Both the best and worst occurrences while traveling tend to be the surprises. In our worst cases, we encounter surprisingly bad food at restaurants that initially looked promising, or we arrive at the airport only to discover the airline staff has gone on strike and our flight has been cancelled. These surprises we try to minimize - obviously. However, our experience around Salta encompass mainly the best kind of surprises. Highlights include majestic mountain ranges, more enchanting and colorful than can be easily captured in words; luxurious yet rustic boutique hotels with the most friendly and helpful staff; unseasonably comfortable weather allowing us to drive without even air conditioning most of the time. No trip is perfect but when the good surprises so far outweigh any negative ones, it’s a truly outstanding experience. It’s a reminder of why we travel in the first place.

So far, what I love most about Salta is the fact that the terrain transforms so completely in an almost imperceivable time. One moment John and I are driving through lush, flat, grassy-green farmland watching spotted, pot-bellied pigs and piglets rooting around the muddy shoulder. Before we know it, we are winding up steep, hair-pin turns cut sharply into a forrested mountain-side. Finally, we transition onto a barren desert highway with mile-high rock structures rising on both sides, splashed with colors that we forget can actually occur in nature. These mountains are like paint-by-number gone rogue. Why are there stripes of aubergine, pomegranate and ochre where the BROWN should be? At this point, it’s just the road and the cacti between us and the Andes, overpowering the horizon.

We reach our final destination (the salt flats) in the late afternoon, fatigued and hungry but energized from the arrival. Calling it a “salt flat” is apt as this describes the high-level geography perfectly. Without knowing how or why salt flats occur in nature, I’m just happy to take in the expansive view. We drive off the paved road directly onto the salty terrain and jump out of the car, relived to stretch a bit. While we aren’t completely alone, only a few other people are within sight, hardly distinguishable in the distance. The ground crunches under our feet and on closer inspection, the salt crystals have formed not just a flat uninterrupted sheet, but ridges as well that cause irregular octagon-type shapes to appear, approximately a meter in diameter - make-shift “kitchen tiles” sun-baked over centuries.

At this point, we snap a few pictures and hop back in the car, hoping to find decent lodging in Pumamarca (the closest village) about 35 minutes away. Our drive to the flats took much longer than we expected so we quickly realize that it won’t be possible to see as much as we originally planned on this trip.

As luck would have it, the picturesque resort/spa we see from the highway in Pumamarca actually has vacancy and reasonable prices. The accommodations are rustic yet elegant, a welcome respite from what we experienced the first night in Salta.  After stopping to pet the llamas out front, we head in for a lovely meal (the best steak I’ve had so far on the trip) and some much needed rest. Tomorrow will be another long day on the road.

-B

Finally! Monday arrives and our flight to Salta departs on schedule and according to plan. We are eager to get out of BsAs for a few days and see more of the country. From the beginning, the trip to Salta has been a bit of a conundrum for us because besides the fact that we had trouble with the flight, we also weren’t exactly sure what to expect when we got there. After speaking to several people and reading travel blogs and guide books, there was a clear consensus that Salta was “amazing” but the rationale for exactly WHY it was “amazing” still eludes us to some extent.

The Salta airport is small and easy to navigate so we rent a car (a two-door, silver VW) and are on our way in a matter of minutes. Initially, we had hoped for a bigger, off-road vehicle but the small manual VW turns out to be a fortunate choice. It’s the sales assistant at Alamo who finally clears up some of the Salta mystery for us by pointing out many of the key areas for exploration. He directs us to a UNESCO World Heritage site to the North (part of the Andes mountain range) and several top wineries to the South. The plan for our three days in Salta starts to form, though most of our time won’t actually be in Salta.

Salta’s city center is bustling, colorful and crowded. Our hotel is just a few blocks away so we walk around and see some of the city’s historic buildings and churches. We agree that only one night is really needed to explore the city and are eager to get on the road Tuesday morning.

The next day, armed with snacks and high-hopes we head North toward an expansive salt flat, with John as captain and me as navigator. While the drive looks to be a straight shot on the map, reality contains sharp curves through mountainous terrain climbing up past 14,000 feet above sea-level. The roads are so narrow that we have to pull onto the gravel shoulder when passing another vehicle, though seeing another car is a rare occurrence. More common are herds of waifish cattle and other various farm animals crossing the roads or grazing nearby. During the 5-hour trip we pass just a few “urban” areas, most containing a few dozen scant huts and storefronts, perhaps a stop-light or two. The common feature throughout these villages is the beautiful colors of their homes and structures (salmon pinks and sea greens) that represent on a small scale the eye-catching brilliance of the Andes mountains looming behind. (To be continued…)

Mom,

Last night we played for several hours.  It was great.  And I got a new bone, and that was good too.  We walked for about ½ hour; I like it when we get to sniff all the new things to sniff.  We learned that the alligator had been removed from the lagoon in the middle of the summer last year, which is why we haven’t seen him.  Maybe he was too large, I don’t know.  But I know you’ll feel better knowing that.

It snowed last weekend, and I’ve been wanting to see the snow again.  I kind of like it.  But this coming weekend it is supposed to get up to 60 again.  I guess the snow is gone.

Grandma tells me she loves me all the time.  She says it is good that I let her, because it makes her happy.  She also asks for kisses, and I am happy to give her those too.  I draw the line at hugs.  But I like all the scratches.  And she brushes me often, and I’ve grown to like it as well.  She’s okay.  I think it is good to visit her sometimes. 

Regards,

Lola

Mom,

I have another nickname:  Sybil.  I’m not sure why.  But I get so upset when Grandma is on the phone and sitting within my range of attack.  I HATE when she pays no attention to me.  So, I run lickity-split around the room, and then I jump on her, and I butt my face against her face.  She doesn’t seem to like it.  I also nip at her hands and then run some more and then jump on her some more…  She claims I’m manic.  I refuse to quit and so she gives me a time out.  She is bruised and scratched and I’m glad.  Her telephone manners are just no good at all.

Last night we watched the Dog Whisperer.  I really love it.  The only thing is that the dogs are just like Grandma—they pay no attention to me either.  So, I try to head –butt them as well, but I fall off the bed before I reach the TV.   Grandma laughs, and it just makes me crazy.

When are you coming home?  You and John would not treat me as shamefully as Grandma does.

Regards,

Lola

After almost three fun-filled weeks in B.A., we decide to head further afield to explore the country a bit. Our rescheduled trip to Salta looms large on Monday, so in the meantime we borrow Marcello’s scooter for a quick trip to Tigre, a small port city about 45 minutes north of Buenos Aires. The ride is pleasant on the way up - scenic, both the busy cityscape and the idyllic, tree-lined country roads. John keeps us out of traffic by running most red lights, which adds a bit of excitement to the ride as well. Fortunately, the Argentine police never see us coming.

Once in Tigre, we park and stroll around the market, taking note of the huge cargo ships in the port overladen with logs and other raw materials to such an extent that the water threatens to spill up over the hull of the boat. We pass by a tour boat minutes before it launches so we quickly buy tickets and hop aboard for a 90 minute cruise down the river. Swimming children, canoes, jet skis and beach parties greet us at every bend in the river. It’s a great peek into Argentine summer weekend recreation.

Despite all of our masterminding to obtain reduced fare plane tickets to Salta, the joke is on us. LAN employees strike on the morning of our flight, leaving us milling around the airport with hundreds of other dejected travelers (and a few TV reporters), with nothing more than our cancelled ticket stubs and frustrations. Strike one. I tell myself that this kind of inconvenience can only be expected from time to time in a developing nation, even in the best parts of South America. We just have to regroup. That said, frustration continues to build when we return home as John waits on hold for 45 minutes trying to reschedule our trip and hotel in Salta. We are successful in rebooking, but leery about the outcome. It’s possible that fate will stop us in our tracks again given the unstable circumstances, but we put this out of our minds for now.

Later in the evening, we opt to try our luck with an online take-out delivery service for dinner and another online ordering site for groceries. The fact that neither of these sites work after multiple tries, only exacerbates our frazzled nerves. The fact that when the food finally arrives (after midnight) it’s almost inedible, is definitely par for the course. Strike two.

With the Salta trip postponed, John suggests taking a day trip to Colónia in Uruguay. Perfect - not only is it another country to add to our passports, but it’s also a UNESCO World Heritage Site. I’m pumped.

Upon reading about the process for getting there, however, we see that purchasing the ferry tickets is going to be arduous. If we attempt to buy the tickets in person, we will have to wait in three different lines - one to reserve the ticket, one to pay for the ticket and one to actually obtain the ticket. This sounds miserable under normal circumstances, but even compounded given that we would need to be at the terminal around 6:30 AM. So, John works feverishly to book our tickets online on a less-than-user-friendly Web site that allows him to only book one ticket at a time. The small feeling of victory that we achieve when he books the first non-refundable ticket is quickly replaced by utter defeat when the Web site announces that the ferry is now SOLD-OUT. Strike three.

Lessons learned: 1) Don’t expect the same New York conveniences in South America, 2) business (such as eating, grocery shopping and ticket buying) is best done in person and 3) don’t sweat the small stuff - you’re on vacation, dammit.

-B

Sleep is clearly the priority this morning as we fail to peel ourselves out of bed until close to 1 PM. Our mission today is to plan some side trips outside of Buenos Aires. We’ve been throwing ideas around for the past two weeks without much real organization, but it’s gotten to a critical point since our time is slowly drawing short and there’s a lot we want to accomplish. Domestic flights for foreigners in Argentina are quite expensive because additional taxes and tariffs are applied and a fewer amount of flight options are offered if you don’t hold an Argentinian ID card. It’s frustrating to realize a round trip flight that would cost an Argentine around $250, will end up costing us double. That said, as crafty Americans, we happen to know that where there’s a will, there’s gotta be a way to get around this blatant discrimination. John puts his “google” powers to work and finds a blog posted by an American publicizing his tips for beating this particular system. We follow the steps he advises, with a little help from our local resident friend Silvina and - “¡Qué Suerte!” - we have cheap(er) flights to Salta in our hands! Now, let’s just hope we don’t get stopped at the airport.

-B

Finally, with work behind us the “real” vacation can begin. It’s Saturday and we’ve decided to sleep in (yay!!) then hit a cute little brunch spot called “Oui Oui,” which, while unsuspecting and just a few blocks from our apartment, turns out to be one of the best brunch spots in the city. We easily grab an outdoor table and John checks-in on FourSquare. The enormous number of tips that have been listed confirm the fact that the mint lemonade is a strong order. The lemony potato wedges turn out to be my fav, though John’s eggs and brioche are also quite tasty. While finishing our meal, I see that Patricio (my friend from business school) is in town with his wife Whitney and he’s emailed to see if we can get together later in the day. We make plans to meet them at Crouque Madame, a cute little french bistro in on Libertador later in the day. In the meantime, we finish eating and walk over to Palermo Soho for a little shopping. John experiments with this new iPhone app that translates spanish to english (Word Lens), as he waits for me to try on half the clothes in Buenos Aires all afternoon.

We meet Patricio (Pato, “The Duck”) and his shockingly pregnant wife for a drink around 6 PM (she has sparkling water). I realize this was the first time we left the house for an evening out before it got dark outside (a feat if you consider that sunset is after 8 PM this time of year). What a concept…much more my speed. All this “dinner after 10:30” stuff is extreme even by New York standards. It’s great catching up with Patricio and meeting Whitney. They offer us a very extensive list of restaurants and tips so we are set for the next few weeks of exploring and dining.

Afterwards we go over to a unique bar called Milion, that is set in a three-story mansion of sorts in the middle of a fairly busy area of the city. It’s a bit early for a crowd so we don’t even stay for a drink. Instead we opt to check out Puerto Madero to get pictures of some of the landmarks there - bridge, wharf, etc. John gives me quite a titillating tripod lesson before we shoot across the water for a cocktail at the Hilton bar. For dinner, John suggests Bangalore, an Indian restaurant, which while a bit sparse when we arrive, is downright packed by the time we’re served our second course. Again, it’s after midnight by the time we roll our big bellies out of this place. Definitely, a great day “sin trabajo.”

-B