Writing this post I'm now in Rio Gallegos, at the southeastern tip of mainland Argentina. It's cold and extremely windy here, which is nice, considering when we left Buenos Aires it was a record-breaking 40 degrees C, or roughly 104 F. Add to that humidity, no air conditioning, and a stove going full blast with two pots of boiling potatoes, and you've got one sweaty Jew.
Thanksgiving in Buenos Aires, heat stroke notwithstanding, was a huge success. My friends Lexi and Brennan, after becoming chummy with their butcher, were able to secure a 14-pound turkey, even after the butcher repeatedly asked to make sure they didn't really want steak instead. Turkey, as well as cranberries, pumpkin and stuffing, is essentially unheard of in this country, so we had to be a little bit inventive. The result, though, was a spectacular feast. Lexi and Brennan made a nice gravy to go with their bird, Jess adapted a cranberry sauce recipe to work with fresh cherries, Erika made a sweet potato casserole (complete with melted marshmellows on top!) and I made the mashed potatoes. One of Brennan's friends brought apple pie, so we were set.
We ate early, at about 7pm, compared to a normal dinnertime of 10pm, but it was a good thing, because I needed all the time I could get to digest. We left for the airport around 9:30, and by 11pm were airborne on our way here, Rio Gallegos. We slept for about six hours in a "hotel" that could have just as easily been a mental hospital. Our room had three metal cots and standard issue blankets, and I had to look twice to make sure there werent any leather straps hidden beneath. For $50 including breakfast, split between three people, I guess it's not so bad.
Now we're stuck waiting for the first bus to El Calafate, our real destination and home to the Glaciar Perrito Moreno. We thought it leaves at 9am but actually doesn't leave until noon, which is inconvenient but certainly better than making the opposite mistake. Tomorrow we're hopefully going to do a little ice-trekking, crampons and all.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Here it is: The Buenos Aires Guide!
Buenos Aires is a great city. One of the joys of spending more than just a few days here was getting to really know how the city works, how to get around, where and what to eat, and where to go out at night. That being said, most people don't have the chance to spend more than a few days traveling in a new city, so I'll try and impart some of the knowledge that I've attained with a 4- or so day trip in mind. I'm more into the details of daily life than specific tourist attractions, so this is more of a broad guide than a list of how you should spend your time.
Arrival: You'll probably fly into Ezezia, the international airport. From here you can either take a cab ($30) or a bus ($13) to the center. The bus (Manuel Tienda Leon is the company) only goes every half an hour and drops you off in Retiro, a shady and somewhat inconvenient spot in the city, although I think the $13 includes a free cab from the bus station to your destination. Either way, I'd go with a cab straight from the airport, you can't beat the convenience, especially if you have luggage.
Where to stay:
Buenos Aires has really four main neighborhoods that attract tourists. The largest (and best, in my opinion), is Palermo. Runners up include Recoleta, San Telmo, and Centro. All four have hostel options, although most upscale hotels are in Recoleta. If you're more the backpacker type, I'd recommend the Palermo House in Palermo Soho. It's perfectly located in the middle of trendy Soho near bars and daytime shopping/walking around, and has a very, very social atmosphere. If more upscale is your thing, go with the converted convent Malabia House, an intimate 15-room boutique also in Soho. This hotel comes highly recommended from Erika and her mom.
Besides Palermo, I would consider recommending San Telmo. San Telmo is the oldest neighborhood, and has a very romantic feel, partly due to the sidewalk tango performers and artisan markets. It's touristy and a bit kitchy, but also enjoyable, so if you're into that, it's not the worst choice. That being said, it's quite a hike (close to an hour by subway including a transfer) to the best nightlife, and even though cabs are cheap (San Telmo to Palermo would run you less than $8), it's not ideal.
Recoleta is upscale but less convenient to transportation and quieter at nighttime. is The Centro is busy, hustle-bustle during the week with suits running around from bank to bank, with narrow streets and nearly non-existent sidewalks.
Getting around:
First of all, if you're only here for a few days, splurge on cabs. The flag drops at $1.20, and most rides are between $2 and $6. There are stories of cabs doing bad things ranging anywhere from going a few blocks out the way to full on kidnapping and robbing of passengers, but I think they're blown way out of proportion. Either way, keep your wits about you, and don't let a drunk girl get in a cab by herself.
Let me reiterate: Buenos Aires is huge. Distances may look short on the map, but trust me, they're not. Each block is more or less 100 meters, also known as a football field. If somewhere you're headed is 10 blocks away, that's a kilometer, and 16 blocks is a mile. They're not quite Manhattan crosstown blocks, but they're long.
After getting used to the peso's 3-to-1 exchange rate, most of us that have been here become awfully frugal, opting instead for buses or subway ($0.25 a ride). The subway is pretty easy to figure out although not incredibly helpful. The Green Line (Line D) goes from the Centro through Recoleta and Palermo before terminating in Belgrano, and is certainly the most useful line. For the subway, you can get a pre-paid card called Monedero which also works at the "Open 25 hs" chain of newstands.
Buses, however, are their own beast. There is no centralized system, and each bus line is run by an independent compay. The closest to a bus map the city has is a small booklet called the Guia 'T', in which you can look up where you are and where you're going, and cross-reference the bus lines that pass through both areas. Then you go to the back of the book, and try to follow street-by-street descriptions (in words) of the bus route to find out where you might actually get on. Sometimes, a bus goes from where you are to where you're going, though, mostly you rely upon locals to tell you which bus goes where. It's always a pleasant surprise to learn a new bus with a particularly convenient route.
Once you've found the bus and arrived at the stop, getting on requires flagging the speeding bus down. Make sure you have change, which can be hard to find in Buenos Aires, because the bus only accepts coins. Even commuters who ride the bus every day pay with coins, it's really a backward system. As you get on tell the driver, which street you're getting off on so he (they're all men, at least all that I've seen) and deposit your coins in the machine behind his seat. Then hold tight because the drivers are fearless, and keep your eyes peeled for your destination so you can get to the back door and request your stop with the buzzer.
Eating, Drinking, and Shopping in Palermo:
Palermo, for me, has really been the center of it all. Palermo Viejo is roughly defined as the rectangle defined by Santa Fe (also subway line D) on the bottom, Scalabrini Ortiz and Dorrego on the sides, and Cordoba on top (if your map is aligned with the river on the bottom, as most are). Palermo Viejo is bisected by train tracks, with the left called Soho, and the right Hollywood (seriously). Soho is more chic, with most of the shopping and classy places, while Hollywood also has its fair share of great bars.
Gorriti and Honduras are parallel roads that cut through both sides of the neighborhood and are covered with bars and restaurants for the entire length. In Soho, Honduras passes through Plaza Serrano, a young, hip square jumping at nighttime. Plaza Armenia is just two blocks away, and has a bit more upscale vibe, with a family friendly park and a weekend bazaar.
Between the two plazas, perpendicular to Honduras and Gorriti, Armenia and Gurruchaga are some of the best shopping streets in Buenos Aires, with lots of upscale boutiques. I particularly liked Airborne, on Gurruchaga close to the corner of Costa Rica.
Eating, in general:
Palermo is great because it is the most cosmopolitan section of Buenos Aires. However, if you're looking for something more typically Argentinian, look for one of close to a million Parrillas the city has to offer. Each will sell you a steak for around $8, and although it won't be amazing, it won't be bad either. Bife de lomo is the prime cut, so start there. In my experience, the steaks here aren't really that amazing so much as they are ubiquitous and cheap. A great place to get good-sized portions at backpacker prices is La Cholita on Rodriguez Pena 1165. They don't take reservations so expect to wait a bit, but you'll be hapy. If you're after a fantastic steak at American prices, La Cabaña is fantastic and authentic (although maybe a bit touristy).
When the meat got to be too much, I ended up eating a lot at Buenos Aries Verde, a vegetarian organic place only about 8 blocks from my apartment. For all of your eating questions, the Guia Oleo is certainly the place to go, and has listings, hours, and reviews of basically every restauarnt int the city.
Tango:
Sure, there are plenty of tango shows in Buenos Aires, and most are probably good. They're tourist-oriented, though, so if you're looking for a more authentic experience head to a milonga. Milongas are neighborhood social halls, and it is common to show up at one alone seeking dancing partners. They're all over the city, ask around to find one near you. Any given milonga is probably only open one or two nights a week, starting at around 9pm with a class and then officially starting around 11 with live music. Tango culture is a bit old-timey, with many of the recreational dancers in their later years, although the classes especially attract a younger crowd. If you're looking for parters of either gender and the chance to swap roles, check out Tango Queer, if you're more "traditional", try La Catedral at Sarmiento 4006.
When the meat got to be too much, I ended up eating a lot at Buenos Aries Verde, a vegetarian organic place only about 8 blocks from my apartment. For all of your eating questions, the Guia Oleo is certainly the place to go, and has listings, hours, and reviews of basically every restauarnt int the city.
Tango:
Sure, there are plenty of tango shows in Buenos Aires, and most are probably good. They're tourist-oriented, though, so if you're looking for a more authentic experience head to a milonga. Milongas are neighborhood social halls, and it is common to show up at one alone seeking dancing partners. They're all over the city, ask around to find one near you. Any given milonga is probably only open one or two nights a week, starting at around 9pm with a class and then officially starting around 11 with live music. Tango culture is a bit old-timey, with many of the recreational dancers in their later years, although the classes especially attract a younger crowd. If you're looking for parters of either gender and the chance to swap roles, check out Tango Queer, if you're more "traditional", try La Catedral at Sarmiento 4006.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
A whale of a tale
Contrary to my last post, I didn't go to Bariloche. When my friend Erika got back to Buenos Aires and we were discussing this trip, we realized that as beautiful and fun as Bariloche might be, it wasn't really something we couldn't experience in the States, and might not be as worthwhile as going somewhere truly unique.
So here we are, in Puerto Pirámides, Argentina, on the Peninsula Valdés. It's about equal in southerly-ness as Bariloche (which counts as the northern end of Patagonia), but instead of being situated in the Andes, it's on the Atlantic coast. We took a 17-hour bus ride to get here, and here's why: whales.
Southern Right Whales, to be exact. And they. Were. Awesome. Just wait until you see the pictures and video...we saw no less than 20, some as close as right next to the boat. The largest are between 50 and 60 feet long, weighing up to 130 tons. Huge.
We saw mothers with their babies playing, eventually approaching the side of the boat. We saw full breaches from a distance of 100 feet, at most. We watched as one of the little ones slapped in our direction (out of play or irritation, it wasn't clear), and then recoiled in fear when suddenly it was actually slapping the side of the boat and turned out to not be so small after all.
We also saw penguins and 5000-pound elephant seals yesterday, but nothing will ever come close to those whales. It's a good thing, too, since there's not really much else to do here, and we probably didn't have to devote a whole long weekend just to this one place. That being said though, it was awesome.
So here we are, in Puerto Pirámides, Argentina, on the Peninsula Valdés. It's about equal in southerly-ness as Bariloche (which counts as the northern end of Patagonia), but instead of being situated in the Andes, it's on the Atlantic coast. We took a 17-hour bus ride to get here, and here's why: whales.
Southern Right Whales, to be exact. And they. Were. Awesome. Just wait until you see the pictures and video...we saw no less than 20, some as close as right next to the boat. The largest are between 50 and 60 feet long, weighing up to 130 tons. Huge.
We saw mothers with their babies playing, eventually approaching the side of the boat. We saw full breaches from a distance of 100 feet, at most. We watched as one of the little ones slapped in our direction (out of play or irritation, it wasn't clear), and then recoiled in fear when suddenly it was actually slapping the side of the boat and turned out to not be so small after all.
We also saw penguins and 5000-pound elephant seals yesterday, but nothing will ever come close to those whales. It's a good thing, too, since there's not really much else to do here, and we probably didn't have to devote a whole long weekend just to this one place. That being said though, it was awesome.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
The inevitable passage of time
I’ll admit: the last few weeks have been a little slow. On account of some conversations with friends, and my own lack of initiative, I ultimately decided (as should now be obvious) not to do anything particularly legitimate here in Buenos Aires. Flexibility was really the higher priority, and as a result I’ve been able to travel a lot.
Since coming back from Salta, there have been a few highlights, but don’t let them fool you—a lot of days I just hung around my apartment reading stupid blogs and only leaving to buy food.
Last Saturday was Gay Pride in Buenos Aires and we watched the parade. It was a big party, although compared to the only other one I’ve ever seen (San Francisco, where the thing was invented), it wasn’t huge. Not too shabby for Catholic Latin America though, that’s for sure. In fact, Argentina has legalized civil unions, a step that only a very few states in the US have taken.
The elections here were awesome, and we watched the returns with about a thousand Americans packed into a local bar. Since then a lot of non-Americans have been talking about Obama here, and even my cab drivers are excited by the change coming to the US. There are articles in the local paper almost every day about the impending transition of power.
Last Wednesday I went to a Bela Fleck and the Flecktones concert, which was awesome. Bela Fleck is an American banjo player who, along with his band of bass, winds and drum players, jams really hard. The concert was a ton of fun and in a really nice 2000-seat theater right in the center of town. What struck me more than anything was how polite everyone was. First of all, everyone remained seated throughout the two-hour concert. In the states, people always stand, and sitting just felt rude, like we weren’t living up to our end of the bargain. Then sometimes people would start clapping with the beat only to have others shush them. If it wasn’t for the thunderous applause and ensuing standing ovation, you might have mistaken the audience for viewers of a ballet.
Now with about three weeks left before heading back to the states, I’m going on three 6-day trips to make the most of my time. It seems as though I’ll only be coming back to Buenos Aires on Wednesdays for a quick recharge and maybe a laundry run.
Since coming back from Salta, there have been a few highlights, but don’t let them fool you—a lot of days I just hung around my apartment reading stupid blogs and only leaving to buy food.
Last Saturday was Gay Pride in Buenos Aires and we watched the parade. It was a big party, although compared to the only other one I’ve ever seen (San Francisco, where the thing was invented), it wasn’t huge. Not too shabby for Catholic Latin America though, that’s for sure. In fact, Argentina has legalized civil unions, a step that only a very few states in the US have taken.
The elections here were awesome, and we watched the returns with about a thousand Americans packed into a local bar. Since then a lot of non-Americans have been talking about Obama here, and even my cab drivers are excited by the change coming to the US. There are articles in the local paper almost every day about the impending transition of power.
Last Wednesday I went to a Bela Fleck and the Flecktones concert, which was awesome. Bela Fleck is an American banjo player who, along with his band of bass, winds and drum players, jams really hard. The concert was a ton of fun and in a really nice 2000-seat theater right in the center of town. What struck me more than anything was how polite everyone was. First of all, everyone remained seated throughout the two-hour concert. In the states, people always stand, and sitting just felt rude, like we weren’t living up to our end of the bargain. Then sometimes people would start clapping with the beat only to have others shush them. If it wasn’t for the thunderous applause and ensuing standing ovation, you might have mistaken the audience for viewers of a ballet.
Now with about three weeks left before heading back to the states, I’m going on three 6-day trips to make the most of my time. It seems as though I’ll only be coming back to Buenos Aires on Wednesdays for a quick recharge and maybe a laundry run.
- Bariloche: Instead of going to the nearby cities of Rosario and Cordoba like I had planned, I’m instead going to head down to Bariloche for a long weekend, leaving tomorrow or Thursday taking an 18-hour bus each way. A few months ago that might have turned me off, but I’d like to think I’m a pro now. Bariloche is, as I understand, the Colorado of Argentina, with great skiing in the winter and outdoor adventure sports in the summer. Since it’s summer, I’m hoping to do some fun rafting or hiking. I’ll get back next Tuesday or Wednesday.
- Uruguay: Next Thursday I’m off to Uruguay, stopping in Colonia (a cute historic town where the ferry from Buenos Aires lands) and Montevideo (the capital, but otherwise boring) before spending the long weekend in Punta del Este. PDE is the summer vacation location of choice for people from Buenos Aires, and we’ll be enjoying the beach as well as driving around the coastline in a rental car.
- The End of the World: Just before heading back to the states, Jess, Sage and I are going on a trip to El Calafate and Ushuaia. El Calafate is in the Southern Andes, and home to one of the most impressive glaciers in the world. Ushuaia, on the island of Tierra del Fuego (Land of Fire) is the southernmost city in the entire world. Go figure.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
4:51am
OK, the election was called for Obama about 3 hours ago, yet I'm still awake. Like Matt, I too am obsessed with the election and will probably be reading blogs and news articles for at least a week to come about the fall out.
But even more than the miraculousness of the presidential outcome, the imminent banning of gay marriage in California is on my mind. Many of my friends, via Facebook of course, are making clear the depression they feel about this loss, and it's easy to wallow after setback after setback. To many of us, a vote against gay marriage is a vote against compassion, and love, and just seems mean.
That being said, I can't help but be hopeful, with a president-elect who, more than any other in our history, believes in the power of diversity. Obama reminded us again tonight that the road ahead is one of struggle, and that we as a nation must continue to fight to perfect our Union.
Gavin Newsom is right, gay marriage is here to stay. It won't be legal tomorrow in his state, but time marches on, and the fight continues. I'm just lucky to have the time and the patience to keep fighting the good fight.
We may have lost gay marriage in California, but we've won something much, much greater.
On another optomistic note: Now almost a day later, a lot of people in my life are really sad about prop 8. They're showing it with their away messages, their statuses, and all the ways we communicate our opinions in this web 2.0 world. I can only be grateful to see how much gay rights mean to the people that I care about--gay, straight, young, old, and of many backgrounds.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Just in case anyone was worried, this is a picture of me with my ballot a few weeks ago while my parents were visiting. My dad mailed it in, and then verified today that it was there! Tonight we're going to a bar where a bunch of local expats will be drinking heavily either in celebration or destitution, hopefully the former!
Monday, November 3, 2008
The Argentinian Northwest
The trip to the Northwest went pretty much exactly as planned. Yes, I have been trying to be spontaneous while in South America, but this was short trip, and I give myself credit just for doing it.
It was 6:44pm when I got out of the taxi at the Salta bus station, quickly learning that the next bus to Jujuy left at 6:45. Fortunately the guy at the ticket window did whatever it is they do extremely fast and I made the bus with not 30 seconds to spare, and arrived in Jujuy by 9pm.
Jujuy is the province to the north of Salta, one step closer to the Andes and Bolivia and the small towns I had hoped to visit. The plan was to go back to Salta, after exploring the far North, so I was glad to get to Jujuy so quickly and smoothly. I checked into the local Hostelling International hostel, which wasn’t great, but only had about 10 guests for about 100 available beds. (Side note: this was the first trip I made without any advance hostel reservations; though not for lack of trying, everywhere I called assured me it really wouldn’t be a problem to just show up.)
Tuesday morning I woke up and walked over to the Avis office, where after a brief moment of panic that my lack of an international license would prevent me from renting, I walked out with the keys to a compact, manual-transmission Chevrolet. The first obstacle was the garage’s exit ramp, which seemed like a 30-degree incline, although with a running start I magically made it up without stalling. Then it was the open road of Ruta Nacional 9, and onward through the mountains towards, but not quite to, Bolivia.
I ultimately visited four towns and put 385 kilometers on the car. The whole route is along the Quedabra de Humuhuaca, basically a valley with interesting geological formations. The area is reminiscent of Arizona, although the culture is significantly more indigenous—a quality that has been somewhat fetishized by the tourists, and exploited by the local entrepreneurs.
Purmamarca, the first town I visited, is known for its cerro (hill) de 7 colores, and the town seemed to be thriving on tourism with a giant flea market in the central plaza. The cerro was cool looking, although I had a hard time counting all 7 colors. Next I plowed ahead to the furthest town, Humuahuaca, where I had lunch in a quiet hole in the wall filled with local men (not one woman out of about 15 people). I drove a little further, hoping to check out Iruya, a town that Lonely Planet called “magical”, but was dismayed to see the poor condition of the gravel road that, after 52 grueling kilometers, would have either have killed my tiny car or lasted until sunset.
It was around 2pm when I turned back, giving me time to stop at Uquia (oo-KEE-ah) and later, Tilcara. Uquia was a really small place, only earning a spot on the map on account of its chapel, which was filled with paintings of Christian saints holding guns. Apparently, these paintings were placed here by missionaries hoping to assure converts that even the Saints, with all of their faith, were still warriors who knew how to protect themselves not just in the hereafter but in the now, as well.
The chapel and town square was the closest part of town to Highway 9, although something about this tiny town seemed intriguing, so I drove past the church up a gravel road, and after two blocks I ran into the town’s only restaurant. I went in for coffee and a tamale, and was impressed by the incredible care with which the restaurant was decorated. I asked the proprietor if they received lots of tourists, only to learn that they cater to tour companies and a group of 45 people had left not half an hour before I showed up.
I ended up talking to the owners, a married couple, for about 45 minutes. They had a really interesting story: she was from Buenos Aires but he was from Uquia, and they met while he was working in the capital for Exxon. He must have been fairly successful in the oil industry, because after his retirement he traveled the world studying organic farming and cooking methods, and then three years ago they moved back to Uquia together to open this restaurant. They grow all of their own produce organically, own a farm outside of the city, and sell marmalades and liqueurs. I thought about buying a squash marmalade, but after a free taste of their coffee liqueur I opted for a small bottle of that, instead.
After leaving Uquia it was 5pm and I only stayed for a little while in Tilcara, my last stop. Tilcara is the most developed of the towns and the only with 3- and higher star hotels, in addition to internet cafes.
After dropping the car off the Avis guy graciously drove me to the bus station so I could head back to Salta, and by 11pm I had checked into the hostel. I was staying in a dormitory room with three girls from France, and upon entering they apologized in advance for their alarm clocks which would be going off early the next day.
“That’s funny,” I said. “What are you getting up for at 6am?”
It turns out they had the same plan I did, to take the 16-hour scenic Tren a las Nubes. I couldn’t believe my luck to find friends to share the journey with before even arriving at the station, and was even more relieved at 6:30am when I realized that we were the only people there below the age of 40.
The train left promptly at 7:05am, and shortly after I began to panic. Firstly, I hadn’t been able to change my seat and was separated from the girls by an entire car. Then the empty seat next to me was filled by a man reeking of alcohol who immediately reclined and closed his eyes. Then I began to worry if I would possibly starve to death, as only a light breakfast and lunch would be served, and all other food would cost money. Not having time to stop at an ATM, I was left with only 50 pesos (less than 20 USD) and was sure I wouldn’t be able to afford anything more than crackers in the onboard bar/restaurant. I started hoping that I would survive the day.
Ultimately, my fears were unfounded, and I ended up enjoying the trip. About an hour into it I found the girls, sitting facing each other in a cluster of four seats, the fourth of which was empty. They invited me to sit down, and there I stayed for the next 15 hours. Food, too, wasn’t a problem, when an afternoon stop included locals selling empanadas (10 pesos the dozen) and sandwiches (3 pesos).
Matters of survival aside, the train was a unique experience. I’m not sure if I would use other adjectives (more laudatory words don’t seem to fit), but ‘unique’ was enough, and I’m glad I went. There were many times when you could lean out of the open windows and see nothing but the train, and mountains, with an accompaniment of llamas or cacti. So alone were we, that when I was wondering why we needed onboard security, it occurred to me that it wasn’t beyond the realm of feasibility to be held up, like in a bad Western, by bandits hoping to steal the wealthy tourists’ wallets.
The “climax” of the trip is a bridge over a wide gorge, built in the 1930’s. It’s impressive, although hardly the point of the trip, with the sheer experience of the train ride just as mystifying as the train’s destination. With spirals and zig-zags, the track is an engineering triumph. The train manages to climb higher than any other in the world without the use of cogs, eventually reaching 4200 meters (just shy of 14,000 feet) in altitude.
After a deserving night’s sleep, Thursday morning was for Salta, before boarding a bus for another long ride back to Buenos Aires. Salta is a nice town, and clearly has put a lot of money into making itself a tourist destination. The center of the city has a beautiful square, with colonial style architecture of the surrounding buildings giving it a very Old World feel.
Arguably the most popular attraction of the city is in this square, the Anthropology Museum of the High Mountains. Here they tell the story of the short-lived but far-reaching Inca Empire, which covered a huge portion of South America right up until the Spanish colonization. The main topic in the museum, however, is the Inca’s ritual sacrifice of children. Three children left to die on the top of a 16,000-foot volcano, and well-preserved by the elements, were brought to the museum and kept frozen and maintained. One of these bodies, on a rotating basis, is on display in a special see-through tank. The display is obviously highly controversial, but culminates a riveting story in a well-done museum.
The last part of my trip was another voyage, this time on a bus, for the 18-hour trip back down to Buenos Aires. The trip was easy, if not enjoyable, and a far cry from what you may expect if you’ve ever ridden Greyhound. I was in Executive class, the second highest, with only “Suite” class more expensive (with fully flat seats). The seats are in a 2-1 layout, so I had no one next to me, and recline about 160-degrees. A bus attendant serves crappy coffee as you board, and movies are shown on flat-screen TV’s. Dinner and breakfast, although almost inedible, are served, along with free wine and a nightcap of your liqueur of choice. All in all, Argentina has really figured out how to do long distance bus travel.
It was 6:44pm when I got out of the taxi at the Salta bus station, quickly learning that the next bus to Jujuy left at 6:45. Fortunately the guy at the ticket window did whatever it is they do extremely fast and I made the bus with not 30 seconds to spare, and arrived in Jujuy by 9pm.
Jujuy is the province to the north of Salta, one step closer to the Andes and Bolivia and the small towns I had hoped to visit. The plan was to go back to Salta, after exploring the far North, so I was glad to get to Jujuy so quickly and smoothly. I checked into the local Hostelling International hostel, which wasn’t great, but only had about 10 guests for about 100 available beds. (Side note: this was the first trip I made without any advance hostel reservations; though not for lack of trying, everywhere I called assured me it really wouldn’t be a problem to just show up.)
Tuesday morning I woke up and walked over to the Avis office, where after a brief moment of panic that my lack of an international license would prevent me from renting, I walked out with the keys to a compact, manual-transmission Chevrolet. The first obstacle was the garage’s exit ramp, which seemed like a 30-degree incline, although with a running start I magically made it up without stalling. Then it was the open road of Ruta Nacional 9, and onward through the mountains towards, but not quite to, Bolivia.
I ultimately visited four towns and put 385 kilometers on the car. The whole route is along the Quedabra de Humuhuaca, basically a valley with interesting geological formations. The area is reminiscent of Arizona, although the culture is significantly more indigenous—a quality that has been somewhat fetishized by the tourists, and exploited by the local entrepreneurs.
Purmamarca, the first town I visited, is known for its cerro (hill) de 7 colores, and the town seemed to be thriving on tourism with a giant flea market in the central plaza. The cerro was cool looking, although I had a hard time counting all 7 colors. Next I plowed ahead to the furthest town, Humuahuaca, where I had lunch in a quiet hole in the wall filled with local men (not one woman out of about 15 people). I drove a little further, hoping to check out Iruya, a town that Lonely Planet called “magical”, but was dismayed to see the poor condition of the gravel road that, after 52 grueling kilometers, would have either have killed my tiny car or lasted until sunset.
It was around 2pm when I turned back, giving me time to stop at Uquia (oo-KEE-ah) and later, Tilcara. Uquia was a really small place, only earning a spot on the map on account of its chapel, which was filled with paintings of Christian saints holding guns. Apparently, these paintings were placed here by missionaries hoping to assure converts that even the Saints, with all of their faith, were still warriors who knew how to protect themselves not just in the hereafter but in the now, as well.
The chapel and town square was the closest part of town to Highway 9, although something about this tiny town seemed intriguing, so I drove past the church up a gravel road, and after two blocks I ran into the town’s only restaurant. I went in for coffee and a tamale, and was impressed by the incredible care with which the restaurant was decorated. I asked the proprietor if they received lots of tourists, only to learn that they cater to tour companies and a group of 45 people had left not half an hour before I showed up.
I ended up talking to the owners, a married couple, for about 45 minutes. They had a really interesting story: she was from Buenos Aires but he was from Uquia, and they met while he was working in the capital for Exxon. He must have been fairly successful in the oil industry, because after his retirement he traveled the world studying organic farming and cooking methods, and then three years ago they moved back to Uquia together to open this restaurant. They grow all of their own produce organically, own a farm outside of the city, and sell marmalades and liqueurs. I thought about buying a squash marmalade, but after a free taste of their coffee liqueur I opted for a small bottle of that, instead.
After leaving Uquia it was 5pm and I only stayed for a little while in Tilcara, my last stop. Tilcara is the most developed of the towns and the only with 3- and higher star hotels, in addition to internet cafes.
After dropping the car off the Avis guy graciously drove me to the bus station so I could head back to Salta, and by 11pm I had checked into the hostel. I was staying in a dormitory room with three girls from France, and upon entering they apologized in advance for their alarm clocks which would be going off early the next day.
“That’s funny,” I said. “What are you getting up for at 6am?”
It turns out they had the same plan I did, to take the 16-hour scenic Tren a las Nubes. I couldn’t believe my luck to find friends to share the journey with before even arriving at the station, and was even more relieved at 6:30am when I realized that we were the only people there below the age of 40.
The train left promptly at 7:05am, and shortly after I began to panic. Firstly, I hadn’t been able to change my seat and was separated from the girls by an entire car. Then the empty seat next to me was filled by a man reeking of alcohol who immediately reclined and closed his eyes. Then I began to worry if I would possibly starve to death, as only a light breakfast and lunch would be served, and all other food would cost money. Not having time to stop at an ATM, I was left with only 50 pesos (less than 20 USD) and was sure I wouldn’t be able to afford anything more than crackers in the onboard bar/restaurant. I started hoping that I would survive the day.
Ultimately, my fears were unfounded, and I ended up enjoying the trip. About an hour into it I found the girls, sitting facing each other in a cluster of four seats, the fourth of which was empty. They invited me to sit down, and there I stayed for the next 15 hours. Food, too, wasn’t a problem, when an afternoon stop included locals selling empanadas (10 pesos the dozen) and sandwiches (3 pesos).
Matters of survival aside, the train was a unique experience. I’m not sure if I would use other adjectives (more laudatory words don’t seem to fit), but ‘unique’ was enough, and I’m glad I went. There were many times when you could lean out of the open windows and see nothing but the train, and mountains, with an accompaniment of llamas or cacti. So alone were we, that when I was wondering why we needed onboard security, it occurred to me that it wasn’t beyond the realm of feasibility to be held up, like in a bad Western, by bandits hoping to steal the wealthy tourists’ wallets.
The “climax” of the trip is a bridge over a wide gorge, built in the 1930’s. It’s impressive, although hardly the point of the trip, with the sheer experience of the train ride just as mystifying as the train’s destination. With spirals and zig-zags, the track is an engineering triumph. The train manages to climb higher than any other in the world without the use of cogs, eventually reaching 4200 meters (just shy of 14,000 feet) in altitude.
After a deserving night’s sleep, Thursday morning was for Salta, before boarding a bus for another long ride back to Buenos Aires. Salta is a nice town, and clearly has put a lot of money into making itself a tourist destination. The center of the city has a beautiful square, with colonial style architecture of the surrounding buildings giving it a very Old World feel.
Arguably the most popular attraction of the city is in this square, the Anthropology Museum of the High Mountains. Here they tell the story of the short-lived but far-reaching Inca Empire, which covered a huge portion of South America right up until the Spanish colonization. The main topic in the museum, however, is the Inca’s ritual sacrifice of children. Three children left to die on the top of a 16,000-foot volcano, and well-preserved by the elements, were brought to the museum and kept frozen and maintained. One of these bodies, on a rotating basis, is on display in a special see-through tank. The display is obviously highly controversial, but culminates a riveting story in a well-done museum.
The last part of my trip was another voyage, this time on a bus, for the 18-hour trip back down to Buenos Aires. The trip was easy, if not enjoyable, and a far cry from what you may expect if you’ve ever ridden Greyhound. I was in Executive class, the second highest, with only “Suite” class more expensive (with fully flat seats). The seats are in a 2-1 layout, so I had no one next to me, and recline about 160-degrees. A bus attendant serves crappy coffee as you board, and movies are shown on flat-screen TV’s. Dinner and breakfast, although almost inedible, are served, along with free wine and a nightcap of your liqueur of choice. All in all, Argentina has really figured out how to do long distance bus travel.
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