Around 2PM on the day Anna and I are going to leave Cafyate, we get our car back. (There is some anger and confusion about payment for the nice tow-truck man, but eventually we agree to pay half the cost now, and Christian will pay the rest and then reimburse us when we drop the car off. Compared to car repair in the US, it's fairly cheap, and we can tell when we start the car that it is indeed fixed).
We are thrilled to be on our way and able to accelerate, so we drive all the way up to 100km per hour on the nice paved roads heading out of Cafayate. We are on our way to Cachi, where we plan to stop for a couple of hours, then head north to Tilcara. Little do we know that our appreciation for acceleration will be very short lived.
As it turns out, highway 40 is actually a pothole-ridden dirt and gravel road for the majority of it's several hundred kilometer lifespan. Thus Anna and I alternate driving on the bumpy "road" around 40km/hr at best, and finally get to Cachi sometime around 6PM. Despite the slow drive, the scenery is absolutely gorgeous: desert wastelands and harsh mountain ridges surround us, speckled with massive cacti, the occasional low stone dwelling, and even more rarely a thread of water flowing in the valley below. (When she gets back, I am sure Anna will be more than thrilled to show anyone who wants to see the 300+ pictures she took just during the course of this drive).
Realizing that the sun is setting and we are only two thirds of the way back to Salta, plus half again that distance to Tilcara, we decide not to stop and instead push on. For a while we are on a wonderful paved road weaving through the mountains, going steadily but slightly up. At one point we see a sign indicating that we are over 3300 meters above sea level, the highest I've ever been.
It was only moments after that when we turned a corner and see:
Yes, those are clouds, and not an ocean. And yes, that windy road down the mountain along the cliffs and into the clouds is our road, and we are about to drive it.
Later, we agreed that the gorgeous views made this drive worth it, but at the time Anna and I are too busy panicking to think much about it. Descending into a cloud is a magical and exciting experience, for about thirty seconds. Then, it is pretty much like driving in the thickest fog you can imagine, on a cliff-side, in the dark (because the sun has now set), and just when you think it can't get any worse, the paved road comes to an end and you are again on a dirt and gravel road just barely wider than your car (it seems), and there is no guardrail. We can't see but ten feet in front of us, and to make matters worse still, the windshield wipers don't work all that great and the windshield is smeared and foggy. I am very close to tears and just as close to bringing Anna to tears (as she's driving, and I'm alternating between cowering and whimpering and screaming GO SLOWER in her ear while we're crawling along at about 3 miles per hour) and I am half convinced we should just walk down the mountain or sleep in the car, but then we might get eaten by pumas or hit by another car or freeze to death at this insane elevation, so we keep going.
Two or three hours later, we are at the "bottom" of the mountain, and we reach some paved road, and I just want to leap out of the car and kiss the ground, so thankful am I that I am still alive.
Anyway, Anna and I make it to Tilcara around 1AM, 11 hours and many years after we left Cafayate. Our supposed 6 hour trip was finally over, and we crawl into bed in the nicest hotel beds imaginable.
We have an awesome day in Tilcara, hiking up a canyon, taking lots of pictures of cacti, visiting some ruins, eating, shopping, etc... We avoid POS (our Piece of Shit car, as we not-so-fondly dubbed it) and instead try to forget the day before while in the brilliantly colored mountains of the north. Sadly, we only have one full day in Tilcara, and have to get going the next morning, and a brief 36 hours after our last journey, start on our way back to Salta.
While we had driven from Salta two nights earlier, we realized, gazing at a map, that we hadn't taken the most direct route, and we should take a different road back, since we have to get to the airport to meet Christian and catch our flight. The drive is going well and the sunrise is gorgeous over the mountains and everything is pretty for the first hour or so. Then, we find ourselves rising. We are going up more mountains. Our road slowly dwindles to the width of one regular lane, only it's supposedly two lanes, and suddenly we are once again on a cliff edge. This time, luckily, there are trees, and sunlight, and paving, so it's not as bad as it could be. However to make it worse, I have to go pee and there is nowhere to stop on the side of the road because it's cliffs on either side, and there are tons of cars coming by, and the road is never-ending.
And if you thought that was enough, we are also running on empty, and have no idea where the next gas station is. We are out of compressed gas and are down to the last flickering light on our gas tank, and we need to catch a flight in a few hours and I am about to explode.
Finally, what feels like hours later, but it's more like an hour or so, we make it out of the mountains, and there is a little town, and we are thrilled. We find a little tourist booth and get directed to a public restroom (thank goodness), and then find out that there is no gas station in town. What. The. Fuck. A whole town without a gas station? What is this place?
Luckily, they say they sell gasoline at a convenience store down the way. We go inquire, and the woman behind the desk says she'll sell us five liters (at an exorbitant rate, but we don't care). We hang out, and a moment later we direct the woman, now carrying a giant clear gas can filled with pink fluid, to our car. We take about fifteen minutes and three people's help to get the tank open, since we need to use the key in some special manner. The woman primes the hose somehow and we hang out, this by far being our most outrageous gas-getting experience to date.
Finally, we are on the road again with enough gas to get us to Salta, and we make it to the airport only an hour later than we planned. Christian, who is supposed to meet us there, is nowhere to be found. You might be saying, "Well, it's an airport. That might be challenging." But no, there is one terminal, one road to the airport, one little street in front where we park, and there is no one around. This is the tiniest airport ever (until we get to Iguazu falls later that day).
We call Christian, and he is still in Salta. "We're at the airport. You coming? We have a flight to catch."
"Yes yes! I am coming! I will be there in ten minutes!"
Fifteen minutes go by, and we call him, and there is no answer. We manage to get a hold of him eventually, and he says, "I am in crash accident!" and some other things we don't quite understand. "I try to find taxi!"
We hang out outside the airport, wondering what the deal is. Over an hour later, we need to check in or we'll miss our flight to Iguazu, so we decide to leave the car. We aren't so cruel as to take the keys, despite the couple hundred bucks Christian owes us. Rather, we take the registration and certifications and leave a note with Anna's address in Argentina. I don't think we will ever see our money again, but there's a slim chance, and I'm waiting for a call from Anna saying she received a wad of cash in the mail. I'm not holding my breath.
And thus concludes our journey with POS, our car that was likely more trouble than it was worth. On the plus side, we did get to descend into some sweet clouds, learn some new Spanish phrases, and visit some amazing places more or less on the schedule we wanted. Also, adventure times!
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