge lake - 3 inches deep!

The little town of Purmamarca (pop. 510, elev. 2192 m.) sits at the base of the Cerro de los Siete Colores, the hill of the 7 colours. I spent the night here to see both the sunset and the sunrise illuminate woven bands of coloured rock: the black-red of dried blood, rosy pink, burnt orange, deep copper green, obsidian black, and shades in between.

The pre-Columbian settlement of Pucara (near the present-day town of Tilcara, 2461 metres above sea level) guarded the Quebrada de Humahuaca - the broad canyon that stretches north from the city of Salta to the Bolivian border. It was a natural highway for early civilizations, the Incas and the Spanish Conquistadors.

The indigena town of Humahuaca at 2989 metres above sea level

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An indigenous cemetary at Maimara, with a formation called the Painter's Palette in the background. It's built like a small city, with all of the tomb openings facing the rising sun.

The rains have been unusally heavy, and roads are washed out all over the region, including the main hightways back to Salta and over the mountains to Chile. My itinerary is being modified as I write this... go with the flow!

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Heading out on a Grand Tour

I wrap up my first 4 weeks in Argentina today and leave tomorrow for my grand tour of the country. First stop is Salta in the north ... then a hop-scotch down the Andean spine of the continent - Cordoba, Bariloche, El Calafate and finally Ushuaia in Tierra del Fuego on the very southern tip.

I'll do my best to post stories as I go (internet connections willing). But don't miss the two blogs just posted below - Eight small museums, and a trip to the Parana Delta.

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Eight Small Museums

Buenos Aires has dozens of small museums and galleries. They say that if you are "anybody", there's a museum in your honour. With the luxury of 4 weeks in the city, I've dropped in on a number that I find particularly enchanting. Here is a short list of eight.



The "Palais de Glace" is an old ice skating rink right in Recoleta just down the street from the famous cemetary. It is dedicated to modern Argentine artists. Some really inspiring work!





The "Palacio Paz" on Plaza San Martin in the city centre - built at the beginning of the last century by an aging doctor who assumed he was going to be President of the Republic. He imported all of the building material - stone, wood, glass - from France and built himself a "presidential palace". Alas, he never did gain the post and today, the building is the Military Club. They'll take you on a tour at 11am 3 days a week.

The City Museum of Buenos Aires occupies a beautiful old home in the city's oldest quarter, San Telmo. It houses a museum of toys and has space for temporary exhibits. When I visited it, there was a retrospective of a famous Argentine fabric and clothing designor, Vincent Gallego.

Just down the street from the City Museum is El Zanjon de Granados. A private investor bought an old "Chorizo House" to renovate and discovered an ancient tunnel encasing a stream under the courtyard. He has now renovated it as an event space / museum. On the upper level, you can study the structure of houses built on the site as far back as 1730, and below ground, you can follow the ancient stream under a number of properties.

The Museo National de la Traje, or nation museum of clothing also occupies a old courtyard house in San Telmo. It has a number of small rooms that show the evolution of everyday clothing in Argentina through the decades.

Of course you can't visit Buenos Aires without a stop at the Museo Evita. The first lady of Argentina after WWII loved beautiful clothes, and many of her most famous outfits are on display. However, most of the museum is dedicated to the good works of the Fundacion Maria Eva Duarte de Peron - primarily shelters for single mothers and children - and her success in winning rights for women and the poor. It is fascinating; just not as picturesque as the dresses.

I loved the MALBA (Museo de Arte Latinoamerico de Buenos Aires), built with the fortune of a man named Eduardo Constantini. His collection includes works by great artists including Xul Solar, Diego Rivera and Frida Khalo. But I loved the retrospective on a contemporary and friend of Andy Warhol's, Marta Minujin (the mattress art and 'fractured' sculpture below are hers). I also loved the bench that ran away and a frightening realistic work of a man 'excluded' from society.

Also in Recoleta is the Museo National de Arte Decorativo, housed in an amazing mansion built with the fortune of the Alvear family. The Matriarch of the family loved beautiful furniture and her collection, from the turn of the last century, forms the core of the collection. Unfortunately, no photos are allowed inside... but I bought the book!





This is just skimming the surface of the art and history that Buenos Aires has on display... I havn't even made it to the Fine Arts museum or the amazing Museo Fortabat (also built with a family fortune to house a private collection). But I'm saving those for my return from my grand tour of the countryside.

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