It's All Fun and Games Until Mike Blows a Fuse!

Apologies to everyone for not blogging the past few days. We've been a bit busy. The upside: we now have a lot of stories to tell. So if you're one of the illiterates who has been just scanning the pics up until now, you might want to put your reading glasses on cause this one's going to be a doozy!
Salta's nickname is Salta la Linda (Salta the Beautiful). I don't believe the city itself is exceptional. The beauty is outside of the city, expressed in its natural setting. It is cradled by low mountains on both sides, and thus is not as dry as areas nearby. And less than 4 hours away in all directions is some stunning scenery. To the north is the World Heritage-listed Quebrada (Canyon) de Humahuaca. We decided to head there on Tuesday, and then on Wednesday drive to Cachi, a picturesque town to the south.
We picked up our rental car on Tuesday at midmorning and headed out of the city towards Jujuy, the next provincial capital about 60 miles to the north. There is a highway that can get you there in 45 min., but we opted for the slower route travelling through the mountains. The landscape was unexpectedly green, far more lush than anything we had so far seen in this country. There were animals everywhere, which made me happy. Apparently, ranchers here tag their animals and let them roam wild. And Ryan enjoyed the winding, semi-dangerous road.
After we reached Jujuy, we skirted it on the highway and kept heading north. The landscape quickly changed to dusty canyons as our altitude rose. We stopped a few times to explore; Mike was a little more daring than I.


For lunch, we stopped at a "cafe": a little crooked hut that served empanadas in your choice of cheese or llama. We did not like the llama. Later, we returned to the city for a dinner of more wine and steak.
The next day we woke up and again got in the car, this time to travel to Cachi. Cachi is a pretty little mountain town catering to tourists, but the best part about it is the drive there. Route 33 winds along the Rio Calchaqui, with alternating sections of pavement and gravel for about 13 miles until it crosses over a very suspect bridge and begins climbing the river gorge. For about 10 more miles it winds steadily higher, and then the pavement ends and the road starts ascending the mountains in a series of switchbacks until the road actually reaches the clouds. Of course we got out of the car often for pics. Once Ryan pretended to fall and almost scared a bowel movement out of me.



At the top of the mountain is a plateau roamed by wild donkeys and llamas. (I know!) Then the road begins its descent to Cachi, crossing a national cactus forest and including a long straight stretch of road where you can see cars coming for miles. We eventually made it to the town, where we had lunch and stretched our legs by lazily wandering around.



The ride there took over 4 hours, so at 4 30 we decided we had better head back. About a third of the way back, the car stops halfway up a dusty ravine. I stop the iPod to see if Mike is serious. He is. I get out of the car with them to show solidarity as they huddle over the hood. We have oil. We have fluids. We have gasoline. Yet the car is not moving and neither Ryan nor a Larrivee know why. Apparently, we blew two fuses. After two cars come around the blind corner and sneak by us, they decide the best thing is to push the car until it is turned around, and then coast it down the hill back to the long flat stretch.
Once that is done, we are safer than in the ravine, but are still in the middle of the desert, 20 miles from the nearest town, with a rental car that doesn't work. So we decided to hitchhike back to Cachi. Ten minutes later, the second or third truck pulls over. They speak no English, but I gather that they think leaving the car alone on the road is unsafe. So Mike jumps in to get help, and Ryan and I stay with the car as darkness approaches. It is at this moment that I realize this will be the best blog ever.

It is 5 30 when Mike leaves in the truck with all of my money and half of Ryan's. Ryan and I play cards for a while. 7 30. More wild donkeys stroll by and I get out to watch. Ryan is starting to wonder what has happened to Mike. I figure he is either stuck in Cachi, trying to get a ride back to us, or has gotten raped and killed by the men in the truck, in which case we have bigger problems. Soon it is 8 00. It is starting to get darker and colder. I switch the iPod to "Hang On", a talk by Bob Malowksi, thinking it will be encouraging. (At least we're not hanging from a wet, bloody cable 300 feet in the air.) By 9 00, I have decided that Mike is lost to us, and am preparing to sleep in the car. The road traffic, which was sparse at its peak, is now completely gone.
Finally at 9 30, Mike shows up in a beatup patched paint sedan with two Spanish-speaking mechanics. Again, I step out into the now chilly air to show support. I am wearing a short sleeve polo, and Mike has on shorts, so we take turns wearing Ryan's hoodie. After an hour and half of checking spark plugs, building bootleg fuses, and testing the ignition, the mechanic decides that is the fuel pump, and that the car cannot be helped at that point. So we leave the car on teh side of the road and climb into the mechanic's car. He agrees to give us a ride--not to Cachi, but to his hometown--Payogasta, a dust puddle 8 miles north of Cachi.
We arrive there after 11. The only hostel in town is dark and locked, so we ask some lounging teenagers where the police station is. They direct us to a private house with a police emblem on it, and when we knock, a young woman comes out eating her dinner. She explains to us that the owner of the hostel is a woman named Gloria, and escorts us to her house. Gloria is asleep in her nightgown. The policewoman, who we learn is named Mariel, brings us back to the police station to wait while Gloria gets dressed; there we meet Mariel's daughter and drink purple Coke in the radio room. This entire time, all conversations are taking place in very bad Spanish, and Ryan has no idea what is going on.
Once Gloria arrives at the police station, we thank Mariel, exchange emails and continue on to our hostel. It is thankfully in good clean condition, so we pay our 40 pesos ($12 US) each and settle into our beds. We have the place to ourself, and there is a bathroom included in our space, so I am happy until I recall my guidebook's warnings about contracting Chagas' disease--a tropical illness caused by the feces in beetle bites which causes eventual enlargement of the heart. Apparently travellers rarely catch it, unless they are sleeping in rural adobe dwellings in the north of Argentina. Ryan and Mike laugh at me, but I wake up a few times during the night, sure i've been bitten by a beetle.
In the morning we go use the village phone to contact the rental company. They ask us to wait in Payogasta until they can bring us a replacement car. So its to the square to play more cards. By 12 30, we have been stranded for 19 hours when the new car finally arrives. We have enough time to go back to Cachi for lunch at the same place as the day prior, and then head back to Salta, where we have to pick up our laundry, return the car and get dressed for the meeting, as we have three sisters meeting us at our hotel to bring us to the meeting.
Once we made it back to the hotel, we rushed to clean ourselves up (brushing my teeth has never felt so good) and got dressed. The sisters arrived, and we caught a cab to the Kingdom Hall. It is a new hall, built less than a year ago. We were minor celebrities there; we probably took 40-50 pictures. And everyone wanted English literature. They cleaned Ryan and Mike out, but I refused to give them my bible. Afterwards, we were invited over someone's house for dinner. The amazing thing is how late this culture operates: their meeting starts at 8 30, and we stayed at the house until 2 40 am, eating (what else?) empanadas while Ryan played the guitar. They asked us to pray in English, which probably benefitted no one, but enhanced the impression of international brotherhood. Once we finally excused ourselves, we caught a cab home, where I am presently writing this blog entry.

I again apologize for the lapse, but I hope you understand.