Andean Circuit

Return ticket to the clouds.

I can never stop thinking, and even less when I am on a trip; I suppose it is a normal syndrome. My ideas are predisposed to take new courses when surrounded with new landscapes. When Daniel, the guide, mentions Campo Quijano as we leave Salta, I can hear the old records of Folklore which I used to hear at home. This feeling confirms my idea that the first trips one makes are in our imagination, while we read books and hear music during our childhood and adolescence.

The tobacco plantations (Burley, Virgina and Criollo) are neatly set one after the other at the edge of the route. While I stare at them, I can hear Daniel talk about the history of the Tren a las Nubes, whose tracks run parallel to the road we are taking. We are going through the Quebrada del Toro, a beautiful landscape made of contrasts between huge rocks and a river that runs along the smooth cuts. Daniel tells us that the train was made in an attempt to join Argentina to Chile commercially through Sico. It took 24 years to build, from 1921 to 1945, and it started out with some French capital, but they were obliged to abandon the project and the National State took command and contracted the American engineer Maury, quite a character as most of those who have become part of history.

The surroundings start getting full of huge cactuses ("cardones"). They look like enormous green men with their arms open and petrified keep guard of the place. The local people use their wood for the construction of their homes and to make handicrafts. They grow very slowly so it is very sad to see how they use this wood for things that could be easily made with another kina.

On our way to Santa Rosa de Tastil we get to know our fellow travelers a bit better. We have a Norwegian guy at our side called Harold- who looks just like Neil Jenkins, a Welsh rugby player- who does nothing else but take pictures with his digital camera. He is an engineer and loves Brazil, where he’s been three times already. His Spanish is poor but you can understand. In front of us, a Mexican girls talks non stop with the guide, whom I feel sorry for. Behind me there are some English, Belgium, American and Israelites kids who snooze easily, because they are relaxed and as a result of the long club nights in Salta. The landscape imposes its strength and makes one silent. Once in Santa Rosa de Tastil (in quechua language: stone that sounds,) we visit the aboriginal ruins which were abandoned approximately 900 AC. This arqueological deposit is quite a large one, similar in size to the Pucará de Tilcara, and it is so high up that it allows us to enjoy a great view. The next stop is in San Antonio de los Cobres. At this point there is nearly no vegetation to be seen and it is all dust and rocks. The typical phrase “a town in the middle of nowhere” describes this place perfectly well. A Coke sign with a drawing of a local woman with long black braids welcomes us, and as we come down from the bus we see those faces weathered by the wind and the sun, which seem from another time and country.

After lunch, on our way to Salinas Grandes, Daniel talks to us about the “acuyico” ritual which involves coke leaves. It is funny to look at our faces as we put the leaves in our mouths. At our left we can see a huge white surface 400 km2 big. We are all anxious to get off on the salt. The salt flats are one of those places that do not stun someone because of their beauty, but because they are strange.

A small technical default sets us back for a while, so we take advantage and take pictures in weird poses, joking and playing. By this time we’ve come close to María, a history teacher from Zaragoza who has a young and adventurous spirit.

After 15 hours traveling we come back to the hostel, were the Wednesday barbecue is waiting for us. Here we recover our strength thanks to delicious meat and a tasty local wine, which make optimism sprout from our skin. The end of the day belongs to three great musicians who with sambas and chacareras make all of us sing along.

Hernán Quiñones
Content courtesy of Nomada Magazine