If at all, we are only mildly seekers of adventure, I would say we are more like modern-day explorers, but somehow we always end up in some kind of activity one may call adventure. Like today, for example. We set our GPS to our next destination, San Agustin de Valle Fertil, a 6 ½ hour drive, and set out on the road. At the little town of Calingasta, we wanted to stop for lunch, so we went off the GPS route seeking for food, and the GPS rerouted us, shaving 20 minutes off the trip. We were both happy about it and followed the newly recommended road, but 8 miles or so into it, it turned to gravel. It is common in Argentina for a road to be spottily gravel, then turn back to pavement, but, after several miles of dirt at low speed (mind you, we no longer have the pick-up, but are traveling in a small Chevy sedan), we realized that we were in for the long haul, 81 kilometers until the next road.
We later realized that we hade been re-routed to an old road, which was no longer being maintained, and was hell to travel upon (poor Chevrolet). To add insult to injury, the past days’ rain was muddying things up, but we had been on the road for so long that there was no turning back. This area is desert, it gets 5 inches of rain a year, and I think it all got concentrated during our stay, and the clouds were threatening today as well. And rain it did, luckily only spottily, but enough to give us a bit of a scare; we were right in the proverbial middle of nowhere, no town in either direction for miles and miles, and no other cars on this road, on either direction.
Sixteen kilometers from the end road, what I feared materialized. Because of all the rain, a small dry river bed became alive, and its force had washed out the road. We would have had to cross the river and drive over a two-foot high escarpment to regain ground. No way the Chevy would clear it. Only option would be to drive the 65 kilometers back, and the mere thought, over this treacherous terrain, was enough to want to make me weep.
But, as always, fate was with us. In this huge wasteland, there actually were a couple of Gauchos on horseback who had travelled far from town to collect their animals scattered throughout, and they were resting there, no more than 200 feet from us, across the river. I headed over, in shorts and flip-flops, to talk and explained our predicament. They were awesome. They knew the depth of the river and told us where to cross, and with their boots, they kicked the edge of the escarpment until it was low enough for the car to clear, and with a sigh and a prayer, we slowly crossed and were able to make it across. Hallelujah.
Now, even though you are using GPS, always check the route it takes you over and never trust it blindly. The greed of saving twenty minutes actually added more than 2 hours to our trip and put us in a serious predicament.
We eventually hit pavement and continued on our way. And once again the surroundings became otherworldly.
We traveled through mystical canyons and incredible landscapes, and at last we reached Valle Fertil (Fertile Valley), so called because it is a green oasis (14 x 8 kilometers) of greenery, on account of a high water bed that has collected here.
Again we are in a rural farmhouse. The owners cultivate, organically, hundreds of fruit trees (figs, grapes, pomegranates, pomelos, and much more), have horses, donkeys, dogs, rabbits and cats, and last night a fox came to visit. They are renting us a home on their farm they keep for agritourism.
Will post this tomorrow as, unfortunately, there is no internet to work with today. Ciao.
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