Fiambala

The long descent from the 4700m altitude pass into Argentina was a long and beautiful drive. The clear morning soon giving way to heat and storms. In Fiambala, a sleepy ramshackle but very endearing town, I stocked up and headed out the next morning to explore the area.

The drive in took me on a thin track and then cross country, following old tyre tracks across the barren landscape. The afternoon predictably became gloomy and developing storm pelted the car with hail – not quite big enough to damage – but enough to cover the ground completely white. Thunder and lightning also raged, close by. The morning dawned fine and bright and I followed my track back out of the mountains, to find parts of the highway covered in flood damage, and the police hauling out the crushed remnants of a car swept off the road.

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