Rehydration is the name of the game.
It was difficult to say goodbye to Paul and Christine after such a wonderful stay - we were so well looked after, so well fed and so well entertained. But time seems to be flying past and we are wondering how we´ll ever make it to Peru in time so after a final lunch with Paul we heaved ourselves (literally) back on our bikes and headed out of La Cumbre with no real idea about the road ahead just a vague notion that we needed to keep heading northwards. Our late start that day meant that we only made it about 30kms from La Cumbre before calling it a day somewhere between Capilla del Monte and the historic village of Ischilin, where we planned to make a stop the next day. Being back in the tent came as quite a shock so we made an early start the next day and wound our way up the rather rough track to Ishcilin. The road was covered in a layer of deep sand, making pedalling up the steep hills hard work and coming down the hills more like skiing. Still, we made it to Ischilin that night and treated ourselves to a night in a lovely hospedaje.
The next morning we got an early start and made it to the town of Dean Funes in no time at all. The only thing that stopped us on our way was the sight of the most enormous pig lying by the side of the road. Everyone here seems to keep a pig grazing by the side of the road, and they seem to have two main roles: 1. Providing sausage meat at some point in the future. 2. Eating rubbish meaning that all the owners have to do is dump their rubbish on the side of the road and leave the pig to do its thing. When we arrived in Dean Funes we were greeted by a slightly overzealous Police officer who, suspecting that we might be the 21st century incarnation of the Wild Bunch, insisted on taking down our details. Dean Funes provided us with the opportunity to stock up on food, but didn´t seem to have much else to offer, so we decided to carry on to Villa Tulumba.
Tulumba is a sleepy little town by day, with a beautiful church and many surviving elements from the arrival of the Spanish at the start of the 18th century, but by night it turns into a hive of activity with several dive bars and a nightclub that doesn´t turn down the volume until the sun rises the next morning. Sadly the owners of the only campsite in town were away so we were forced to take a room in some man´s house. On first glance things looked fine but on closer inspection it was clear the sheets had never been washed and the whole house smelt overwhelmingly like a septic tank. Needless to say the combination of pumping techno, barking dogs, cockerels and the pungent aroma of drains made for a fitful nights´sleep. We left early the next morning feeling like we hadn´t really been to bed at all.
We rode on the next day through some beautiful rolling farmland that could have been in the home counties, and after a lunchtime stop at a roadside parador for beer and crisps (lunch of champions) we made light work of the 80kms to Villa Maria del Rio Seco, arriving in time to enjoy the early evening sunshine and get a taster of the Primer de Mayo celebrations, which like most holidays in Argentina seemed to involve lots of meat, a rodeo and a helping of drunk gauchos. Feeling fairly exhausted after a long day on the bikes we treated ourselves to a clean bed and some amazing roast chicken in the only restaurant in town, that happened to be on the forecourt of a petrol station.
Next day it was back on the bikes and we cycled all morning up and down endless hills and through torrential rain to get from Villa Maria to Ojo de Agua where we planned to stay the next night. Ojo de Agua is one of the worst junction towns we´ve seen, full of mentalists and unbelievably depressing. It didn´t offer much in the way of appealing sleeping options or for that matter appealing eating options so we decided to keep going and try to get to Santiago del Estero as quickly as possible before we were eaten alive by any one of Ojo´s mental one-toothed residents.
Santiago del Estero was the first Spanish settlement in Argentina. From the guide book it sounded like a good stop off and after some research we found three things that we really wanted to do there: visit the Museum of Anthropology; see some of the original colonial architecture; and sit and relax in a legendary bookshop that´s also a bar. Sadly we failed on all three fronts: the Museum was closed because they were moving it to a different building; all of the colonial architecture (bar the Cathedral) has been knocked down; and the bookshop/cafe/bar has gone out of business. Still, we got to stay in the Savoy Hotel (likely to be the only Savoy we´ll ever be rich enough to spend the night in) and had a good rest for a few days.
Feeling rested and ready to take on the next long stretch we took the very long and straight road out of town thinking that we´d spend the night in Termas del Rio Hondo, a spa town 70km away, but got there to find that all it had to offer was a lot of seedy overpriced hotels and a filthy campsite that smelt of raw sewage. We decided to keep going north and ended up camping at a local football club on the edge of the pitch. This was also covered in rubbish but at least we didn´t need to pay for the privilege of sleeping on a landfill site.
The next day it was insanely hot but we managed to record our longest day of cycling yet - travelling almost 95km from the football club to Santa Lucia. The views from the road to Santa Lucia were incredible with the Andes looming in the distance like a giant wave getting gradually closer to us. In the last few days the notion that we´ll soon have to get over that 5km high wave in order to get to Peru has become increasingly real.
The ride from Santa Lucia to Tafi del Valle was one of the hardest day´s cycling so far. Starting at 400m above sea level the road goes up and up and up for 60km before reaching the upland plane that Tafi del Valle sits on, 2,100m up. We knew it would be a hard day´s work so we started early, reaching El Indio (a 50ft high statue of an Indian about to throw a spear into the valley below and some artesans selling ponchos and dulce de leche-themed snacks) in time for elevenses. It suddenly felt like we were cycling through those classic Andean valleys that you see in films with creepers hanging thick from trees enveloped in mist. From El Indio we kept on climbing (lots of hairpin bends - we counted at least 24) until we found ourselves deep in the clouds. Despite our determination to keep going the fog was so thick that we could hardly see the road ahead and were in real danger of being knocked off the road by cars and trucks battling through the downpour. At this point a small roadside cafe came to the rescue, providing us with a warm drink, homemade alfajores and shelter from the pouring rain and freezing cold. It was hard to beleive that we´d set out that morning in sweltering heat and ended the day surrounded by clouds wearing every single item of clothing and still shivering. We finally made it to Tafi that evening and headed straight out for steak and chips, a fitting end to an epic day.
At the moment all of the hills around Tafi del Valle are masked by clouds so we can´t really appreciate the beautiful views but it has the laid back feel of a typical hill station. We´re staying in Estancia Los Cuartos, which dates back to 1617. It´s probably the most traditional Estancia we´ve visited so far, and the perfect place to rest given that the weather isn´t so great, with lots of thick alapca rugs everywhere and (supposedly) great views of the surrounding hills.
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