Cafayate offers a lovely variety of activities for travelers, but what drew me the most was biking a challenging, yet scenic route with a friend. Even though I skipped the waterfall hike everyone was raving about, I felt I experienced an incredible amount in just two days. Two days of bliss.

 

 

Getting There

Busses from Salta city leave frequently and run late. Although it’s recommended to travel by day and watch the insane scenery, I caught one past sunset, around $12, 4 hours. I would see what I missed on bike the following day. Hitchhiking and autos, or shared taxis, are other great options (I used the latter to return to Salta, similar price and up for haggling, 3 hours).

 

 

Accomodation

Hostel Cafayate Backpackers was the cheapest option and served me well. The staff organized an asado at $7 per person, the hot water in the shower lasted long enough. I opted for no breakfast which meant the lowest rate, around $6.

 

 

See and Do

Biking Quebradas de Las Conchas

Day 37

Curled in a tight ball frozen half to death, I got out as soon as I could and managed to run into Yannick on the streets.

We had a lovely day. He was kind enough to wait for me to buy bananas and kill another good while in line with me at the crowded ATM, meaning we secured our rental bikes just in time for the 10:30 bus. Gears were ass, no helmet, no lock, but it was the only place open in the central plaza, $12 for a full day. Hostels like Casa Arbol rented bikes for $10.

At the Flechabus office we each paid $3.60, getting us to kilometer 47 so that we could bike back, through the highlights of Quebrada de Las Conchas. An extra $1.44 was for storing the bike under the bus. The whole ride we cursed and shared our dread at every downhill the bus took. It wasn’t stopping, and everything we saw now we would see again, only in a more miserable state.

At our starting point was at Garganta del Diablo. One kilometer later, the even more impressive Anfiteatro. Tours and road-tripping families were at both, and local vendors sold crafts, cheese and wine, and half burnt tortillas with cheese.

After the trauma from Easter Island, I was convinced I wouldn’t be able to keep up with Yannick, who was trying to make it back to Cafayate in four hours. But he insisted I was underestimating myself.

I told him he looked quite like Ryan Gosling. He was flattered, telling me he was a fan of Gosling’s movies, including The Notebook. Native to France, listening to him say “Rachel McAdams” has been one of the best experiences of my trip.

I was so jealous. Yannick did a workaway on a raspberry farm near Bariloche for a week and a half. It was easy making some marmalade, and going out into the woods for weekend camping and asado. I had applied to that same one but the busy season was apparently over.

Lunch was taken at El Obelisco, with the other group of bikers we had been seeing a lot.

The last 20km were far more painful. My ass was broken. I had a brutal wedgie. We agreed any more stopping would be detrimental to our time and spirits. With the need to bike at 20kph, Yannick took out his phone and found that we were at 21 at that moment. Of course we didn’t keep this up but he still caught his bus.

 

 

I left Yannick to go sample wines at Vasija Secreta, free, mini museum included. They let me try a torrontes, a dry tinto, and another, sweeter red.

It hurt to pee.

I found exquisite ice cream at Heladeria Miranda. I had to yell “hola” a bit before anyone showed up to scoop. Her ice cream is all natural, created with quality ingredients. Well worth my $3.60.

Back at the hostel the staff asked if I wanted to pitch in for tonight’s asado. This was perfect since Yannick had just been guilting me about leaving Argentina without this gastronomic, nightmare-for-vegans experience.

I watched the men heat the grill and systematically lay out the ribs, steak, chorizo, blood sausage like a Tetris game, before the intestines, with a profuse amount of lemon juice, were finally put in place. I was inhaling smoke and sipping wine until nearly midnight before a large group of us sat at the table and pigged out. Bread, salad, bring it. They literally kept bringing more. So satisfied, so sleepy.

 

 

Cheese Tour at Cabras de Cafayate

Day 38

I believe the yogurt from the supermarket offset my stomach for the rest of the day.

I joined the other three bikers from yesterday, walking in the direction away from town along Córdoba street. It was a charming two kilometers to Cabras de Cafayate. This goat cheese factory started when it was discovered that vineyard scraps were serve great as feed for the animals. Breeds were subsequently were purified for optimal milk.

At the gate a sign requested that visitors do not enter with stray dogs, but we couldn’t control the two that had latched onto us. It has been increasingly pissing me off to have dogs seek protection in pedestrians, meaning they follow me into territories of other dogs, leaving me to act as a living shield from the charging, vicious owners of the trespassed land. Something totally avoidable if they had stayed put in the first place.

But now the lady in reception was refusing to give us a tour because the dogs would “scare the goats and chickens.” In hindsight she was probably just giving excuses.

What ensued was a group effort to get them away, and one mildly uncomfortable Swedish boy. One dog would not stop coming in as everyone glared at it. I will never understand. Finally workers leashed the $1.60 tour in rapid Spanish began.

All the female goats are grouped with one male, optimal conditions for their udders. For one kilo of cheese 10 liters of milk are needed, or what seven goats produce per day. The farm has 550 animals. We visited the saturation lab, where liquid gets separated from curd. The liquid is fed to pigs and the curd is salted and aged.

The end product looked just like cows cheese. We sampled natural, herbed, and a blend of cow and goat cheeses.

The dog had kept coming back throughout the tour. It followed us out of the property and back to town. Miranda was out to lunch so no ice cream today, but a cheap pasta spaghetti lunch instead. My stomach hurt.

Linda from Germany was also going back to Salta and then taking the long journey to Iguazu Falls. On the night bus I puked out everything. The rest of the night was so uncomfortable, I found myself holding the hot food they handed out soley for warmth, and later woke to some sort of chicken broth staining my sleeve.