Cafayate made an incredible impression on us from the very first moment. We stepped out of the bus and were accosted by the usual crowd offering hostel accommodation. Usually this is quite annoying but this time we really had no plans so we let them pitch their deals. One man, with long flowing hair, and an indigenous American look, came up to us and said, in Spanish that he had a great hostel nearby at a good price. His manner and conviction were such that we followed without question. We entered a lovely old yellow building through an unmarked door, and found ourselves in the most entrancingly lovely, grapevine filled courtyard, with carved wood adorning the mural-covered walls and a cozy round table set below a big bunch of bright blossoming flowers. It was too good to be true. We were given a cozy private room (a total luxury, unheard of at this price) and then the owner asked us if we wanted to come get some lunch. Again, overwhelmed by his genuine manner, we agreed, and he lead us (along with another Argentine girl at the hostel) to a fantastic tucked away restaurant where we conversed rapidly and good humouredly in Spanish over Salta beer and humitas (like creamy corn tamales, a local specialty) and roast chicken. The guy (Claudio) was cheerful and easygoing enough that he could communicate with Casey (though they had not a word of eachothers language). After an exceedingly satisfying lunch, Claudio led us around the town, ending up at the main plaza where he insisted we try a local surprise: wine ice cream! Though we expected creamy sweet helado flavoured slightly of grapes, what we got was in fact what tasted like frozen wine, bitter and alcoholic, but an utterly ingenious creation. Exhausted by food and sun and excitement, we retreated to the cool leafy hostel (called Lo de Chichi, or Chichi's house) to relax in the courtyard with some impressive Peruvian craftsmen (a man who works with silver, creating incredibly necklaces with 10,000 chain links, and a woman who works with leather, making ingenious little leather coin cases) who were also very friendly. Meeting them and some others in the hostel, it began to be clear that Claudio doesn't pick just anyone for the hostel, but seems to restrict his invitations to craftspeople and musicians. The better for us!! We were totally at home and very happy with the place, and dinner that night preceded a very intense dream-filled sleep in a room that was blissfully dark and totally, totally silent. 
The next morning we awoke to golden sunshine winding through the grapevines to a little table beneath that was laden with coffee and simple but delectable pastries and jam. We ate and then gathered our energy for what would be a fairly ambitious day. We rented to bikes and then, with them in the hold, rode a local bus 50 kilometers up the Quebrada de Cafayate, where we were dropped off. The bike ride was probably the most spectacular I have ever done. The gentle incline and excellent pavement made for easy riding, and the golden sunshine was nicely refreshed by a cool breeze. But above all this was the landscape, as stunning as you could possibly imagine. Combine the grand canyon with monument valley, add the dimensions of a prehistoric dinosaur hunting ground, and a flavor of awe-inspiring eastern religious architecture and multiply it all by a thousand, and perhaps an image begins to form. Vast cliffs jut out of the earth in colorful red sandstone, at bizarre and impossible-seeming angles. Rocks that look like mouths, soldiers, obelisks, ships, and every other form imaginable. A powerful river edged by lush greenery winds it's way through the whole thing, and a peaceful, deserted highway meanders along side. This we rode for 30 miles, stopping for lunch (there is now starting to develop a serious competition about best picnic spot in argentina) and a dip in the muddy water, only approachable though thigh deep sloppy mud that seemed suspiciously like quicksand. We continued at leisure, but our speed increased when we ran out of water and the sun set, chilling even our exercise heated bodies to the core. But the last few miles were not unpleasant, for we were rolling through valleys strangely reminiscent of our own napa valley. Flat, tree lined highways with extensive golden vineyards on either side and imposing but slightly surreal chateau planted in the vineyards heart. Cafayate is the wine growing center of northern Argentina, famous especially for a crisp white wine native to the region called Torrontes. So we pedaled slowly through the vineyards as our energy began to flag, and rolled into the plaza with the cool evening, dropped the bikes and returned home for gallons of cold water and a big carbohydrate rush of pasta to relieve aching limbs and stomachs. That night we stayed up talking and playing music with Claudio and a group of french travelers from Lille. The music (primarily a native flute and drum with caseys guitar) was bizarre and excellent, and the company and wine were good. We eventually retired, glowing with warmth of a dozen different kinds. 
The next day was one of simple pleasures. A late rise, a good breakfast, a long walk up the valley to a sloping rock filled riverbed lined with sand that was literally shining with minerals so it looked like it was made of gold. A long hike up that stony riverbed, seeing goats, a snake, and a fox, before finally stopping to swim in the frigid but fantastic river pools and then bask on sun warmed rocks, eat apples, drink the pure water, nap luxuriantly, read for hours, play in the mud and swim some more. And eventually a lazy return, a good meal with good company, and to bed. The only disturbance was two very loud smelly drunk guys from town who begged claudio until he let then sleep in our room. But they only stayed one night (thank god!). 

We are already stepping off the bus in the cold and the dark at 7am before we really realize we are awake. It takes several more minutes of trudging along up a seemingly endless white dust road to nowhere, in the dark starry night, that we begin to have second thoughts about what the he'll we are doing. We set out at 5am to catch the only bus to the famous ruins of Quilmes, but now we are not sure what we have done is smart, or even safe. We have no idea where we are, and no truly warm clothes, and it is bitterly cold, as only a desert can be. We walk as quickly as cold muscles will carry us, breathing shallowly, trying everything we can think of to keep warm. We have nowhere to go, no way to get back, or get warm. No plan B. For a moment the whole thing is a bit terrifying, but then the eastern skyline begins to lighten and over the course of a terribly long hour, the sun rises and warms the earth. By the time it is fully risen, we are perched on a rocky promontory above the gorgeous sprawling ruins of the sacred ancient city of the quilmes people, who (though ultimately destroyed by the Spanish) were the only tribe to ever successfully resist Inca conquest. The ruins, a patchwork quilt of homes, work spaces, and temples, light up rapidly in the golden life-giving light, and the tall cactuses begin to throw long shadows. We have a perfect perch from which to view and then explore the city, and the sunrise, well, it defies description. The most amazing aspect of the ruins, we find, as we climb the long jagged ridges that surround them, are the work spaces where pits are dug into the solid rock, presumably for food preparation, to work as a mortar and pestle. The time devoted to this is beyond comprehension, and in these ancient places of communal work, the voices of the cooks can be easily imagined, laughing, gossiping, worrying about inca and Spanish invasions. It is surreal. We finally reach a high point, a sort of Quilmes Hilltop Villa (presumably the primo real estate) and have views not only of the astonishing ruins but even all the way back to cafayate and across the valley to snow covered mythical Andes. We break our fast on the epic mountain top and then descend, recross the desert to the bus stop, and catch a ride back to town, finally conquering awe-shaken minds. The afternoon is filled with an exciting new novelty: wine tasting!! Dressing in our finest Napa Casual attire (totally unnecessary but still fun) we go with one of our French friends to a bodega (winery) and ask for the complimentary tour and tasting (does such a thing exist for free in California?). We are guided around and given an impressive tour, and then treated to a tasting that redefines the limitations of the palate. The first winery is a large one that uses only metal containers instead of oak. The second is a tiny boutique winery recently founded ad distinguished by top of the line equipment from Italy. The third is huge, wholly organic, and one of the oldest in Argentina. We train our palates in the art of wine tasting and rapidly become experts and connoisseurs. 
Our verdicts. 
Bodega Domingo
Torrontes: delightfully crisp and fresh, but not too fruity
Malbec: mild and drinkable, but unable to accompany steak (big problem).
Bodega transito
Torrontes: mild and smooth, uninteresting
Malbec: fantastic, sharp, peppery, intense
Cabernet: fruity and smooth but Not napa-worthy
Bodega Nanni
Torrontes: citrusy and bright, best torrontes we've had
Tannat: hefty and acidic, peppery, powerful 
Late harvest torrontes: desert wine, delicious, honey,  great note to end on.
So there you go, instant understanding and mastery of the art! Joking aside, it was an extremely fun, entertaining, elegant way to spend the afternoon, especially since the girl at the last place was from Boston and spoke english and was very fun and funny. 
That evening Claudio insisted that we would all have an asado, so we went out with him and purchased several different kinds of meat and veg, and got a roaring fire going. Wine was served and we cooked with the french group happily, and the asado was served in courses, two different kinds of chorizo, then crispy ribs, and finally 
a hefty rump steak. All accompanied by a vast salad, fresh bread, potatoes, and, of course, good red wine. After the dinner the guitar came out for dozens of improvised verses about Cafayate and Lo de Chichi. The evening was beyond ideal, and, though Claudio was a bit heart broken that we didn't go clubbing with him, I would not change anything about that day for the world. And besides, we slept damn well.