Cowboy Country

Technically, it’s winter in Panama, too, but Panama City, when we left, was steamy. Way down south here in northern Argentina, the mid-winter daytime temperatures have been ideal, in the mid-70s, and each night we’ve appreciated the big, open fireplaces in our hotel rooms. Peter, one of our guides, assures us the sunny clear-blue-sky days we’ve been enjoying are typical year-round. They see little rain in this desert-like region of Argentina, and, even now, during what would be considered the least agreeable season, the midday sky is sapphire blue and cloudless, its sun warm.

While Jack is enjoying summer vacation from school in Paris, the kids in this part of the world are on winter break, and their families are touring on holiday, meaning the otherwise sleepy, little-traveled roads and towns we’re visiting are busy. In fact, we couldn’t get direct flights to Salta, the more convenient jumping-off point for our planned itinerary, but, rather, had to fly from Buenos Aires to Tucuman, then make the five-hour drive through the mountains to Cafayate. Our late arrival time meant we traveled the twisting, bumping, cliff-hanging roads in darkness.

It wasn’t until the next morning, therefore, that we got a good look at the countryside.

A reader wrote recently to chastise us for our efforts over the past two-and-a-half decades bringing peoples’ attention to unspoiled outposts that, once we’ve alerted our readership, become…well….maybe not so unspoiled. The reader cited specific examples--Ambergris Caye, Belize…Granada, Nicaragua…Roatan, Honduras… Ambergris’ only town, when we first spied it, was a fishing village…Roatan was a best-kept divers’ secret…Granada a quiet vestige of another era, its Spanish colonial treasures crumbling, its central plaza empty. Today, Ambergris Caye is so over-developed, over-promoted, and over-priced that I avoid it altogether, and the streets of Granada, nowadays, are crowded with tourists and vendors. You can have trouble getting a table at one of the outdoor cafés, and I fear I may soon want to begin detouring around it, too.

No question, the reader was right to lodge his complaint. We’ve had something to do with the transformations these places have undergone, for better and for worse. Thinking about this now, I’m almost reluctant to tell you about Cafeyate. For, wandering the streets and strolling the square of this small mountain town, I had the same feeling I had a dozen years ago when I first began spending time in Granada, Nicaragua. This town has soul, and, as the world’s increasingly mobile population continues its ever-widening search for places to hang out, I think it’s only a matter of time before they cop on to Cafayate.

Today, though, Cafayate is blissfully ignorant of what taking its place on the world tourist map could mean. The square is bigger and more active than Granada’s when I first laid eyes on that Nicaraguan city. Indeed, Cafayate can’t be called “sleepy” in the same sense, for not only the Argentines, but also other Latino travelers and, even, Europeans already make the trek to see it. Typically, today’s tourists come for the day from Salta, about a two-hour drive away. I was told that about 800,000 people a year visit Salta…and 60% of them make the drive from there to Cafayate. These day-trippers are greeted by restaurants, cafés, ice cream parlors, crafts shops, and a market. They don’t stay the night, so there are no decent hotels…or maybe they don’t stay the night because there are no decent hotels. But I believe they are the start of a bigger trend.

I saw not a piece of litter, not a word of graffiti, no piles of garbage, not one unfortunate soul asking for a handout, and but a few stray animals. In other words, this is not your typical Third World country town. This place is cleaned up and ready for the world’s business. It shows well.

Furthermore, the setting is nothing short of dramatic. This is a world-class, though right now unassuming, mountain city, nestled cozily in a gigantic bowl with high peaks all around. Every time you walk out from a shop or glance up from your park bench…there they are, the sheer mountain faces, whose colors and definitions change with the light as the sun moves through the day. I’ve never been to Arizona, but Lief, who hails from that great desert state, tells me the landscapes here remind him of Sedona.

I see the makings of another Santa Fe--memorable mountain setting, interesting old buildings, and a colorful local population, including artisans and craftsmen practicing trades according to long traditions in workshops down unmarked side streets. Their knives and clay pots are sold in the shops and markets that surround the main square. Lief collects knives, so, for his birthday, which he celebrated our second day in town, Jack and I, with help from our guide Peter, sought out the town’s best (Peter told us) knife workshop, where we bought him two handmade knives, one with a handle carved from antelope antlers, the other with an elaborately hammered silver sheath. Peter assured us the knives are typical of those a Salta gaucho would carry. The two 8-inch knives cost less than $100.

Nothing in this place is costly.

Our first night in town, the eight of us had thick, juicy steak dinners, with empanadas and tamales to start, plus all the red Malbec we could drink…and our bill came to about $80. David, our host for the trip, has promised to take us to another of his favorite local haunts…where, he says, we’ll be able to repeat our fine Argentine dining experience for about $4 a head.

You need to speak Spanish to get around. Fortunately for us, Lief does and has been able to source a hardware store (where we found the electrical adapters we needed for about 50 cents apiece) and a barber (he and Jack both need haircuts). I can’t report on the cost of a trimmed head in this part of the world, as the barber was taking his siesta when we finally found his shop. He was expected back at 6 p.m.

You understand the need for the midday break once you get into the swing of things here. The days continue late in this part of the world. We arrived at 8.45 p.m. for dinner at a restaurant in Salta last night…to find the waiters still setting the tables. They sat us…but we remained the only diners in the place until 9.30 p.m. By 10.30 p.m., every table was full.

I’m in Salta still, as I write but preparing to return to Cafayate this afternoon if possible. Salta town is a real city with a big central square, many grand old colonial buildings, an impressive church, great shopping, lots to do…but it’s not Cafayate. Here in Salta you don’t have the eye-popping mountainscapes you see in and around Cafayate…and Salta is too big to be charming in the way little Cafayate is charming. In fact, downtown traffic can be a pain in the neck. Lief and a friend are off now renting cars so we can detour from the bigger group and return for additional scouting back Cafayate way.

During our brief visit last week, we didn’t find a real estate agency. Surprisingly, no agent has placed himself on the central square. However, driving around the back streets one afternoon, we noticed one house with a “Se Vende” sign that advertised the name and phone number of a local inmobiliaria. We jotted down the number, and that’ll be our starting point when we return to nose around further later today.

Friends are buying big here. They couldn’t be more bullish on the future of this region of this country. I’m not sold on the long-term prospects for Argentina economically, politically, generally... This is a country with a history of ups and downs, booms and busts. I’m ok, though, putting those question marks aside. I’m not banking on Argentina’s future…but I am falling big-time for her hard assets. I’d like to stake a small claim here. Not because I’m certain my investment will return big…but because this would be a nice place to have reason to return to regularly…a comforting escape to day-dream about when you find yourself in less-appealing corners of the globe…

As Jack, 6, tallies things up: “I’ve climbed three mountains. I rode a big horse on my own twice. I’m learning to play golf. (Friends traveling with us invited us to spend time at their small golf club.) And Daddy is teaching me to drive. (On a deserted dirt road.)” He gives the place two thumbs up.

At the market in Salta last night, Lief bought Jack a miniature version of the knife with the antelope horn handle we’d given him and a leather belt to hang it from. “Do you think I look like a real cowboy now?” Jack wanted to know.

Word on the street is that you could buy a little house in Cafayate (they’re not as big or as grand as some of their counterparts in Granada) for $30,000 or $40,000. I also like the idea of owning a small finca or vineyard outside town, and we’re hoping to spend the next week getting a handle on what’s for sale at what cost.

As I said, if we buy, as we hope to, it won’t be, strictly speaking, an investment…but there is reason to believe values in this right now largely ignored region of northern Argentina could move up. Those friends I mentioned believe the move could be dramatic.

Lief reminds you often that one of the surest ways to make money investing in international real estate is to front-run the infrastructure. Get the inside scoop on what infrastructure improvements are planned when and where…buy pre-improvement…and sit back while the new airport or paved road, fast train or expanded highway delivers a new market of buyers.

The opportunity may exist in this province of Argentina right now to think about doing just that. Contacts and friends we’ve spoken with on this trip have told us of plans for an improved road between Salta and Cafayate and for a new airport that would allow for direct flights to Cafayate from Buenos Aires. Not maybe or someday plans…but serious plans with schedules attached. Meantime, a new hospital has opened in Cafayate. Lief will have more details for his readers.

Better services…improved infrastructure…all this could bode well for Cafayate’s real estate values. I have to say, though, that I like the town just as you find it today…and can’t help but wonder if maybe I shouldn’t try to stake some small claim quietly.

Kathleen Peddicord
Publisher, International Living

P.S. About an hour-and-a-half outside Cafayate is a manmade lake called Cabra Corral. Driving around it, we saw but one restaurant, one hotel, and one rafting shop. Here and there a house. At the hotel, we boarded small boats to travel to the far end of the lake. From there, we hiked a few minutes up into the hills to see rock drawings left by the Indians who inhabited these parts 500 years ago. No entrance fee or ticket required, no standing in line or reviewing safety procedures…in fact, you’d never find these unmarked rocks unless you knew where to look for them. The faded images show puma and other mountain animals painted in white on the red rock. I understand efforts are being made to cover the drawings with glass. If this place becomes discovered, as I suspect it may, you wouldn’t want thousands of tourists a year running their fingers over these primitive works of art…