In Search of Sun: James Turrell

From the Darkness, into the Light... or not quite. 

If the Torres of Patagonia were my towering objective for this trip above all else, for Florence the guiding light was the sun, as interpreted by James Turrell. If not for the permanent exhibition of nine of his works housed in the Museum adjacent to Estancia Colome', in the Valles Calchaquies, I wonder if we would have ventured back again into Argentinian Salta before heading North to Peru. Turrell works with sunlight, and with our perception of light and colour. His work is to be experienced rather than described, though he himself says of his work: ,"My art is about your seeing.... The best magic of all is the magic that is real. I am interested in working straight with that power.... Light itself becomes the revelation." Like his crater project in the Arizona desert, this contemporary art apparition in the foothills of the Andes seems almost too strange to be true. Too strange and inspired - like Fitzcarraldo's mythical opera house in the jungle - not to merit a visit. 


The inspiration here is the Hess family's, vintners of international standing. Like Tierra Patagonia down South, the Estancia Colome' is entirely sufficient for water and electricity - it needs to be, at this distance from civilisation! And it produces some of the finest wines in Argentina from these storied slopes, including wines from pre-Phylloxera vines from Europe. For these travellers, something more than just light at the end of the road, then! 


So essentially, Art (and Wine, both upper case), is why we subjected ourselves to the 12hr trans-Andean odyssey across Paso de Sico to come back to Argentina. And another five hour journey by gravel road from the parks and plains of the Pampas around Salta,  through suddenly deep jungle, Alpine slopes, then Wile E. Coyote country in the Parque Nacional de los Cordones, to the mythical Valle de los Calchaquies toward Estancia Colome'.  

 

It's another stunning ride. Back to back games of "Who Am I?" alternate with animal sightings. The catalog of animal species we've seen is extended to include mountain goats, donkeys, a gerbil-thing, a snake and, eventually, a couple of road-ready tarantulas. 

The animals and games then give way to roadblocks. The lightning show last night was a prelude to the rockslides and inundations that we encounter today. We're well on our way - Dakkar style - toward Molinos by the most direct route when we're stopped by a couple of affable toothless fellows and their tractor: "Intransitable". We'll have to take the long way around. 

"Intransitable"

The plan from the start was to stay overnight in Molinos, normally a 5hr drive from Salta, and tackle the last 2hr gravel drive after breakfast the following day. By 8pm however, taking the long way around (with scenic stops) has cost us time, we've passed some seriously dubious roadwork, it's getting dark, and the thunderclouds are gathering on the horizon again. We're in Cachi, another 2hrs drive to Molinos. Here Tortoise logic prevails, and we decide to spend the night in elegant, whitewashed Cachi, and explain our predicament to the folks expecting us at Hacienda de los Molinos tomorrow. 

Falcundo, who resembles a young knight of the round table with his long blonde beard and locks, has a cabana amongst the vines for us at Miraluna, just as the rain starts. Pizza, Lorco and a Miraluna Malbec and the sound of crickets put us into a deep sleep, dreaming of abstract planes of color and light in open space. 

The color and light of morning is encouraging. And the road to Molinos is in good shape. Flo manages to scrape together sufficient Pesos from the Cachi cajero for lodging and gas (fancy that!) and we're off. 

Cachi in the morning

 And in Molinos in time for an early lunch, as planned. Parts of the road getting here however had simply been swept away - a bridge reduced to a minor chasm. The staff at the Hacienda break the news. The road to Colome' and the James Turrell museum is impassable. We don't believe them, but the local Policia confirm, and add that the road onward to Cafayate, for our return circuit, has collapsed around Angastaco. When the road might reopen is anyone's guess. If it rains again tonight, it could be days. 

Incredulous

There are worse places to be stranded waiting for floods to recede than a Royalist's hacienda in the Andean foothills, eating Salteado de Quinoa and drinking Malbec. We contemplate our next move over lunch in the shade of a massive, ancient tree in the hacienda courtyard, home to the last colonial governor of Salta, whose estate this was. We could wait it out, listening to the birdsong and the whispering wind, eat, read, drink. The Girls help a stranded little bird back into the tree. The dogs are even more laid back than the staff. Time passes slowly. In this heat things must be drying out. 

 

Still incredulous, we go and have a look ourselves at the point where the road crosses the Rio Luracatao. The road simply runs out. We can make out the other side of the road, but in between is a river of churning red mud. A very wide river. The locals won't be fording this even with tractors anytime soon. And the sky behind the Andes is darkening. In disbelief, we stand there and watch debris floating by for a while, some of it perhaps from Colome', a mere 18km away. Then we take the long way round again to get back to Salta, racing the rainclouds home. It rains for the next three days, and we're glad to stay put for a change. 

Back in Salta, consolation prize:
Colome' Estate Reserve Malbec