Tilcara, Humahauca, Jujuy. Argentina

The restaurant, La Carmela, is nestled across the street from the main square where disinterested sellers man the native artisan stalls. The wind whips up the dust on the tiny main street that runs from the highway to the small cathedral. It is mid-afternoon, around 2 pm., and almost everything is closed except for La Cantina. Tilcara is an ancient native village on the Quebrada de Humahuaca, a narrow mountain valley of the Rio Grande.

Since the Quebrada had not been discovered by western tourists language is a significant barrier to communication. I had already mis-ordered -having received one cheese empanada for my wife but no chicken empanada for myself. The tamales I ordered with my mixed Hispanio-english-pig-latin for my wife was to be with corn and cheese but instead we got beef pureed into the corn, hardly appetizing for her vegetarian palette. The white wine thankfully arrived as ordered though it was unceremoniously dumped on the table in a small, chipped, deformed, glass jug along with an upside down drinking glass. The regional dish, Picenta Pollo (chicken) is bland and soupy with a yellow – golden hue. It is served with local rice and a mixture of vegetables that are largely indistinguishable and a boiled potato. It is not
unpleasant to the eye, and with each morsel, more of this dish became discernible. The vegetables seem to contain finely scrambled eggs, onions, small chunks of sweet potato, and green garnish – possibly parsley.

The occasional dog, omnipresent in Argentina, looked longingly through the open door and was driven away by the young waitress who should have probably been in school. A bareback horse rider galloped past followed by a cloud of dust and a retinue of dogs. The television is on but thankfully on mute so the mournful but pleasant sound of native flutes playing tunes from the Beatles and Simon and Garfunkel waft over the square. The chicken dish, though mis-represented by the term “picante”, was satisfying. The taste and presentation could be compared to that of a well-made curry in North London to which the cook had mistakenly forgotten to add salt and chili powder and possibly any spices whatsoever. In the end the saving grace was the fact that the chicken was fresh, as if it had just minutes before run past the door like the horse and the dogs. The empanada was fresh as was the corn in the tamale and the husk it was wrapped in. The white wine that was poured from a barrel seemed pleasant after the three hour drive from Salta though sweeter than I wished. The proprietor’s attempt to close the frail and aged double doors is futile against the wind.

There is no sign whatsoever that the proprietor had any intention to make this restaurant as rustic as it is – the lamp shades are made of thin pieces of animal skin which are torn or missing, the “specials” board with an image of Coca Cola hangs tilted and absent of any specials. The flies that seem to appreciate the cool, dark, interior to the bright sunny street are lazy, possibly because they seem well fed.

The Quebrada is in the province of Jujuy (pronounced who-whoee) in Northern Argentina, and it is the least visited by foreign tourists. The hotels and restaurants are aimed at Argentine sensibilities, or more notably, sophisticated Buenos Aires sensibilities. The few hotels and restaurants are small and in minimally refurbished old buildings and those that are new are artfully integrated into the adobe style buildings of the villages.

There is visible evidence in the form of walls and irrigation system that dates it well before the height of the Inca dynasties in nearby Bolivia and Peru to which they paid homage. It is also the home of Pulcara de Tilcara, an ancient stone and mud fortress. The presence of tourists, mostly young couples from Buenos Aires, does not seem to affect its daily life and charm, as in more developed destinations such as Patagonia, Iguazu Falls, Mendoza and Buenos Aires – all worthy destinations and more easily accessible.