After an unusually complicated day, we arrived last night in Tilcara, our Christmas destination, a tiny village located in the spectacular Quebrada de Humauaca in the northernmost part of Argentina. Tilcara will be our last stop in Argentina before Bolivia and the Andean vibe is already apparent. We're now at over 2300m and the majority of people here are idigenous. Well, aside from all the Gringos (tourists) that is. It's reputation as an artists colony and the impressive Pucará pre-hispanic fortress have made it a hot destination and the tranquil vibe that the place gives off is a magnet for weary travellers looking for a quiet place to pass the festive season.
Quiet, that is, until the fireworks start going off.
The first couple nearly sent me rolling on the ground, sounding so very much like the distinctive pop of an AK-47 as they do. Ah, warzone flashbacks. Unlike many other countries which have long since banned the open sale of fireworks on account of the prolific and gruesome injuries that they cause, Cohetes, as they are known here (rocket in Spanish), can be bought just about everywhere and by anyone. Wandering around Jujuy yesterday we saw dozens of sidewalk stalls selling just about every imaginable type of firework you could think of, many conspicuously shaped like real rockets and bombs. I'm almost used them now, but the odd one here and there sitll makes me jump a little.
But I digress. After dumping our gear at our sumptious chrissy digs, BSharp and I headed into "town" to try and find some tucker. We were surprised to find that just about every shop in town, from butchers to haberdasheries were trading while every restaurant was closed. After phone calls home to the respective fams, we found the only open restaurant in town. Naturally, it was packed to the hilt and when the waitress asked if we had reservations I thought we were screwed. While she was off seeing if there was any room at the inn, so to speak, a family vacated a table near the door, so I pounced on it. Well, sort of, as much as a travel weary lowbaggin' Bizarro can anway and asked the waitress if we could take the table. Within a few minutes BSharp and I were inspecting the very andean menus and deciding what regional dishes we would be consuming for our Christmas Eve fair.
Soon after, another couple came into the restaurant and asked if there were any tables available. The waitress told them that they were all full and apologised. The table that BSharp and I were occupying was for four, so leaned over and told them that if they didn't mind, they could share the table with us, knowing that it would be hell for them to find somewhere else to eat around town. Gratefully accepting our offer, they sat down and asked us where we were from.
"Somos Australianos", I said
"Oh fantastic, we can speak english then!" replied the woman. Hadn't heard that for a while!
They turned out to be actors, living in Paris. He was Canadian/French/Irish and She was Iranian/Italian and they both performed in art house films and on the stage. It made for very interesting and pleasant dinner conversation, I have to say. After feasting, chatting and listening to the fantastic live music played by a local andean band, complete with pan flutes and drums we bid our new international friends goodnight and stumbled back to our lodgings, despite the obvious fact that the party was only just beginning in town.
Christmas morning we slept in nearly until Christmas afternoon. After a Bizarro Big Breakfast we slowly got our shit together to head out into the Quebrada for an even later lunch. For a couple of hours we wandered around marvelling at the brooding peaks topped with massive cacti, the height of poplars (whose husks, by the way, make great lampshades). The Pucará ruins were closed, being Christmas day and all, but we contented ourselves with the scenery. As puffy white clowds rolled over the edge of the Quebrada, we lunched as one usually does on Christmas, in copious quantities and enjoyed the fine weather and relaxed vibe. Nice and pissy, we retired to the BSharp and Bizarro bolt hole to snooze.
Hours later, we pushed ourselves back onto the streets, in search of music, beer and internet. Onviously, we found the latter and hopefully in a few minutes we'll be off to find the rest.
From the Andes to wherever you are, we hope you're enjoying the festive season, whether you believe in Santa Claus, the Flying Spaghetti Monster or nothing at all. Do me a favour though, when you're smelling the serenity, think about the millions living in fear and hunger, if only for a second, and then go out and make peace for ALL men (and wymen, of course) a reality.
Ramen.
