#51 Adios Argentina - Cachi to La Quiaca

With baited breath we felt the end of Argentina approaching; but not without some magical moments. I will give a quick rundown of our final experiences in Argentina after finally making it to Cachi after 'crossing the brown sea'. We had intended to treat Northern Argentina as simply a necessary passage in order to reach Bolivia, but every day we were struck by the dramatic and diverse scenery we encountered.

Church in Cachi

Leaving Molinos we were again back on the section of the road to Cachi which buses access (there is no public transport between Angastaco and Molinos meaning one must either have their own form of transport or hitch). We were grateful not to have another day of endurance riding. Cachi itself was a quaint colonial town of white washed edifices crammed with brightly-coloured artisan wares circling a comfortable plaza. However, it perhaps could never live up to the anticipation we had built in the 10 hours we had taken to reach it.

The road out was reminiscent of the flat plains of Patagonia - not for the boredom but for the winds. Instead of guanacos amongst the plains we spotted the odd donkey grazing. Again we saw signs cautioning its hazardous nature, and with cacti on either side of us being blown over was not a pleasant thought.

As we ascended the cactuses filtered out and the plains were replaced with hillsides sliced down the middle to expose a core of multi-coloured waves like the lines on a tree-trunk which represent its years.

Once again we rode into the clouds to reach an ascent over 4,000 metres. As we had done outside Tafi we came out of the mist to find ourselves winding down through the rolling hillsides of the next Quebrada, all 4000 metres visible from the barrier-less ridge beside us. The ripe green landscape was in stark contrast to the arid cactus plains we had crossed only an hour before. The area is known for seismic activity and it looked as if such had sliced a ravine through the hillside many years earlier creating a stream for chunky muddied waters to flow down and another difficult river crossing for us. While the wait was nowhere near that of the previous' day the adventures of the past few days lead us to take a breath, and aclimatise to our high surroundings, in the city of Salta for a few days.

But before we arrived another treat was in store for us. Not far from the bustle of Sucre the Quebrada morphed into an almost jungle scene with the loopy branches of trees hanging down on either side of the road. Birdsong could be heard even over the roar of the motor. Once in a while a flock would, for whatever reason, leave the comfort of the forest. We could see that they were green parrots, each not much bigger in size than a pet budgie. At one point six or seven decided to take us on, charging towards our heads, keeping pace with the bike while hovering overhead for a few seconds. All to quick for a photograph unfortunately. The excitement caused me to forget my bird phobia but I know Reece was concerned enough about the distraction to toot his horn causing the parrots to disappear back into the tree folds.

The same sort of landscape bid us farewell from Sucre, and like a scene from Bambi, a doe followed by her baby deer crossed the road in front us. All a bit surreal really. Further North took us through the even more spectacularly painted hillsides of the Quebrada de Humahuaca, the most famous of which is the Cerros de los Siete found in Pumamarca. This tourist haunt is full of stalls offering llama wares, oils of street scenes, and other artesenias which somewhat distract from the village's natural backdrop but it was worthy of a photo stop and empanada or two - maybe our last as we approach a new cuisine in Bolivia.

Our next stop came in Tilcara, another Quebrada town, where carnaval celebrations were in full swing. Boisterous crowds took to the streets pelting passers-by with confetti and snow spay to the sounds of local folkmusic. We took the opportunity to taste another local delicacy while in Tilcara - llama. A slight disappointment as it was not all that dissimilar to beef.

Famous hillside cemetery at Maimara

After an afternoon's ride during which we spotted a number of our lunch on the side of the road, we arrived at the tip of Argentina ready to cross the border to Bolivia. The night ended rather fittingly. Our hotel was a dive (I'm surprise we weren't poisoned by the gas smell streaming from the numerous bottles outside our door) though for once for a border town, it was dirt cheap. Our meal, much the same. However we were kept company by locals who approached us to chat, find out where we are from, give us information on upcoming roads (as is often the case this turned out to be false), and wish us save travels. This is the kind of hospitality (and cuisine) we have come to expect from the people of this spectacularly beautiful and diverse country which we highly recommend to anyone heading to this part of the world.