No license (Rodolfo hadn’t got around to sorting one out.. in the last seven years), no papers for the bike (it belonged to my ‘Australian mate’ Kevin Spacey (Rodolfo’s choice) and was just being checked after a routine garage visit, if anyone official asked us), cycle bike helmets that didn’t fit properly and frankly offered as much protection as wrapping a newspaper round your head; a bike born in the 90s with most of it’s lights broken that Rodolfo had only ridden around the block a few times since he’d brought it- what could possibly go wrong?
Unfortunately Rodolfo thought better of it and I took the bus to Cafayate. Usually a quiet tourist town with a pretty main square overlooked by an imposing church and surrounded by cafes. The problem was that I went over the Easter weekend (Semana Santa as they call it here), when the young folk get let out to party until the wee small hours. I found the only bed (hostel) left in town at a place called ‘Ruta 40’ (a famous highway here akin to Route 66 in the USA). It cost 130 pesos ($14/£9) a night and included breakfast (I was always gone too early to every try it) and WiFi. However, most people staying there were below 25 and the dorm was positioned next to the main courtyard which blasted music until midnight and most people carried on drinking until at least two in the morning.
I had one full day here so asked Erick and Rodolfo what was the best thing to do. This ensued a fight as Erick said I should go to the ruins which had national significance while Rodolfo insisted I see the beautiful waterfalls that surrounded the village. Stupidly I did both.
My day started early. At 5am. I was greeted outside the dorm by a number of college aged guys who were finishing their night of drinking. They slurred that the ruins were a good bet.
The bus left around 6am, and without the sun, the town was cool with many of the locals being dressed for what appeared to be an artic winter. As such they looked in horror as muggins here turned up in shorts and a T shirt. I tried to play it cool but in reality should have packed something warmer.
It takes about 1.20hr to get to the ruins (don’t believe them when they tell you its only 40mins). You get dropped on the main road with a few sandy tracks leading off it but the ruins are poorly sign posted (I can say this as on the way back when I was waiting for the bus back to town ten locals stopped their car to ask me how to get to the ruins). Fortunately I was dropped off with a young lady in the same place so asked her how to get to the ruins. She said she was walking that way and for me to accompany her.
It is approximately an hour from the main road to the ruins and with the sun still rising which, while making the scenery breath taking as the first rays of light struck the mountains turning black into a variety of greens, oranges, dusty browns and purples, it was still cool. The young lady was good company. I explained I was visiting from ‘Australia’ (remember The Falklands) and enjoying seeing her country.
Turned out she was a nurse and going to the ruins to look after any tourists who were hurt/unwell. So I asked her if she had problems with snake bites here. She replied sometimes ‘but don’t worry you’re Australian’….
A small hut guards the entrance to the ruins where you pay approximately 30pesos ($3.40/£2.20) for entrance. There is a bathroom on site but nothing else (so take food and plenty of water). A sleepy attendant greeted me and the nurse and then I was left to explore the ruins on my own. There was literally no one on site so I had the place to myself… Until 10.30-11am when the hoards of tourist buses started turning up.
There is little information on site and the ruins constituted the remains of walls constructed of stone, some 1.7m high. No complete houses but certainly a pattern to the settlement which you can wonder round and picture how the people might have live. My only knowledge of the site comes from Erick who explained that the locals were captured in a decisive battle with the Spanish Conquistadores and subsequently enslaved and paraded in chains around the city of Buenos Aires like prizes of war. As a side note the ruins are known as Quilmes, which is the name of the most popular beer here in Argentina.
As you enter, there is a pile of rocks dedicated to mother earth (pacha mama). Guillermo explained to me that you often find piles of rocks around the countryside of South America. The purpose of these was to mark ancient routes used by the indigenous population. If people found a good route they would pile some rocks up and as people passed it they would add further rocks. As such some piles of rocks, on popular routes, could be 2m high with the first rocks having been placed there a thousand years before.
A bus then passes the entrance around 11.30am (and you are reminded that there is a walk of approximately one hour from the ruins to the main road by the bus attendant). Fortunately I got it and went back to town.
The Swiss girl I’d met at the hostel explained that she’d hired a bike to explore the sites around the town but said most were up hill. What she failed to mention was that as soon as you left the town the tarmac stops and you peddle in sand, some of it quite deep. Do this in the Argentine heat and bloody hell was it hard- my legs are now so toned they could support Marble Arch in London. But off I went to find the waterfalls that Rodolfo insisted I visit.
The guy I hired the bike from said it would take me 40mins… In cool weather on a solid surface, maybe, but in reality it took 1.5hrs+. Once you get to the entrance a young guy notes your details (to make sure everyone who goes to the falls comes back safely). There is no cost but he asks for a donation, which you place in a pot, for the upkeep of the national park. He said he’d look after my bike while I went to the falls which was great.
To get to the falls you follow one of two streams. The path is initially laid out, for about 200m, then you are on your own to scramble over rocks often pulling yourself up with branches, wade through the streams (which can be deep) and hop over wet rocks (hoping you don’t slip). I walked for two hours (don’t forget the bike journey I’d just done) and couldn’t find the bloody falls. The attendant asks that everyone is back by 6pm otherwise they have to come and look for you. By now it was getting late into the afternoon so I decided to turn back.
The cycle back to town was downhill and rapid. On the way was a vineyard, luckily still open, so I stumbled in to try some of the produce. They must have been used to well dressed tourists arriving by car or bus, so when I turned up soaked, in dirty, sweaty clothes looking half dead the owner did greet me with one eyebrow raised. Considering my day, the wine probably tasted better than it really was. But at least I’d had a glass in a famous wine producing region of Arengtina.
Yup worth it
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