Ruta 68: Salta to Cafayate
With my parents safely delivered to the airport, we set about packing in earnest. We had one extra night in the house before we had to be out at midday the following morning. Despite having already done a fair amount of packing, it’s always amazing just how long the process takes. We were busy right up until the final moment: sorting, cleaning, and organising.
At midday, we handed over the keys and went to grab a few groceries from the supermarket before leaving Salta towards the south. Our plan was to drive down to Cafayate before heading back up along the section of Ruta 40 that we hadn’t had time to do earlier.
While we could easily have made it to Cafayate that very evening, there was so much to see along this route that we decided to take our time. We headed to a municipal campsite in San Lorenzo to get our bearings back in Ruby. Despie the fact we'd been in a house for three weeks, we still seemed to have things we hadn't done like cut our hair or finish drying out all the washing.
After two days on the campsite which hadn't been great for the cats either, we decided to drive just an hour or so out of the city to camp beside a small lake. The cats had been confined to the house for the previous three weeks, as every time we let them into the garden, their immediate reaction was to try to escape over the perimeter walls. To keep things stress-free, we’d simply kept them indoors. The house was huge, so they’d had plenty of space to run around, but they naturally didn’t see eye to eye with us on our containment policy, so we wanted to find a campsite where they could roam outside properly again without a huge number of dogs to bother them.
This little lake looked ideal. We parked up and released the beasts.
Only about half an hour had passed, however, when a man appeared walking along the edge of the water, picking up litter and tidying the area. That part was great, but the downside was that he was accompanied by seven dogs, some of which were distinctly unfriendly. We hastily retrieved the outraged cats and kept them inside until the pack had passed. Unfortunately, the dogs seemed to stick around the area, so the girls didn’t get quite the freedom they were looking for. Luckily, it was only for the night.
The following morning, I fitted our new thermostat, hoping it would help Ruby run a bit cooler. Then we hit the road, continuing south towards the spectacular rock formations and valleys stretching ahead of us. We stopped along the way to fill up our water tanks and ended up buying some local sweets from a roadside stall. The stallholder recommended we make a stop at Alemanía, which looked lovely when we looked it up online — yet another abandoned railway station turned cafe, with a scenic trail leading to a waterfall nearby. We adjusted our plans accordingly and set up camp by the river there. Despite it being a Friday, the spot was quiet and deserted.
On Saturday morning, we decided to tackle the waterfall hike. While we’d done a few walks recently, none compared to this one: it was a hot day, and the trail spanned 18 kilometres. In hindsight, we really should have brought our water filter, as the three litres we carried proved insufficient for such a demanding trek.
Things started off gently enough, traversing dry, sunbaked fields where blue-green thistles were about the only vegetation surviving in the parched red dirt.
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Then we reached the river. At this point, we’d apparently already lost the main path, though staying strictly on a trail wasn't strictly necessary. We simply picked our way up the dry riverbed, hopping across stepping stones whenever the bank ran out on either side. Naturally, we were joined along the way by a friendly local dog.
At times, the route diverted away from the river into forests filled with towering cardón cacti, smaller flowering varieties, and an intriguing tree species that looked as though someone had gone to town on its trunk with a can of green spray paint.
The final kilometre of the hike got genuinely tough. We scrambled up slick rock faces and leaped across massive river boulders to keep our feet dry. Coming the other way, we met a returning tour group whose members had all simply opted to wade straight through the water in their trainers. While that certainly made for faster progress, I really wasn't keen on hiking for hours in soaked shoes.
We stuck to our boulder-hopping strategy, though I repeatedly wished I’d brought my walking stick as I wobbled over unstable steeping stones for the hundrenth time. That last half-kilometre nearly finished me off, but I slowly hauled myself up the final rock ledges until, at last, we were rewarded with the view of the waterfall.
We had actually packed our swimming costumes, but by the time we arrived, a fresh breeze accompanied by overcast skies meant we really didn't fancy plunging into freezing mountain water. Instead, we enjoyed the view from dry land while recovering our strength for the walk back.
It took us a solid three hours to get back to the camper, by which time we were both dead on our feet. Lee set about getting dinner ready while I assembled the shower for a well-earned wash. That night, we collapsed into bed utterly exhausted, enjoying a blessedly peaceful Saturday night by the river.
Having scored not only a quiet weekend but also a cat-friendly spot, we prepared to leave on Sunday morning after a lovely stay. We drove over to the old wooden railway bridge to take a photo, though I’m not in the shot because I simply couldn't bring myself to walk out onto the rotting timbers. It was far too high, my legs were still shaky from the previous day's hike, and after taking just a couple of panicked steps, Lee had to help me back off. He, on the other hand, was completely unfazed and got a fantastic photo.
We continued onwards down the stunning highway as it wound through deep red valleys lined with trees almost too vibrant a green to be real.
This route is littered with points of interest, though most are quick stops: pull over, admire the view, take a photo, and keep going. The first of these was Garganta del Diablo (The Devil's Throat) — a popular name for dramatic natural formations across South America, here referring to a massive, hollowed-out rock canyon. I assume it was carved out by an enormous river millennia ago, but today it is a dry canyon floor ending beneath a towering natural archway in the cliff.
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Just down the road lies another impressive formation called "The Amphitheatre". Gazing up at the countless compressed strata of rock, I couldn't help but be reminded of the birthday cake we’d shared with Mario: a Chilean favourite called Milhojas, made by stacking paper-thin layer upon layer of pastry, cream, and dulce de leche. Clearly, it was time for dinner!
I also wanted to visit another rock formation nearby, but after our grueling hike the previous day, neither of us felt like doing much more walking. Instead, we drove a short distance down a dirt track that wound up into the hills just off the main highway. Camping at the dead end, we spent another peaceful night tucked away in the mountains.
With our legs feeling a bit more recovered the following morning, we set off on the short hike to Los Estratos. It takes about 45 to 60 minutes to reach the cliffs, depending on how frequently you stop to take photos along the way. Once you step away from the green ribbon of the riverbed, the only vivid colours in the landscape belong to the rocks themselves. The terrain is arid, supporting little beyond dry scrub, but the rich hues of the stone more than make up for it.
The narrow trail winds along the base of the hills before climbing onto a higher ridge, rewarding you with a fantastic panorama across the valley.
From there, we scrambled down a loose gravel slope and ended up right at the base of the rock formations we’d come to see.
They were spectacular: band upon band of brilliant colour cutting through the towering cliff faces above us. I was so glad we had clear sunshine again today, because those striped mineral layers really did POP!
Our final stop along this road was another short walk to Las Coloradas as we continued our drive south.
This final trail through the red valley didn't feature one single standout landmark, offering instead a generally picturesque landscape. We ambled down a firm riverbed, soaking up the sun and admiring the red peaks surrounding us.
Towards the end of the walk, we bumped into a lone vicuña — and for the very first time, heard the absurd, high-pitched alarm call they make, which I found immensely entertaining. I was so glad we’d camped nearby to ensure we could enjoy both of these short hikes today; they were definitely worth the wait.
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