September 11, 2016
Sun 11th Sep: La Vina to Cafayate
The fine weather continues today with a light tailwind driving me along.
I was kept awake during the night by noise of the heavy throbbing bass variety. A Saturday night discotek. Seems the streambank where I'd camped wasn't so out in the countryside as I'd thought. When riding on this morning there was a village a short way ahead round the next bend.
I think the music which went quiet about 3AM, but began throbbing again at half seven, was some open air party connected with the forthcoming "Lady of the Valley" fiesta taking place in Salta on the 15th of this month. A Pilgrimage where large groups from villages all over the province and further afield, make a long walk waving banners with the name of their village, with school marching bands playing horn music and beating drums. Or like the gauchos, that work the cattle farms, come in lines of horsemen and horsewomen dressed in chaps, decortive ponchos and broad-brim hats. They're all heading for Salta the provincial capital. The 15th of September every year is a local public holiday, when it's almost impossible to move in the central streets for pilgrims.
It's got something to do with giving thanks to god for protection from earthquakes. At three in the afternoon on the 15th there's a ceremony outside Salta cathedral, followed by a procession through the streets that circuit the main plaza.
I met lots of pilgrim groups this morning, and the gaucho horsemen and horsewomen, and even cycling clubs making the pilgrimage by bike.
At some point there's less prilgrims, then none as I begin to climb. I climbed most of the morning then, up to that redrock country I mentioned at the end of yesterday's instalment, called "Quebrada de Conchos" though, as Conchos is a bit of a rude word, the Conches part is most often substituted with "Cayafate". Quebrada de Cafayate.
Furthermore they've given rock formations names with signboards at the roadside, such as the "Amptitheater" and "Los Castillos". It seems like marketing to me.
I reach Cafayate at five, hot and drained. I head straight for Ruta40 hostel, where a girl speaking Spanish with an American accent meets me at the door and checks me in.
Once I've showered and cooled off, I head out and spend much time walking, the last thing I want to do after cycling all day. It being Sunday, supermercados are shut. In fact it's hard finding any food shop open, but eventually find a small one with a limited selection from which I pick up potatoes for dinner.
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