We're tired of Salta, despite it being a really nice city. When 'Empanada making night' in the hostal comes around for the second time, we can't even bare to watch everyone else make them and then scoff them ourselves, without paying, as we did last week. It's Sunday again and it feels like we're about to start a working week as we arrange chores to be done in the morning, thinking we're getting out of town. Of course Monday comes and goes - not without the odd argument with customs - and we're still stuck here waiting. Tuesday comes, though, and we're leaving, regardless - 9 nights in one place is far too long for this type of trip. Waiters already recognise us from previous visits where we have succeeded in eating shared platters for a multitude of people between just the three, or even two, of us. Our persistently dodgy guts mean the toilet in Cafe New Time has become our home away from home and they turn the rugby or football on as soon as we enter.
Leaving Salta, we are excited to be on the open road again, and genuinely glad to have left the city. Before we left, we were the not-so-proud, and not-so-confident, owners of battered rear racks held together with string, wire, welds, rivets, a cable tie and a large bolt and plate arrangement. We'd been patiently awaiting for these since our first breakages, almost 8 weeks previously, on the Caraterra Austral, Chile. In fairness to Old Man Mountain, the manufacturers of the racks, they had sent replacements to us immediately, destined for Puerto Montt in Chile as requested. It wasn't their fault that the Chilean postal service had decided to attempt to deliver them to a bike shop during siesta time and then promptly lost them (or sold them to one of their mates who ran a mobile ice-cream business from the back of his bike). We waited until Mendoza to appeal for more - this time three racks as Dave's had finally given up - and OMM sent them, no questions asked. Actually getting the package from the postal service in Salta was a completely different kettle of fish.
Oh, and we managed to get absolutely smashed for the first time on the entire trip! At least twice! Unfortunately for yours truly the last of these nights nearly ended in tears as, in search of some local ladies on the dance floor, I instead found a couple of large hairy men who forced some heinous drinks down my neck and then grabbed my ass as I was making my getaway. Definitely time to get out of town!
Anyway, the bikes are ready again so the show must go on...
Day 102, Salta to Jujuy (99km)
We get up early and Dave and I ride to the post office, and customs office, noticing that the guys from the bicicleteria across the road have thoroughly unfixed our gears and greased up our brakes. Thanks, guys. We leave Al to pay the remaining bill in the hostal, but they're of the opinion that we don't owe them anything. Al agrees, por supuesto!
Nothing happening at the post/aduana office until midday, we're told, so we go and pick up the laptop - with replacement hard disk fitted and filled to the brim with pirate software. The abundance of free wireless Internet connections available around the Plaza 9 de Julio make it easy to complete the vast piracy operation, and we haven't lost much from the hard disk failure 36 hours previously.
Ah, I have fond memories of this bike rack! Here, posing in a little cable-tie number which is holding the entire ensemble together...
After some hours, as described by Dave in his previous post, we get our new racks. As my old one is currently held together by a large cable tie, I decide to fit the new one immediately, to the bewilderment of our neighbouring coffee drinkers, outside Cafe Monaco. The old one goes in the bin across the street with a satisfying clank - another breakage, probably, but this time I can laugh about it. We do some speed-ordering and speed-eating (nothing new there) and hit the road again, for the first time in 9 days. Cue more bemusement from the locals as we roll out of town with 2 new racks mounted on top of 2 old ones. The thinking is that we'll ride the old ones into the ground before changing them. This only takes a couple of days, obviously...
We leave town late, about 2:30pm, along a cycle track surely devised by the writers of the film Deathrace 2000, and make it into the rolling hills. It's gently uphill for 40km or so, with the scenery getting ever more lush with every passing km. As we reach the top and start descending it's positively jungle-like, with deep gorges completely covered in deep green vegetation and the road winding through them, constantly revealing a new part of the valley or a further part of the terrain ahead for tens of kilometres. The local wildlife are out in force to watch us fly by at high-speed: cows, pigs, goats, sheep, chickens, parrots, random-rodent-things-with-bushy-tails and the like.
Hmm, please let us past... Just two (look closely) of the many spectators on the road as we leave Salta.
Having left Salta so late in the day, and having about 100km to go, we're not surprised when it's dark five minutes after we ride up to the the first outdoor bar seats on the plaza in Jujuy. This isn't Tierra del Fuego mid-summer, now, and it's too dark to cycle at 7:45pm. What this means for us, effectively, is a) getting up and on the road earlier, and b) more enforced time in the bar at the end of the day. A nearby hotel is splashed out on and we fight over the single towel in the triple room, head out for some food, and have a good night's kip (yet another sin mosquito, thankfully).
Day 103, Jujuy to Uquia (121km)
A decent hotel breakfast buffet is properly taken advantage of and we get out of town quickly to avoid the backlash from the remainder of the hungry guests. A welcome tailwind helps us along a fast road filled with drivers hell-bent on putting us in the crash barrier. Al has yet another hairy moment as a bus driver proves his is bigger.
The tailwind has really whipped up and we're really flying as we go down the other side of the mountain. We stop by some rough sheds by the side of the road, which seem to constitute the pueblito of Tumbaya, and try to find some food. Each, erm, establishment, has different food on offer and as we make our necessity for huge quantities of meat clear, we're forwarded on in succession until we find one, a tiny old woman of about 90, who declares that she's up to the challenge. Lamb asado with corn on the cob, cheese, bread and potatoes filled with protein-rich maggots are all eaten with mucho gusto and we hit the road again.
35km further down the road, with a 400m gain in altitude, we reach Tilcara and stop at the local service station. We plan to make it to Humahuaca this evening, but it's still 42km away, with a 500m altitude gain, and time is marching ever onwards - only 2.5hrs of light left. We attempt to leave but are postponed by an onrush of fans and pose for some pictures with a young Paraguayan girl and her father who had seen us in Salta two days previously.
Reaching the quaint village of Uquia, 8km from our intended destination, with twilight upon us, we decide to stay here rather than go on. It's more off the beaten track and we reckon on cheaper accommodation and food. We turn out to be wrong on both counts but both are very nice!
Day 104, Uquia to Abra Pampa (104km)
Yesterday's intended destination, Humahuaca, is reached before 10am, and it proves to be a very interesting, if uber-touristy town. BTW, if you want to dispose of a computer hard-drive with some confidential information on it, I can recommend the bin at the North-West corner of the Plaza in Humahuaca.
Today's a big day for altitude gain and after 72km of rolling roads we climb into the village of Tres Cruces. At 3780m above sea level, this is the highest any of us has been, on land, and we're not surprised that every little hill has had us struggling for breath much more than usual. We're now firmly on the altoplano, though we don't see much evidence of the plano part of this...
Spurred on by an Exocet dog, which thankfully gets it's calculations wrong and buries it's head in the ground when climbing the bank towards the road, and me, we make the last 28km in a touch over 50 minutes. The shorts live another day, which is actually a bad thing.
Finding food in Abra Pampa proves difficult and we're almost tempted to stay in the empanada-making-facility (two ladies in a tiny kitchen) on the corner of the plaza to see just how many we can put away. We make do with a mere 16 and walk about town for a long time before finding someone willing to feed us.
Day 105, Abra Pampa to La Quiaca (75k)
Brekkie's not up to much but you get what you pay for, I guess. We make up for it's shortcomings in our usual way: find a bakery and eat everything in sight.
This local lady seems to realise the railway doesn't run on this side of the border! Puesto del Marques, Jujuy Province, Argentina
Some incredibly boring, straight road follows, through the tiny pueblitos of Puesto del Marques, La Intermedia and Pumahuasi, and after a good few hours I find Dave deep in discussions with the lady at the tourist information office in La Quiaca. This place is the border town with Bolivia: Argentinean border post on this side of the bridge; the Bolivian post on the other side as the town becomes Villazon. Our Lonely Planet guide has informed us it's much better to stay on the Argie side of the border, if one has to, so that's our plan.
Squeezing our bikes through the entrance to Residenciale Merced, we find the place already overtaken by cyclists. There's a group of 8 Argentineans here to start their two-week tour down to Salta. We take smug pleasure in telling them that we have come all the way from Ushuaia and that it took us only 4 days to get from Salta to here. In fairness they're taking a much longer route, and they're all nice guys and girls, so we swap some stories before heading our separate ways for the evening. If you're reading guys - hope it's all going well/went well!
Deciding to pass up the apparent certainty of a good meal in the soulless Hotel Turismo we try an unknown restaurant on the corner of the plaza. Manuel from Faulty Towers makes an appearance as our waiter and it's instantly apparent we've made a mistake, though we persevere. Unfortunately.
The next day we're attempting to cross the border into Bolivia. Why do I say attempt?! You'll find out in another blog post, soon, so watch this space! We're pretty excited about the prospect of a new country for the first time in over 3 months, but the reports of the road conditions and the constant altitude are weighing on our minds also. Be sure to tune in next time as we're either going to be cycling in Bolivia, sitting on a sofa somewhere in the UK, or somewhere much, much more scary...
Col
