EFT I: Salta & Jujuy

Last week was our Educational Field Trip (EFT) to the north of Argentina, specifically, the provinces of Salta & Jujuy. (Pronounced “hoo-hooy”)  While living in Buenos Aires is great, it’s just another city.  Not to shortchange the undeniably unique culture and flair of la vida Porteño, but I long for something different.  This trip was the perfect remedy for my metropolitan overload.

The first difference the northern provinces have in relation to B.A. is the natural landscape.  (If it had any that is.) The Capital Federal lies on the banks of the Rio de la Plata, on the edge of the Pampas Plains.  It’s flat, wet, and humid.  Springtime weather in B.A. is sporadic and random.  If you get the same weather two days in a row consider yourself lucky, if you get it two weeks in a row you’ve experienced a once in a lifetime miracle.  The North however, being closer to the equator is consistently warmer, and drier.  Also, being closer in to the Andes, the geographical landscape is much more varied with more hills and valleys.

The second major difference is the people.  B.A. is mostly populated by busy and hurried people of mostly European ancestry.  The people of the north are much more laid back, and mostly of native ancestry.  This area was the southern terminus of the Incan empire.  You can still see remnants of this today based on the ethnic makeup of the people, the scattered speaking of Quechua, the united Incan tribes flags, and the llamas.

Qualla Suyu

We flew into Jujuy early afternoon, and hopped on our awesome double-decker bus.  The allure and mystique of the different and innovative method of transportation was almost enough to tide us over for the 2 and a half hours of driving.  Most of the towns in Jujuy are located in the bottom of a giant ravine.  The town in which we were staying was called “Purmamarca” and was chosen for it’s proximity to the main natural landmark of the area “El Cerro de Siete Colores,” The Seven Color Hill.  We went for a hike through the valley and area surrounding it.  Some of us even climbed one of the bigger hills.  My uncle Lyle would’ve been proud.

I climbed that

We eventually followed the trail back around the major hill and descended upon the village from the opposite end.  In the village square was a big crafts fair with all kinds of people selling their handmade goods.  I loaded up on cool native themed stuff.  My pride and joy was the Llama wool sweater I got for about 15 USD.  Due to the altitude, many people chew coca leaves or drink coca tea.  It’s completely legal to posses and use as much coca leaves as you want, however it’s illegal to grow in Argentina, so all of the supply comes from Bolivia.

To be clear, coca leaves ≠ Cocaine.  Cocaine is highly processed and altered.  Straight coca leaves are essentially nothing more than really strong aspirin.  Everyone got free samples of coca leaves to try.  The key is to chew on the leaves and suck out the juice, occasionally gnawing on it, but mostly keeping it packed in your cheek or lip.  Many people reported feeling their mouth and tongue go numb after awhile.  I however, being the guy who needs multiple shots of novicaine when I visit the dentist, felt nothing.  Although my nose did slightly tingle a bit, as if my brain recognized what I was consuming, but was confused as to how it was getting there.

Our hotel was done in a native pueblo style that felt reminiscent of New Mexico or Arizona.  Fitting, considering that the the whole area was the South American equivalent of the United State’s Southwest/Mexican Northwest.  The complex was divided into one main building, and then a string of smaller houses around it, with a large, open central area.  Pepperdine students virtually ruled the hotel for the duration of our stay.  As far as I knew, we never encountered anyone other than us staying there.

The second day, we traveled to the Salinas Grandes (Salt Flats), but being sure to stop at the point of highest altitude in North Argentina at 4,170 meters, or roughly 13 thousand feet.  Fresh from our ascent of the red hill back in Purmamarca, the daring of us dashed up the hill in an effort to get to the “true” highest point.  We went strong for about 30 seconds before we realized that although we were breathing, nothing was happening.  The pace then slowed considerably.  We only made it about 4/5 of the way up before the bus honked for us to return.  We definitely could have reached the top.  It was only another 30 meters or so.

The Salt flats are pretty much what they sound like.  A vast expanse of natural salt stretching from the feet of one mountain range to those of  another many many kilometres away.

Most of the salt excavated sells for cheap in the first world countries.  Even after that though, there’s still more salt left over than could ever be used.  Locals make extra money through selling salt sculptures to tourists.  I bought a salt llama.  Also for sale were salt cactuses, ashtrays, and napkin holders.  I fruitlessly looked for salt salt & pepper shakers, knowing that if I found them I would revel in the irony for the rest of my life.  The more ambitious sculptors had even created tables and chairs made entirely out of giant blocks of salt.  Slightly past the salt merchandise vendors was a series of salt pools.  Not only were these pools full of the clearest and bluest water I’d ever seen, they were freezing cold.  (I’m still trying to figure that one out.) At the bottom of each was a trove of loose salt.  If you knelt down and scooped up great handfuls of the stuff, and rubbed it over your skin, you got the equivalent of a free salt scrub.  (My hands were softer than I ever though possible for several hours.)  When we got tired of exfoliating, we resorted to jumping over them.

For lunch we drove into a small town called Tilcara.  As we ate lunch we were entertained by a band playing Incan folk music. (complete with Pan-Flutes.)  It was really good… part of the time that is.  For some reason, every so often one of the musicians pulled out a giant horn that was about 4 metres long, and played only two notes in a horrible drunken foghorn tone.  If the fact that this contraption completely ruined the music wasn’t enough, the guy put on a show by playing it while swinging it around, over the heads of everyone in the restaurant.  Several people came close to getting clocked in the head as it went by.  We still don’t know exactly what it was, what it was for, or why they thought they needed it, as I’ve never heard anything like it in Incan folk music before.

For me, Tilca was special for it’s great view.  While it didn’t have the famous multi-colored hill in it’s scenery, it’s vista was so breathtakingly spectacular I found myself wondering if I wasn’t actually looking at hills, but instead, at some kind of giant painting.

The next day we headed south to the city of Salta in the province thereof, the biggest city in the region.  While not in the same ravine as most of Jujuy, Salta boasts another large valley in which it sits.  As we came through the hills and into the valley, I couldn’t see the opposite side of the valley through the haze.  My original impression of this being the most polluted city I’d ever seen proved incorrect as we learned that in the spring during long periods of drought the strong winds would sweep all the dust into the atmosphere, thus creating the haze we saw.  Our accommodations were provided by the Sheraton Hotel.  I’d never stayed in a big name hotel before and hoped it would be the epitome of luxury. (Everyone needs a break from roughing it eventually.) I wasn’t disappointed.  It was built into the hillside overlooking the city, with a view out over the colonial skyline.  From the main deck and pool, we watched the sunset over the hills and lights of town come up.

Our first day trip out of Salta was to El Bodega Esteca in nearby Cayafate.  While Mendoza is the major wine-producing region in Argentina, a good 5% of the country’s win is produced in the Cayafate region.  Bodega Esteca is one of the most prominent, and makes wine that sells all over the world under the name “Michel Torino.”  The Cayafate region specializes in Cabernet Sauvignon for red, and Torrontés for white.  (Side note: While the Cafayate wine is by no means bad, If you want to try Argentine wine go for a Malbec or Chardonnay from Mendoza.  Due to the unique geography of the region, the Malbec produced there is claimed as arguably the best in the world. )

We toured the winery and saw how it was all made and got lessons on wine tasting.  The owners gave us a crash course on what all the swirling, sniffing, swishing, and spitting is about when a connoisseur tests his wine.  Holding the glass to the side allows for a better view of the color of the wine, using opacity and vibrancy to determine age.  You swirl the wine lightly for two reasons.  The first is to see how long it takes for the rim to drip back down, measuring the sugar content based on how fast or slow it runs.  The second is the stir the aroma to make it easier to smell.  You give the wine 4 short sniffs to get a sense of the aroma, using it’s relative fruityness or oakiness to determine how long it was kept barreled.   The first sip is swished around to get the wine to different parts of the mouth.  Different parts of the tongue detect different parts of the taste.  The first sip in a tasting is then traditionally spit out so as to keep the alcohol from burning the back of the throat and making it harder to distinguish flavors and sensations on your tongue.  Yeah, it’s a pretty complicated process for determining the quality of your spoiled grape juice.

The bodega was very informational and pretty cool to see and hang around, but it wasn’t that cool.  By “that,” I mean worth the 3 hour bus ride to get there.  The only way there was through the rocky wilderness, this time more similar to Utah, and Nevada.  Because of a change in companies we no longer had our cool bus.  It was replaced by two other buses with less comfortable seats, and air conditioning that wasn’t fully functional.  We did stop to go in a rock formation called “El Amphiteatro” where all the sound inside was magnified.

Our next day was my personal favorite.  Mostly because it involved white-water rafting.  Because it was only a moderately difficult level III stretch, the entire group went rafting in crews of 8 down the Rio Juramento.  After everyone was sufficiently wet and tired, we returned to base camp for an asado and plenty of time to lounge about in the warm sun.  After returning to the hotel, and enjoying a candle light dinner outside on the Sheraton’s patio in their garden with a local choir and dance troupe for entertainment, I returned to my room, and passed out.  Almost perfect.

Our final day was spent at an Estancia outside of Salta.  The day was designed as a chillout vacation from vacation kind of day.  We got to see how their farm worked, ride their horses, watch them use their GIANT grill, eat what it produced, play soccer on their pitch, and swim in their pool.  Unfortunately, I didn’t ride any of the horses.  After the first group went and multiple people were bucked off/unable to control their horses, I decided that it would be best not to attempt to mount the crazy horses.  I’ve never ridden a horse in my life, and this clearly was not the time to start.  I know that I will be able to ride much more tame trail horses when I go to Córdoba.  Nevertheless, the day was a fun wind down to a great trip.

As I sat in the grass in the shade of a big tree at the distant mountains from the estancia, I found myself wishing that we could have school out here, and then make field trips to Buenos Aires.   The beauty of nature that I’d always had was something that wasn’t present in the middle of the city.  I had been living in Argentina, a country filled with some of the world most splendoured natural landscapes, and I had been missing them.  It was like Italy with no pasta.  The wide open spaces and fresh air of Salta made me feel like I was once again in touch with the earth on which I tread.  I savored that moment for a while.  Now, back in the city, I can still close my eyes and see that same scene.  That’s how I know this trip was a success.

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