Salta was the place I liked the least. Maybe I’m too hard on it. It’s not Salta’s fault that my flu peaked there. But lots of other things were.
The flu started in Buenos Aires with a mildly scratching throat. I began to remember an advice I saw on some travel health website: don’t disregard influenza when traveling abroad. I did. When the travel doctor asked whether I wanted medication against laryngitis or bronchitis I said no. I completely ignored that I would be on the Southern Hemisphere during their late fall, the peak influenza season. All I had was some aspirin, some Tylenol, Fisherman’s tablets and Vitamin C. I started to apply them, with minimal success. In Cordóba I felt necessary to solicit advice in a pharmacy. He gave me “caramelos” – chewable pastilles with some plant-derived ingredient and said to use one every four hours. It did wonders to decongest my nose – I used up all my Kleenex on the night bus and probably keeping everybody awake.
Thus we arrived around 8:30 with some delay, and I took a taxi to the hotel.
“Too early to check in,” said the manager, “but you can leave your luggage in storage.”
Well, I understand that hotels/hostels need check-in checkout time in order to operate efficiently. Still, I think back fondly to those who were flexible enough to allow early check-in to the sleep-deprived. Like the Alex hotel in Cordóba.
Thus I took off to discover Salta. First to a drugstore, to stock up on Kleenex. Then I decided to have a tea, hoping it would do well to the flu, and then went to see MAAM, the High Mountain Archeological Museum. It was 30 pesos, enhanced fee to foreigners. I understand the reasons, but not a wise policy. If you want tourists, don’t penalize them. Rather, offer opportunities to spend that amount voluntarily.
The museum was high quality, but if you saw similar museums in Cusco and Arequipa, it’s hard to be impressed. Especially if you have the flu. Then I noticed that I lost the city map I received in the hostel, and had no clue how to go back. All I remembered that I walked by the police headquarters, and figured that I could walk back there, and ask where the tourist office was, then go there and ask for a map. The police was very friendly and wrote me down the address and pointed into the direction. Just when I looked at the note, I discovered, that the address wasn’t for the tourist office, but for the tourist police. That was no use for me. I tried to buy a map at a newspaper kiosk, but she had none. She also pointed me towards the tourist office, and that one turned out to be the street of the tour operators. And that’s where the Salta disaster started. I still don’t know where the city’s tourist office was. I wanted to book tours, but wanted to be off the beaten track. Don’t make this mistake. In Salta, there is only beaten track. I had tow wishes:
(1) To transfer to Cafayate, my next destination, via Cachi, because that was supposedly a very spectacular route, but for which I couldn’t find any schedule or accommodation on the Internet; and (2) to see the Pre-Inca ruins at Santa Rosa de Tastil and the Polvorillo Viaduct. By sirens on the street I was lured into a tour operator’s office. He said that normally they do 2-day loop to Cachi and Cafayate, but they could leave me in Cafayate instead of completing the loop for a reduced fee. They already had two persons for this trip, he explained, thus with me the 4x4 would be full and thus the tour confirmed. I asked about the ruins and the viaduct, and he had that too. Thus I booked both and went back to the hostel to finally occupy my room. To their credit, the luggage was already in the room, and the room was very well designed. It had everything: desk, nightstand, night-light, closet with hangers, extra blankets etc…. It also had lots of rules. It’s forbidden to eat in the room. The kitchen must be cleaned up. The water in the dining room is for breakfast only. And so on. Last time I saw so many rules was in a summer camp near Dresden, in the now defunct DDR.
Eating in the common area wasn’t quite easy as it was too small, and the kitchen too. It was an apartment-sized kitchen; it couldn’t take more than one cook.
In the afternoon I went up to the viewpoint of Salta by the gondola, it was quite fun. I tried to get sun on a bench, as it supposedly heals the flu. Instead, I bought honey (of course the smallest bottle was about a kilo, and you can’t move on with an open bottle of honey…), and another type of caramelo in the pharmacy.
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