I rode past more vineyards on the way to Cafayate and then coming up the road were two touring cyclists. It was a young man and woman and they were Americans. They were finishing up a year long tour that had begun at their home near Seattle. These were the first Americans I had met on bicycles and they said they hadn’t met many either. We talked bikes and roads and about places to sleep in Cafayate and then said goodbye.
Cafayate is a small pueblo with a clean main plaza and streets that run out from each of its four corners. Its not a big town but it exists for the many vineyards around it and also for the western tourists. I could not believe how many gringos had descended upon this small town. I sat in the main plaza drinking a coffee and watched the many white faced backpackers walking among the dark, tawny skinned natives. The natives hardly recognized their presence. The town was a changed place and it was too bad. As pleasant as it was I preferred the untouched places and was already looking to get back on the road.