Salta, sandscapes and The Simpsons

Salta is in a stunning location in the midst of a breathtaking sandstone landscape in the north west of Argentina. It's a town of white-washed churches, sporadic markets and dogs lazing in the sunshine. A perfect place to rest after a hectic week in B.A. and Iguazu.


From here, on my birthday, we decided to hire a car with our new Aussie friends, Tess and Adrian. We drove through the farmland and hills surrounding the town towards the coloured mountains and cacti-strewn desert.

Can you spot me?

On the winding road, we stopped off to climb into echoing canyons and look across huge valleys. We drove around the diversion where the main road had collapsed into the river and laughed as we were fooled by the scarecrow workmen, signalling us to stop.

We eventually pulled into the wine region of Cafayete, consisting of just two main streets with a beautiful central plaza, populated by trees, and more dogs.

The buildings are painted in vibrant colours – mustard yellow, aquamarine blue and ruby red. Polished wooden signs burned with the names of cafés and restaurants swung on their hinges in a gentle afternoon breeze. We had lunch outside in the sunshine, drinking the local wine and entertained by the local dogs who joined my party.

"What would you like to eat, signora?"

That evening, we headed to the Barney Gomez bar for birthday drinks - littered with spot-on The Simpsons' artwork and paraphernalia. It's funny what you find in the most unexpected places.

Chasing waterfalls at Iguazú

Iguazú Falls took us by surprise. We had expected it to be beautiful, memorising and eardrum-bursting. What we hadn’t expected was the jungle excitement, the animals and the extreme drenching.


Iguazú consists of 275 separate falls, extending nearly 2 miles in semi-circular shape, 80% of which are on the Argentinian side, which is the side we picked to visit. At it’s highest point it drops 83m, that’s 29m more than Niagara – a fact that prompted Lady Eleanor Roosevelt to sigh “Poor Niagara!” on her first visit.

While I knew this much before our visit, I had no idea just how big that would feel when stood before the falls. It's no wonder they've recently been made one of the Seven New Natural Wonders of the World.

With every world wonder, there's a story. According to local legend, a god planned to marry a beautiful aborigine girl named Naipí against her will. She escaped from him by fleeing with her mortal lover, Tarobá, in a hand-carved canoe on the river. The god flew into such a wild rage when he found out that he split the river into two and created all the waterfalls so that the two lovers would be condemned to an eternal 'fall'.

Or, it's the result of tectonic activity, but that's just boring. And the sheer size and beauty of the falls makes you to believe that something otherworldly played a hand.

So we started our day early, always happy to sacrifice (another!) lie in to beat the crowds. After a Disney Land-style welcome, we soon plunged into subtropical rainforest that is home to hundreds of rare and endangered species of flora and fauna. Before we had even heard the roar of a waterfall, we had seen rainbow-splashed birds, giant guinea pigs (capabarras), and delicately-striped coatis.
Within the Argentine Park there are three trails for you to follow; an upper, a lower and the trip to the Devil's Throat.

We began our day following the lower trail, a route that takes you much closer to the falls, where you could literally reach out and touch the water. You also feel much more like you are truly in the jungle on the Argentine side of the river, discovering the falls for the first time. Accompanying this feeling are the strange noises from the trees that you can't quite identify and the spray of moisture in the air. It is enchanting before you even get close.

And when you do, the view of the thick ribbons of water cascading down the dark rock is captivating, suspending you in a marvel of water, noise and balmy air. As we got closer and closer, the jaw-dropping view made us hurry along the trail faster and faster, with a dramatic change in scenery at every turn in the trail. First we were looking down on the strong sheets of water hurtling down the sheer drop, and before we knew it we were underneath them, feeling the spray on our face in the morning sun.

On the upper trail, we spotted so many birds, a huge pack of coatis with their long snouts and  an otter playing with death by swimming in circles near the edge of one of the falls. And still we were almost the only people there; the early bird catches the worm, and the otter.

As we headed to the lower trail we started to see more people and the famous Iguazú crowds were more believable. We spotted a vivid toucan at the start of the trail, followed by a tiny hummingbird and so many technicolour butterflies- we had gone from Disney Land to something straight out of a Disney film.

The gold at the end of the rainbow

This lower path takes you across scaffolded walkways, enabling you to walk over the smaller waterfalls, feeling and hearing them run underneath your feet as you look down. This was also our first glimpse of the most impressive part of the falls, the U-shaped cataract nicknamed Garganta del Diablo (The Devil's Throat), which has 14 falls plunging more than 350 feet.

It was so hypnotic looking at this powerful water falling and changing colour from the blue tranquil water at the top to bright green with white foam and spray as it falls over the edge. From here we could almost see all of the falls as they snake around, words cannot describe how formidable a view we had; photographs don't do justice to the energy and sheer might of what lay before us.

And then there were the rainbows, proving you don't need rain for a multi-coloured horseshoe in the sky. Protruding from the clusters of waterfalls were perfect, arching bows of red, yellow and blue on a backdrop of brilliant white and lush green.

We then caught a small boat across to Isla San Martin, putting on the obligatory life-jackets for the 60 second journey. The man on the boat gave me iced mate, the fresh, traditional tea supped constantly by Argentinians out of elaborate, patterned cups. It's surprisingly bitter and awful at first, but it gets more bearable with persistence.

As we climbed up the island, within minutes we had spotted our first armadillo, with it's tiered, shell-like back and thick, pointed tail. Then another, and then another. We arrived at the huge band of waterfalls known as Salto San Martin, Salto Mbigua and Salto Bernabe Mendez. From here, it looked like thousands of small waterfalls merging, with a huge rainbow in their mist.

Half of the island appeared to be closed off, but we saw some people walking past the broken 'Cerrado' sign. I'm glad we did, as along this less-trampled path we came across a huge congregation of vultures who glared down at us from their rocky fort beneath the falls.

On our way to catch the train to the Garganta del Diablo, we stumbled across another swarm of South American coatis – funny little animals who look like a cross between a raccoon, a possum and an anteater with a long nose and an even longer ringed tail. Not in the least bit shy, the animals zig-zagged their way across the busy trails, fishing half-finished packets of biscuits out of bins before staff members shooed them away. Strange and possibly cruel as it all was, having so much wildlife present reminded us that we were actually in a National Park – a park that is home to jaguars no less.

After cramming on a little train to take us round to the top of the falls, we crossed over a sedate, calm part of the Iguazú River, passing people going in the opposite direction who were soaked to their skin, but smiling nonetheless. Despite this warning, we were overwhelmed by the ferocity of the falls. The previous few weeks at Iguazú  had been particularly dry and so they had recently opened the dam to replenish the falls. While they are now helped by man, this part of the falls is a true reminder of what nature can do.

Garganta del Diablo (Devil's Throat)

Water thunders and pounds over the edge, sheet after sheet of white noise. We were deafened by the noise, soaked by the spray and entranced by its power. As it hurls over the precipice, the river looks more like a mountain-top avalanche than a waterfall and the resulting spray makes it hard to see anything more than a thick white mist and the occasional, suicidal sparrow that nose dives into the huge clouds of spray.

To finish our awe-inspiring day, we took a walk into the jungle and watched as black capuchin monkeys danced over our heads, putting on a swinging show from tree to tree.

Border crossings and bicycle bottoms

Being British in Argentina just a few days after the 30 year anniversary of the Falklands/Malvinas war made us nervous.

Seeing images on the BBC News website of your national flag reduced to a smouldering heap on the main street of Buenos Aires is certainly a little irksome, as was the stony face of the man sat behind the customs desk at the border crossing as he read slowly, and sternly: "Ingleterra." Everyone else got a smile.

So if pressed on the matter, we're Australian from here on in.

Our border crossing to Argentina, while spectacular (the customs office is at the foot of Volcan Lanin), has set a precedent for future border crossing in South America.

After our little fracas with the man at the border, I was just nodding my sleep-heavy head when our bus, freshly on Argentinian soil, screeched its breaks to a standstill. People on the bus started walking to the front and stepping outside, all speaking in fast Chileno Spanish that went way over my head, despite the lessons.


There was a protest, for what, I am still not sure. The road had been barricaded with a truck parked horizontally across the bridge and a group of roguish-looking men camping out behind it.

Everyone has heard a South American horror story, and I've listened to more than my fair share. But today we were lucky: the protest was peaceful (less the monster truck parked crudely in the middle of the road) and we were able to walk with all our bags to another bus on the opposite side of the bridge. The protesters even smiled and said "hola" as we passed them - not quite the hysteria I had anticipated.


It was striking to see the contrasts in the west and east sides of the Andes. While lush and green on the Chileno side, it was quite dry on the Argentina side - both tied together by mountains and stunning 'Monkey Puzzle' trees.

As we moved closer to our destination, the landscape changed from arid mountain plains to pine forests, golf courses, a ski resort and holiday homes. This was a playground for wealthy Argentinians, and not what I had imagined at all.

San Martin de los Andes is on the shore of a big and beautiful lake; houses are made of stone and wood; and the streets are lined with hundreds of trees. However, I was relieved to see the tell tale signs that this was still very much South American: stray dogs strutting around everywhere - they are the kings of these streets, but so friendly too.

Having started to feel the effects of meat and cheese, we bit the bullet and rented bikes for a day, up through the mountains and to the shores of Lago Lácar.

It was tough going as a lot of it was uphill up dirt tracks, mostly trodden by goats and cows. We had to pull into the side to let by two huge bulls being led by a local Mapache man, his children and a trail of puppies - it was good to see a slice of authenticity in this European-style town.

Our efforts were rewarded when we arrived at the mirador (viewing point) of the lake and surrounding mountains. It was good to get a bit of a sweat up but it was more fun on the way back, downhill and with the sun on our backs - we stopped only for lunch by the lake and to see the decorative shrines on the side of the road.

The next day I woke up with a very painful, bruised bottom; I should have taken the bull, not the bike, up the rocky, steep path.