We had all been looking forward to Salta for one reason or another.  It was an area where some of our Spanish teacher from back home's family had come from.  It also represented an end to the more westernised part of South America and a step into relative unknown territory. 

Basically, we had loosely planned everything up to this point.  In Edinburgh we had bought ourselves a large wall map of South America while we were prepping.  We had discovered a route of sorts we were going to pursue, through Argentina, into South Chile, head north for our Christmas check point, back through to Argentina and north into Bolivia.

After Salta there was vague waving of our hands over the rest of the countries ending with someone saying ".....and then we'll fly back from Mexico, somewhere."

Even when we were getting our vaccinations, the nurse tried to pin us down on our exact locations and when we went in separately to talk to him, he exclaimed we had given two different lists of countries we were going to visit. 

Our loose, winging it planning had ended and we really were without a clue as to where or what we were doing next.  

Salta didn't help with our plans much.  It was 39 degrees and there were so many things we wanted to see and do.

The town plaza was the best we'd seen yet.  Beautiful historic buildings surrounded the square, housing small restaurants, a museum and the cathedral.  Most of the buildings were whitewashed, interspersed with colourful churches and official buildings.  Just off the square was the shopping area, so an amazing mix of something for everyone all in the same vicinity, and just a ten minute walk from our apartment (although without the heat and the children, it would probably only take five).

Ten minutes walk in the opposite direction was a huge green park complete with play parks, a pond with row boats and of course the entrance to the cable cars.  

I don't know when it happened, it just crept up on me.  I'd never had a problem with heights, whether it was running off a mountain with a parachute behind me, going up glaciers in cable cars or climbing the highest buildings.  I'm sure it was since having children, but vertigo has struck me.  As I say, it just crept up on me, one minute I was fine, the next I'm gripping handles, legs, books, whatever I can to feel like I'm in control and I'm not going to fall.  

So needless to say the long ascent to the top wasn't a pleasant one for me, but being the good mother I am, I didn't show my fear to the kids.  They loved the views and the ride, waving at people who passed us going in the other direction, listening to Lorne telling stories of Jaws and James Bond fighting on top of one; Jaws biting through the metal cable, and what would happen to us all if the cable broke, yeah thanks Lorne. 

The top of the hill was unexpected.  A large waterfall fell down the front of the hill, the water being directed by man made stone channels and funnels.  At the back of the hill was a playpark that the kids had a chance to try out.  There were a couple of cafes and also some street sellers, selling things from ice lollies to hats.  

We happened across two young men selling wine (Argentinas equivalent of hipsters - no garish beards, but we could tell they were serious about their wine) and bought a couple of bottles of local red. 

We also visited the high altitude museum.  Not a museum at high altitude, but one where artefacts had been found at high altitude.  The most disturbing was the mummified children.  Noble children had their heads bandaged from birth to make their skulls a distorted, high shape.  When the time came for a sacrifice ritual, the children were paraded around the square and the most beautiful was picked to be buried alive.  

Three such children were on display in the museum, which of course had caused controversy amongst the population, as many people believed they should have been given a proper burial and laid to rest.  For me, it gave a realness to the story and sadness and pity.  The children were only between the ages of 6 and 8 years old.

Nights were long and hot.  The apartment had advertised AC, but on arrival we were presented with two large fans that certainly cooled the rooms down to a degree, but had the sound of a 747 Boeing jet taking off in your bedroom, so having them on at night was out of the question.  We sweated and then sweated some more, showering twice sometimes three times a day under nice, cool water.

In between sweating, thoughts turned to Bolivia.  We'd heard of a few scare stories (buses driving you to the border, then having to get off, walk across the border and try to get transportation in the border town to your next destination).  With children it just sounded tiring especially in the soaring heat.  So we'd done the sensible thing and bought flights that would take us from Salta to Santa Cruz in Bolivia and would only take an hour and a half. 

From Santa Cruz, we started to envision a loose trail that would take us to all the places we would like to see and eventually land at the Peru border. 

The kids were excited to be going on a plane again, while we packed our bags and took some deep breaths.  Bolivia, here we come.