No rest for the wicked.

The journeys continue.

San Martín, Calchaqui Valley, Argentina.

Friday, November 10th, 2023.

“There is no rest, saith the LORD, unto the wicked.”

-Isaiah 48: 22

Dear Reader, 

At San Martín, the hay bales have all been gathered up and the wind blows hot, dry air through the screen doors of my office.

The hay bales gathered up at San Martín.

I am dog tired. In the past forty eight hours I have been to Salta and back, solo. I tend to feel like somewhat of a warrior woman, owning those gravelly, treacherous roads with their never ending hairpin turns. Normally it takes an hour and a half to an hour and forty five minutes to get to Cafayate, depending on “traffic”, as in if a herd of goats or cows happens to be crossing the road or you get stuck behind a truck or something.

I take the road via Cafayate rather than through the Cuesta del Obispo, even though the former is slightly longer, because you hit the pavement sooner and there are less turns and curves. This time, however, the journey took a solid two hours because Ramona, my nine month old furry companion threw up…twice. Each time, I pulled over to let her walk around while I cleaned up the mess with paper towels, wet wipes and water. Then we regained the road. 

Once arrived in town, we went through the usual routine of filling up on gas. There’s often a line of motorcycles, mopeds, hoopties, SUVs and caravans. We’ve learned to fill up in the bigger towns rather than the “pueblitos” where the gas is more expensive and sometimes watered down. There’s also been a diesel shortage. Last week when we went to Chile, some filling stations didn’t even have diesel. Also, you don’t want to run the risk of being stuck on the side of the road in the hot sun, or in the dark. So, we top up where we can.

Afterward, we sat down at my favourite “panadería”, bakery, for a cheese and tomato “tostada”, which is a sandwich made with ever so finely sliced pieces of white bread lightly toasted, and a “tutti frutti” milkshake, made with a mix of fruits. Ramona was hungry after all the excitement so I let have her a sandwich too. 

Refreshed, we harnessed the dove and flew the final three hours to Salta. There, we checked in at the Castillo and I lay down, exhausted, on the bed. My alarm went off too soon. It was time to get dressed to go to rehearsal.

My husband had left early in the morning to meet an associate to visit some property my dad owns, and we met back at the Castle in the evening. We walked down the hill to Little Italy for dinner. The same old brown dog lay at our feet. Ramona sniffed him curiously. And the same rotund, red cheeked Sicilian chef came out to gruffly ask if “tutto” was “bene”, which it was. 

After our repast, we trudged up the hill and fell into a deep sleep. At dawn Adrien awakened to go back to San Martín where our “terneros”, young calves, were being sold. It’s a big event and happens only twice a year. He wanted to be sure to be there and bring the working men some sodas. 

I went off to another rehearsal and ran some errands. The owner of the Castle wanted to give me a tour. So I followed him as he showed me into the private rooms of the family, and an apartment in the tower with very steep stairs, only accessible by what could be a trap door. 

“I built this”, my host told me, “and lived here for about a year. But if I ever forgot my glasses I counted it was 102 steps to go back up to retrieve them.” 

“Well, you sure wouldn’t want to be too tired going up and down these stairs”, I commented as we descended the practically vertical stairwell sideways.

“Or very old. Or very drunk!”, replied my host with a laugh. 

Ramona and I took our leave, hitting the road for the three hour journey to Cafayate. There, we stopped for a walk through the square to “Santeria”, the church shop, to purchase gifts for three children of the village who will be receiving baptism, first communion and confirmation, respectively, at mass tomorrow evening. 

We made the final stretch along the unpaved road home. Thankfully, my pup was not sick this time. But I was weary. Once I crossed the river, I got out to open the heavy and dusty farm gate. I drove through and then struggled to close it behind me again.

I continued up the drive to the house where my husband was waiting for me. We’ll have just a couple of days here before going up to Gualfín on Sunday and then to the city on Wednesday to prepare for the show. No rest for the weary. But, it looks as though the concert will be sold out.;)

Have a great weekend!

Abrazos,

Mariah

P.S. Here’s a short video of my rehearsal of Dream A Little Dream (en français!).

You can tune in to the livestream on Friday, November 17th at 6.30pm EST via this link!