Not Sure How to Review an Opera
…so all I’ll say is that it was something of a lavish production and they could sing loud and in tune. And, as is the norm in opera, the woman died at the end. Oh, and our £100 seats had a restricted view, unless you are Vicky and you shift the previous occupants of the front box seats at the interval. (The interval, by the way, was one of those ‘tip the bloke’ moments. All tables were already reserved when I ordered our half time champagne – yes, Cath, I am a flashpacker. However, the waiter organised an extra one from out of thin air by the time we got out.)
All in all, a successful evening, even if we did get to sleep far too late, resulting in the morning’s rush to get to the airport. Well, it was a rush for us, but not for the taxi driver who took the immense good fortune of having two English-speaking people captive in his cab as a sign from the gods to bore us to death with information about the city (most of which we already knew) as he trundled through the traffic. It seemed to give him positive joy to slow down approaching green lights in the hope that they would go red so he could tell us about this building or that or how the English had constructed the place. Just to add to the delays, Presidents Kirchner and Bachelet passed by on their way to a function, usefully adding a bit more to the gridlock, but more importantly giving our cabbie the opportunity to prattle on about the uselessness of his pres… We approached the airport at the pace of a snail and took extra time wherever a speed bump reared its glorious head. Painful minutes were lost as he ventured his opinions on how bad every other taxi driver in city is until, with immense relief, I was able to pay him about 30 seconds short of throttling him.
Used business class check-in to jump the queue and made it with minutes to spare. Flight fine, but ominous clouds on the way. Got to Salta where I had the stupid idea that it might be good to hire a car, which we did. Obviously, the spare tyre wasn’t inflated, but the rental guy seemed to think it was fine to get me to do it. The clever thing to do at this point would have been to have a look at the area, check into a hotel and use the car the next day for a drive into the mountains. However, we thought it might be good to head to a town 160km away, via a mountain pass, in fading light. I’d checked with a guy in a café (obviously an expert) as to whether the road would be dangerous at night. He said no and that it was very pretty. He was right about the prettiness. The road, however, is unsealed for the majority and one needs to ford mountain streams and negotiate hairpin bends (often at the same time) while looking out for wild donkeys and avoiding huge cactus trees. A four-wheel drive is probably the only suitable vehicle, not a Chevrolet runabout. The rain held off.
Made it about half an hour after darkness had fallen (Quechua hitch-hikers in tow) to the lovely village of Cachi. Went up to the large hotel of the Automobile Club of Argentina where there was no room at the inn. This turned out to be a blessing as the lovely El Cortijo Hotel was able to accommodate us in a beautiful building with a courtyard housing a fountain. They also give you a glass of port at bedtime, which is nice. Note to anyone thinking of coming here. Ignore the ACA Hotel and stay in one of the others – they’re much nicer and not full of poncey (as opposed to the other type of) tourists.
The next day involved a futile attempt to find some ruins on roads worse than the one we had travelled on to get to Cachi. Still, beautiful surroundings abounded and I guarantee we went up a track that no other visitor to the area has gone up in a very long time. The car is not looking pristine at this moment and I’m wondering about our deposit.
More track driving later in the afternoon to see some real fake ruins before preparing ourselves for the morning dash to the airport. Oh, how I’m looking forward to that.
Friday – back to BA
The sheer peril in which we placed ourselves on the mountainous dash to Cachi was made plain to see when we made the return journey. A cloudless day revealed the full majesty of the mountains including 6500m N de Cachi (unrepresentative pictures to follow).
The morning light revealed the potholes and waterfalls to be true barriers to forward motion, with the hairpin bends encouraging Vicky to grip her seat in terror. This is truly the most exhilarating road I have ever driven and, stopping only to pick up hitch-hikers and allow our petrol to be siphoned, we cruised in 3rd gear most of the way and reached the airport with 5 minutes and 8km of our allowance to spare. Great. One final view of the Andes at take-off and that’s it for this side of the continent. If it weren’t for the prospect of Sunday’s game, I’d be one very unhappy grown-up gapper.
Today’s song – 40 miles of Bad Road, Duane Eddy
By the way, everyone, patience is a virtue. Haven’t even had time to edit this one.
NB – Today is the 30th anniversary of the start of the dirty war. Sombre post may follow after we’ve visited the demo…
Tags: Buenos Aires, Travel
JohnnyBoy