Cafayate

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I only knew Cafayate because I read its name on a wide variety of wine bottles. I think that’s a good sign.

So I hitchhiked from the province of Tucumán into the one of Salta. And I meant serious business. I wasn’t even a minute in town or I opened the first bottle: welcome in Cafayate to me! I stopped before the tipsiness hit in however, as I felt I could impossible show up drunk at my new Couchsurfing address.

I was wrong. Once I reached the dirt road leading to the location Daniel sent me I heard a loud voice barking through the street: “HIJO DE MIL PUTAS, MEGAN FOX IS WALKING THROUGH MY NEIGHBOURHOOD”, coming out of the mouth of a man who was holding himself up supported by the wall next to the asado they had prepared for me (oops – vegan fox it was). With a cheek puffed up with coca leaves and a red moustache of the wine he hugged me in a state of ecstasy, grabbing me by the chin to show my blue eyes to the other party-goers, not uncomfortable at all. “Oh Megan, I love you so much, I can’t explain it”, the good man wept. Well, I can, please give me some of that wine-at-first-sight too, and quick.

You would think I already got the full Cafayate experience right upon my arrival… but this was just the beginning. You see, one of Dani’s friends appeared to be a dance teacher. Once they astonished concluded I never danced Argentinean folklore before (I mean, that’s what the whole world does in their leisure time right?) they decided I needed a class right now, without a second to lose. And the whole street had to participate: kids playing fútbol, people chanting in the church across the street, the neighbor watering the plants… Get your ass over here, Megan is learning the Chacarera. I wouldn’t claim I’m a natural, but it was an interesting experience to say the least.

Exhausted I collapsed on Dani’s bed, which I shared with two Spanish girls. The wine made me sleep fast, deep and very very long. It was midday when I had my breakfast ready, which I devoured reading the hundreds of notes previous Couchsurfers left on Dani´s fridge, most of them referring to his continuous swearing.

This generous guy isn’t a host, he’s a damn hostel. Slowly browsing through the tourist pamphlets I designed my day plan: an exploration of the pleasant center and its variety of museums that would for sure give me a clear feeling of the place.

#1: Museo Calixto Mamani… which was closed. Great start. However, I’m not sure if I really missed out on this small exhibition room full of wood carvings. Museo Arqueologia then? I rang the doorbell, which was decorated with stickers protesting against the contaminating mines exploited in this province.

A friendly woman opened the door, turned on the lights and watched me while I strolled through the 2 rooms filled to the brim with ancient pots, pans, jewelry and sacred art of the Diguitas tribes. This culture immediately gained my instant respect due to the fact that they fought the Spanish colonialists ferociously. Nevertheless, it were the Spanish missionaries who brought vine ranks to the region in their attempt of forcing their religion on others. Jesus' blood had to be produced, so why not make it taste good? A question to think about while enjoying a glass or two, I'd say. So after I devoured a WINE ICE CREAM - I’m not f#cking kidding, as a vegan I think wine is a great replacement for milk, I foresee many amazing cereal breakfasts – I made my way to Bodega Nanni.

Once I entered the stylish building a friendly young man invited me to participate in the free tour. What do you mean “tour”? I haunted almost all wineries in France, Italy, Australia, Chile, Uruguay and Argentina (okay yes, I might have a problem), I know the process alright!

Stop wasting my time, I’m here for the wine for crying out loud, fill my glass already.

With flushed cheeks the good fellow ran to the bar and stuttered the different types the bodega produces, after continuously filling my glass. A fresh white Torontés Seiquoia (good), a light Cabernet Sauvignon Rosé (goood), a fruity Torrontés Blanco (gooood) and a red Cabernet (goooood!!!!). As those ‘tasting portions’ were really too small I flirted a bit with the waiter in order to get a full free refill of that last bad boy. Thumbs up for Nanni, a true favorite on my personal Ruta de Vino (what, you thought I would only visit one bodega?).

I looked at my tourist map and I don’t know why, but I got this feeling the Wine Museum, Museo de la Vid y Vino, would be really something for me. So I waved with my old student pass (equipped with a photo on which I’m legally not allowed to drink yet) and entered this blogger’s favorite for the bottom price. Nestled in an old cellar this exquisitely designed museum guides you very understandably (and in English!) through the entire process of wine-making, in such splendid detail that you can go home and poop out your own little winery if you’re up for it. Instead of being just purely informational, it also contains an interactive wine experience full of art and poetry… I guess that’s what this divine liquid does to you. From Tempranillo to Merlot and from Syrah to the region’s emblematic Torontés, this museum brought me in touch with all my precious love children. If there’s only ONE museum you’ll visit in Cafayate, make sure it’s this one.

I rushed home because Daniel was picking me up for a religious (=drinking) festival in San Carlos. Or so he said. It turned 8… I started cooking, Dutch dinner time passed already two hours ago. It turned nine… I took my first bites. It turned ten… djeez, how much wine happened between our last contact and now? I was bored out of my mind, waiting is such time wasted. So I took a WTG (wine-to-go) and jaunted to the main square to see what’s up. A lot of folklore dancing was up, dressed up ‘gaucho’s’ furiously clapping and snapping their fingers, while their legs moved at a speed that would make me fall backwards during my first attempt. If you think you’ll find tango all over the place during your holiday in Argentina you’re in for a disappointment. That’s just Buenos Aires. In the rest of the country you'll mainly find this cowboy-wild-tapdancing-kind-of-act that has very little to do with the vertical love-making tango represents. Locals are crazy about it, more than any tourist could ever be.

The following day Daniel promised to make up for the appointment he 100% forgot by taking me to the Quebrada de las Conchas… literally (in Argentinean slang), the Ravine of the Cunts. Sounds promising.

I had to be ready at 10AM, so I got up at 11AM to walk to Dani’s parents’ house at midday. “Oh hey Megan – de puta madre, la Quebrada, I said 10AM right? But… I didn’t say which day hahahaha, dale vamos!” Together with his friend Andrea we mounted his roaring vehicle and went off on our own exploration.

The Quebrada is best explored with an own vehicle... I found the absolute cheapest ones here

Honestly, I couldn’t have found a better guide: Daniel is one of the (only) three park rangers of this northern highlight, attracting tourists from all over the globe. We passed the sand dunes of Los Medanos to halt at Los Colorados, where red erodes rocks slam you in the face with their grand splendor. During a thrilling hike during which Dani told us about the movies that were filmed here – Lucky Luke, Relatos Salvajes and… Playboy recordings, to name a few – I took in the overwhelming sights nature put together right here.

They would only get better in Los Castillos, were giant red formations alternated with rocks in so many brightly colored layers of yellow, green, pink and orange you would swear you are looking at a giant tasty birthday cake. A comparison, you ask me? I think the Grand Canyon meets Utah would be appropriate.

We preceded our joyful quest passed Las Ventanas, El Obelisco, Quebrada a Paranilla (La Yesera), Los Estratos and the tourism-swamped highlights Garganta del Diablo and the Anfiteatro (where – fun fact – a week before someone committed suicide by jumping off the cliff and splashing apart in the middle of the ‘stage’). The more I infiltrated the ravine, the more bright and powerful the colors became, to a point you wonder if this is even possible. You don’t know all colors of red until you have visited this divine slice of Earth. National Geographic material.

While we raced back over the route Dakar passed less than a week ago I listened to Dani spitting on this entire event. I think I never heard the expression ‘puta madre’ in such great density. According to this eye-witness, not only do the racers destroy vulnerable nature and kill a high amount of wild animals that are unsuspectingly crossing their own natural habitat, the spectators pollute their beloved Quebrada with a foolish amount of plastic and trash. But is this northern part of the country close to Bolivia not all about Mother Earth, Pacha Mama, with people even spilling a bit of wine on the ground in Her honor before the very first sip? “Che, Pachamama? Pachaputa para ellos!”, Dani foamed with rage.

You probably noticed one very important thing about this day’s description. I didn’t drink one single drop. I betrayed Cafayate. I had to make up for this somehow, so Bodega Day it was. When the time was decent (11AM) I started walking to El Tránsito, a neatly designed winery with zero character.

Once I walked in a bored woman unwillingly looked up from her magazine. Did I want to do a guided visit, she yawned. Thanks but no thanks, I got the idea, just fill my glass for gods sake. And a bit more than that please. For 20 pesos I kicked off with a dry and fruity white Pietro Marino Torontés, followed up by a way too acid Pietro Marino Cabernet Sauvignon – Syrah blend. Even though it was a red, I would never buy a bottle of that crap. Maybe their signature Pedro Moises could make up for this misery? A mix of, embrace yourselves, Cabernet, Syrah, Malbec and Tannat grapes. Enough already! … And? Not bad, certainly not bad. Was I beside myself? Definitely not.

I needed another bodega. So I walked to El Porvenir, which was closed for tourism for 2 full days… however, they directed me to the fancy El Esteco just outside town. With my flipflops, ragged shirt and bandana around my head I arrived at the majestic gate. A security guard stopped me, what was I doing here? Ehm, having a few too many drinks I guess. Right, I could continue walking, continuously taken over by expensive cars and tourist vans full of wealthy Americans. It was a little hint of the prices: $20 for 3 1/8-filled-cups-of-wine… while I paid no more than $2 for the other tastings. Budget bucket list alert: when it comes to alcohol, always prefer quantity over quality. See ya.

One thing I must give them credit for: the concept of a ‘wine hotel’ is downright genius. I can totally imagine myself having the holiday of my life getting hammered in between the vineyards and crawling back to my hotel room three meters away from me.

Next! Vasija Secreta a.k.a. La Banda. From super fancy you go instantly to the cheapest most accessible boozery you could possible track down. Remember me saying “when it comes to alcohol, always prefer quantity over quality”? Well, there are limits to that. And that limit is defined by Vasija Secreta.

Still laughing...

The only solution to the problem that represents this pathetic excuse of a winery is burning it down to the ground and pretending this bad joke never happened. It’s like ordering coffee and receiving some cup of nescafe-powder-sewage-water. That there were actually people pretending to ENJOY this tormenting tasting (with closed eyes and everything), or believe it or not: buying a bloody bottle, made me suppress the urge to grab them by the hair and drown them in a full barrel of whatever liquid they claim that to be.

They even served the red “Malbec” cold, I’m crying again just writing this down. And not even in an official wine glass! I have permanently unfriended people who don’t even have the balls to present me with something even slightly resembling a wine glass… I rather drink straight out of the bottle if this is how the situation is handled.

Knee-slapper of the day: they deduct the tasting of the end-price if you buy a bottle. Truth is that even if they had given me a bottle for free I would have donated to a homeless person… nahhh, I’m not that cruel, their lives are hard enough as they are. This snob does not approve, take my hurt soul away from here.

Ok, so I needed the right balance between price and quality. Could Salvador Figueroa be the answer? With a lost faith in humanity I knocked on the door of this boutique winery. The charismatic Salvador himself heartily welcomed me with a reviving Torontés Blanco. Riiiiiiiight! RIGHT RIGHT RRRRIGHT!!! That’s where I’m talking about maestro! So incomprehensibly good and that for a white! While packing in an entire bottle of that give me some more of the good stuff! At my beck and call my fancy wine glass was filled with a 5 Los Figueroa Malbec. I almost glided off my chair. What did my mouth do to deserve this? Please don’t answer that, my parents read my blog too. Needless to say, this winery goes home with the head price.

Another bodega to celebrate this victory? Sure, let’s stagger to Domingo Hermanos, one of the more famous ones on the list. How was it, you ask? Fun! Oh, you mean the wine? I have honestly no idea. All I remember is downing all those tasting-glasses really fast and screaming “HOLANDA APPROVES”. I guess that’s positive.

While stumbling back home I heard a voice shouting “Megan, Señora Fox!”. Dani’s friend Andrea, eager to talk about her love life with a man that 1) has a wife with whom he has a child, 2) has a mistress with whom he has two and 3) a girlfriend, which is her. The pyramid of awareness goes backwards, she knowing of all of them, the mistress knowing of the wife and the wife living in an entire bubble of ignorance. This man lives by a strict schedule in which he spends time with every single woman, who – beware – can’t have any other men on the side. I present to you: Argentinean machismo. Too much info for an alcohol-soaked brain. Time for another drink.

How I got up the next day, I have no idea. But the fact I actually signed up for a hike to Cascada Rio Colorado fulfills me with pride. Dani couldn’t come along to guide me on this expedition, but honestly, it’s hard to get lost. It´s also hard to be alone, as this walk is an absolute tourism-smash-hit.

Which turned out quite well in my case, as I had the opportunity of a lifetime to run into Emiliano and Xiomara, a splendid combo of a Salteño and Venezuelan. It’s good to know people of this quality are still fabricated these days. This couple that turned out not to be a couple were about to fill my weeks to come with a dose of immeasurable beauty. But at this point in time I didn’t know that yet, I was just living in the moment filled with flourishing nature, refreshing (read: ice cold, my piercing almost burst out of my nipple) ponds and ideal showers under clattering waterfalls.

Because life is beautiful like that.

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