I Heart Salta

Rolled into Salta, Argentina yesterday after 20 hrs on the bus from Mdza, watching "Good Morning Vietnam" and "Armeggedon" through the night and wondering what all the Argentines on the bus must think of the U.S.A. and our movies and music and self-image and culture and neuroses... sat next to a sleepy German guy, so didn't really get the chance to rap in Español like I usually like to on these long rides, but no worries, cuz Dan and Tobie gifted me a massive and brilliant treatise on 20th century warfare and the history of the modern nation-state called "The Shield of Achilles" by Philip Bobbitt so I got my read on for several hours and felt all smart and academic and pensive and that was fun as mostly I had been reading thrown-away tabloids and food wrappers on the bus after temporarily giving up on page 16 of Marquez's Love in the Time of Cholera in the original idioma.

The city of Salta lies between several intersecting mountain ranges on the southeastern edge of the rise to the great Argentine/Bolivian/Chilean Altiplano. It's humid but not too hot, lush green but bordering vast superdry mountain canyons and arroyos, and high (1200m) but not too high that you get out of breath walking around town. Salteño culture is rich and storied, partly owing to its unique location halfway along the old Potosí-Buenos Aires post road where pack trains and Spanish soldiers huffed it up to the mines at 15,000 feet and back down to the Atlantic with their silver exports and other mountain riches bound for Barcelona and Madrid. Supposedly the birthplace of empanadas, and also apparently the best spot in Argentina to see traditional Chacarero music (like Tango but more Guacho, more boot-stomping), Salta's got a lot going for it.

No idea where to stay just off the bus and squinting in the bright sunshine, I wandered into Plaza 9 de Julio in the town center and bumped into Tina from Munich, who had been on my bus a few rows away. We chatted briefly and realized neither of us had any idea where to stay, so set off wandering the streets, eventually finding a nice little hotel with a super-talkative owner eager to show off his thousands of digital photos to anyone who expresses even the slightest interest in looking at them on his computer. Late afternoon Tina and I climbed the town mountain and rode the gondola back down at sunset for fantastic views of the city and the valley and surrounding lush green mountains stretching up northward past Jujuy (hoo-HOOEY!) and up to the Bolivian border, then wandered down for a late dinner at one of the many huge restaurants on Calle Balcarce specializing in steaks the size of which you cannot imagine and entertainment provided by live Chacarero performances by beautiful girls in flowing white dresses and men dressed in superbaggy MCHammer style pants, cowboy boots, vests, and huge sombreros, stomping around and trying to look sexy but mostly ridiculous while the girls clearly steal the show.

This morning I had a cup of coffee with my friend Miguel, whom I met waiting in line at the Dulles Airport in January when our Bs. As. flight was cancelled. Small world: Miguel went to the Yale School of Forestry and is general manager of Argentina's only Forest Stewardship Council-certified timber company. We clearly had a lot to talk about, as RAN has been one of the main forces creating demand in the global marketplace for sustainably harvested wood-products, and he had studied us at Yale with a professor I know there. I learned a ton asking questions about the timber business and forest protection in Argentina, and we rapped a bit about the role of international advocacy campaigns in creating markets for sustainable products like his... He then offered to take me on what turned out to be a long and dusty ride through the beautiful countryside surrounding Salta, using the trip to show off his extensive knowledge of trees and forest ecology, pointing out every single species and explaining whether it was native or invasive, and generally just being a kick-ass tour guide and generous and fun.

When we got back to town I thought we would split but he took me straight to his favorite local empanada stand, "El Buen Gusto," jam-packed with locals in a far corner of town and -- bliss -- not a Lonely Planet-reading tourist in sight in the whole barrio. Miguel says they sell 5,000-7,000 empanadas in a weekend, and judging by the line I'd say that's a conservative estimate. The empanadas were tiny and delicious and we ordered a dozen with salsa picante and cokes to wash them down. Was pleased as punch to see this other side of Salteño living not written up in all the guidebooks and full of backpacking tourists just like me.

Monday I head northward again to the Quebrada de Humhu-somethingorother, which are supposed to be beautiful Utah-style or maybe Badlands-like rock canyon erosion formations and nearby you can check out Argentine Andino culture in tiny little mountain towns before crossing the border to Bolivia, sometime Tues, and hopefully making it to Cochabamba by Weds night for a Manu Chao concert I just found out about the other day! Gotta run... love ya!