Big Sur

The moment of realisation – I am too sick to push my bike through deep sand and despite setting out with the best intentions to complete the eight to ten day Lagunas Route we admit defeat and return to Uyuni to reconsider our options. In one of the lowest points of the entire trip so far, we even go so far as looking at flights home.

Whilst racking our brains about how best to continue, I suffer another blow when my shoes are stolen from outside a hotel room. The theft is the first in a sequence of events that soon develops into a saga ending with new shoes, new pedals and a new left crank. Interim shoes are also needed to get me through to the first decent sized town in Argentina. In a retro moment, I opt for a pair of lightweight Converse boots – the first time I have pulled on a pair since I was a teenager.

Shoe dramas temporarily forestalled, the decision is made to hop on a train for the final 300km of Bolivia and cross the border at Villazón. We enter Argentina at La Quiaca and, for the first time on this trip, are confronted with a road sign that tells exactly how far lies between us and our final destination of Ushuaia. Scary. It will in fact be at least 1000km further for us than this sign suggests as – of course – we won’t take the direct route there, but still…not far to go…

…and in Argentina, the road starts positively; we set out – happy to finally be making progress – descending to lower climes, and the new boots seem to be holding up well. 

Argentina is a land of roadside shrines. Three popular saints dominate – San Expedito (patron saint of lost causes), Difunta Correa (a miracle in the desert where a mother died of thirst but her infant child was discovered alive still feeding at her breast)…

…and this chap – Gauchito Gil. A popular saint seen as something of a Robin Hood figure who broke the law to assist the poor and was executed in 1878. His shrines are always adorned in pure red, and even in the most remote spots, very well tended. People leave a whole host of offerings – from wine and cigarettes to entire bicycles and truck wheels. 

Occasionally the shrines also pay homage to other popular figures – here Evita, beloved wife of Juan Perón, Argentina’s president from 1946-1955 and again between 1973 and 1974. 

Our route from the border to Salta runs through the Qubebrada de Humahuaca with some beautiful rock formations to admire… 

…and some very thorny camping spots. 

Riding towards San Salvador de Jujuy, we continue to soak up the colours, the shapes and the unanticipated heat of a new country

…until an invitation stops us unexpectedly in our tracks. Guillermo, local to Jujuy and out for a mountain bike ride early one Sunday, starts chatting with us and asks if we have eaten Argentinian asado (bbq). Having only been in the country for four days, it’s something we have yet to try and with no further ado we are invited to join the entire family for this sacred Argentinian tradition.

Practiced in most homes, on most weekends, an asado is much like the quintessential British Sunday Lunch where the whole family gathers to eat together. The differences show however in both quantity and preparation of the food – with around four times the meat and cooked outdoors over a grill and hot coals. Argentinian asado is a food experience we have been anticipating; having been to many a rainy bbq in England, we receive a valuable lesson in how the experts do it.

Proud chef Guillermo continues to deliver course after course of delicious cuts of meat to the table…

…long after we have room to fit it all in. This pork was divine and it seems Argentinian steak – that everyone had raved about before we arrive in the country – is truly deserving of the hype. 

With meat filled tummies, we spend a few days in Salta planning the next leg and sorting out my pedal/shoe issues. In a rash fit of naivety, temporary good health and enthusiasm, we decide from Salta we will tackle the Cuesta del Obispo instead of sticking to a valley ride. Not a particularly big climb when compared to those we have ridden in Ecuador and Peru, it nevertheless represents a challenge to me. It becomes clear that despite still being fuelled by delicious asado, I am not back to full strength…

…and I find myself sitting by the side of the road once again cursing hills, parasites, baking heat and anything else around me that can be blamed for my lack of performance.

This time though, we don’t turn back but James wisely calls an empanada stop. Delicious parcels of pastry and meat combined with cold Coca Cola help us on our way… 

…through backdrops of burnt rock…

…onto a dirt climb of some 25km which will take us back up to an altitude of 3457m – the fake positivity displayed here didn’t last long… 

…and I soon need a break to take stock and have a snooze.

Deciding that the climb is too much for me in one day, we make camp and tackle the rest early the following morning… 

…crawling along the ribbon of road.

With some relief we reach the top and, as always in my complicated love affair with hills, the emotions swirl and compete…

…and I mutter a quiet prayer of thanks at the chapel of San Rafael. 

Time for the downhill…

…and we whizz by a reassuring testament that Argentians definitely know where their meat comes from (bife = steak).

Into El Valle de los Cardones – an immense field of cacti…

…which at this time of year are in beautiful bloom.

The downhill continues…

…and we arrive in the small and welcome town square at Payogasta for lunch in the shade. Every small village in Argentina seems to boast a beautifully kept, pretty, tree shaded square with strong Spanish overtones. They beckon us to retreat from the sun and enjoy a long siesta.

Most towns also offer good municipal campsites. Having become accustomed to ‘roughing it’ with wild camping, these havens of green with facilities and bbqs have added to the culture shock we have been undergoing since entering Argentina; a much more affluent and ‘European style’ of living.

It doesn’t take long in a new country for us to discover our favourite treats. With an abundance of ice cream shops here it’s a done deal, a cyclists’ dream: we can eat ice cream every day. Now we just have to discover our favourite flavour: current winner is tramontana – vanilla ice cream with caramel and small chocolate covered balls of biscuit.

We celebrate the completion of another hill by turning the tramontana ice cream into the Italian classic of affogato…pour on hot coffee to enjoy a deliciously cold caffeine/sugar high that’s hard to beat…

…then relax and contemplate…

…the forthcoming journey into wine country.