Where the cardon is king

As the cliché goes, Argentina is more like Europe than South America. And as with all clichés, there are certainly elements of truth to this statement.

Yet as I write this at 35,000 feet (mas o menos), reflecting upon the landscape and people of the North, I feel we have experienced a different Argentina. A South American Argentina.

Our adventures began with the arrival of our 17-hour bus ride from Mendoza into Salta’s Grand Central Station. Road weary and bleary eyed, we staggered to our lodging, Hostal del Antiguo Convento. And following in the footsteps of nuns, as we do so often, we retired for a sound nap.

Waking refreshed, we struck out into the center of Salta to explore. The differences from down South were immediately evident. The architecture called to mind Mexico or Santa Fe more than Buenos Aires. And the people resembled Peruvians or Bolivians more than their compatriots to the South.

And then we got the menu. Tamales, humitas, empanadas and locro were all on offer. Sure there was lomo and bife de chorizo – this was still Argentina after all – but there were actually items that did not derive from a cow or pig. And, heavens to Betsy, there was…spice. While the salsa picante would be considered mild by many palates (including mine), it was refreshingly spicy after nearly two months of bland Argentinean food. We were thrilled to add some new flavors into our repertoire.

After a couple days in Salta, we rented a car to tour the local environs. That’s when the fun really started.

Surrounded by cardon cacti, high mountains, altiplano, salt flats, multi-hued canyons and adobe pueblos, the area around Salta was as diverse as it was beautiful. From Purmamarca through Tilcara to Humahuaca, back through the salt flats to San Antonia de los Cobres and onto Cachi, we covered 1,000 kilometers in five days.

And throughout, we were blown away by the scenery, friendly people and laid back vibe.

On our last day in Cachi, we decided to go for a hike to see what the area had to offer. Set amongst foothills overshadowed by an 18,000-foot peak, there were plenty of lonely dirt roads and paths to keep us occupied.

With only a vague sense of goal or direction, we began our walk out of town. With air smelling of peppers drying under the cloudless sky, we marveled at the snow-rimmed peak high above and the skinned goats hanging from branches by several small huts. It seems Sunday is goat-skinning day in Cachi.

Five hours and 22 kilometers later, our sense of wonderment had shifted to feelings of dehydration and exhaustion. Luckily we had finished our unexpectedly ambitious circuit, none the worse for the wear.

Sitting at a streetside café in the main plaza, we couldn’t help but smile. With a table full of Gatorade, water and Cerveza Salta Blanca, our mood had returned to amazement that such a chill little place still exists. And at risk of squashing it by spreading the word among our vast readership, I encourage you to include the North into any trip to Argentina. Make it so.