After a pathetic breakfast of apples, vanilla crackers and hot tea, we left in the dark and cold of early dawn on our way to the oasis. It is nearly a full day's drive over a variety of unmarked roads and often very difficult terrain. Even where the roads are graded, they are often very rough, with a deep layer of loose rocks, gravel and dirt that in many lengthy stretches pulled the 4 wheel drive truck from one side of the road to the other.
The terrain ranges from dry, dusty plains to salt beds to dramatic undulating hills full of volcanic rock. Michael had been here with his family and a guide in 2006 and met Doña Corina and Roberto, the brother and sister living alone in the oasis. Although he was merely passing through, their story stuck with Michael. He had wanted to come back ever since.
It was this oasis story that had piqued my interest the first night that Michael and I met back in December of last year. (Bar 6 and the Garden of Eden) Could it have possibly been four months since he and I first connected? My entire trip to Argentina was supposed to be less than 2 1/2 months! But here we were, finally in the middle of the desolate Puna.
In a stroke of good fortune, Michael had talked to Doña Corina before we left Bs As. He was calling Marta, our host in Tolar Grande, and Doña Corina happened to be in the village that day on a rare visit. She agreed to let us come to the oasis. She needed some supplies and hardware, which we told her we would bring. She also made it clear there was no way to reach Roberto.
They hadn't spoken to one another in more 10 years now in a fight over the oasis water supply, even though they live less than 100 meters apart, so we were on our own with him. We eventually reached Roberto through Marta and he also agreed to talk with us. He needed veterinary supplies for his heard of llama, and we brought all of the items on his list.
We drove from early morning until midday and thought we were making good time. We anticipated arriving by 1 or 2 p.m. at the latest. We were in one of the most desolate areas of the Puna, nothing in sight for miles except an occasional small herd of vicuña eating the scattered clumps of grass in rocky roadside fields or cresting a distant butte. The sun was at its high point and the day had turned warmer.
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I began to smell burning rubber and the wobbly steering on the truck seemed more pronounced than the usual lurching back and forth due to loose sand or gravel. Within seconds, the truck suddenly dropped precipitously to the left and Mati began to lose control of the steering. We literally ground to a halt in the middle of the road with the truck listing dramatically towards the driver's side. We knew it was serious, that the truck was undrivable. We got out to survey the damage. The left front wheel had snapped off, broken along with the front axle. In the blink of an eye, we went from driving and talking and laughing freely to dealing with the realization that we were stranded miles, probably hours, from the oasis, even further from Tolar Grande.
We had very little time to waste. We could use Socompa's satellite phone to call for assistance from Salta, but it would take a day and one half to reach us. We could wait for another vehicle to pass through, but that was even less likely to happen any time soon. Our only choice was to start walking and hope we could reach the oasis before nightfall.
We left whatever was unnecessary in the truck, but we took all of our water, our camera and sound equipment, sleeping bags and an absolute minimum of personal gear. No one panicked, and there was no disagreement. We knew what we had to do, and we were all in good spirits. We discussed and agreed on the load distribution. Michael, Mati and Nico alternated carrying the heaviest backpack while I carried the camera case, a smaller backpack and the sound equipment, although we switched various items back and forth occasionally to distribute the work load.
So off we went, lying to one another along the way that the oasis was just over the next ridge, just around the next curve in the road, just another 15 or 20 minutes ahead. In truth, no one even knew for sure if the oasis was visible from the road. It had been two years since Michael had been here, and even Mati's memory was a little fuzzy on the specifics.
More than 3 1/2 hours later, we came over a ridge, and the oasis came into view far off in the distance. We could follow the road for another hour into the horizon where it curved back around and came right up to the oasis entrance, or we could walk another 10 to 15 minutes and leave the road to make a steep descent down a long, rocky hillside that led to the green pastures and groves of trees glistening in the late afternoon sunlight at the edge of the oasis. We opted for the hillside.
The descent to the oasis valley was very tricky, especially with a heavy backpack and the wrong kinds of shoes, but we all made it down eventually. I was the last one, straggling into the grassy valley all bedraggled after falling on my ass a few times and sliding in the loose volcanic rock until I hit or stuck a foot against something that could stop me. I finally slowed down my descent with short, angled steps, using clumps of grass and small rocks for foot stops and avoiding larger rocks that could injure if you tumbled.
Doña Corina had been expecting us a bit earlier. She was bemused as she greeted us and heard about our Quixotic adventures. She showed us our sleeping quarters, a little room off the main building with three bunk beds and space for another mattress or sleeping bag on the cement floor. The ceiling was made of straw woven over a framework of raw timbers.
We were exhausted, but before crashing, we looked around the oasis a bit and Michael and Matias walked over to Roberto's house 80 meters away for a talk. He invited us over for lunch the next day. He had nothing good to say about Doña Corina, and we learned that she had a 22 caliber rifle that she had fired at him on occasion.
The oasis was watered by a natural artesian well that gurgled up from underground to create a narrow stream that ran through the entire area, ending in a tiny reservoir on Roberto's downhill side of the property. There were grape vines bearing clumps of green grapes, high old deciduous trees, tall foxtail grass, and on Doña Corina's side of the property, a corral for her goats. There is no running water other than the stream, only sporadic electricity via a dilapidated old solar panel, no bathrooms or plumbing, no TV, no radio, no heaters, and it is already getting very, very cold in this high altitude plateau.
We crashed within an hour of arriving. When we woke, Doña Corina fed us goat's ribs, rice, hard biscuits and mint tea. We talked with her about filming her daily chores tomorrow and sitting for a filmed interview. She agreed to both. She also had an indian girl named Elbe living with her, something we had not known beforehand. Elbe was a native speaker of Quechua and was intensely shy. She served as a helper to Doña Corina and was obviously made nervous by our visit.
One disturbing note. While I was walking around the oasis after dinner, Doña Corina's dog followed me everywhere. He was very friendly, but when I reached out to pet him, he would fall to the ground and expose his belly, like an abused dog. After exploring for about 20 minutes, he followed me back to the little adobe bunkhouse, and I played fetch with him for a bit. Elbe was sitting on a bench in front of Doña Corina's small dwelling. I could see a fire roaring in the wood burning furnace through the open doorway. Elbe was rapidly pumping her knee up and down in a kind of nervous tic, back turned to me, head down in her chest, afraid to look at me except for quick backwards glances. The dog approached her in his most obsequious mode, and I heard a sharp yelp as she kicked him in the ribs.
I wasn't sure what to make of this abuse, but none of the possible scenarios were too edifying. I told Mati, Michael and Nico. We discussed it and agreed that the vibe here was definitely a bit unusual. Although Doña Corina was incredibly hospitable and cheerful, she and Roberto had no kind words for one another at all, both referring to the other as "evil." I wondered if Elbe was abused, or perhaps just made very nervous by our presence? We all felt a sense of concern.
We cleaned up in the little oasis stream that ran in back of the bunkhouse. Before turning in for the night, we spent some time looking at the stars, trying to identify constellations. The night sky here was spectacular, the air completely clear and the heavens jammed full of light from a million stars, including quite a few shooting stars. We all slept soundly in sleeping bags with heavy woolen blankets on top.
