The night before my flight to Salta I met a woman whose cousin lives in the city. We were at a blind wine tasting and she recommended some wineries to visit in nearby Cafayate (she’d escape to that town when she needed time away from her cousin’s family) and then asked if I were going to see the mummies. I had forgotten about the mummies.

On my first trip to Argentina we had done a road trip to the west, stopping in Salta. Then we had gone to the Museum of High Altitude Archaeology for the mummies and I vowed to visit them once again.

Arriving early in the afternoon I took a taxi to my Air Bnb. I had originally planned to take it easy: grocery shop for the week and hang out in the apartment, but the lure of the Plaza 9 de Julio and the mummies was too much. And so I laced up my sneakers and stepped back out into the streets to walk south to the plaza.

Arriving at the square I ducked into the Catedral Basílica de Salta to admire the intricate decorations on the ceiling and the gold accents throughout. It was a warm day and I was happy to step into the cool confines of the church.

From the cathedral I walked to the museum to see the Children of Llullaillaco. Of the three children, only one is on display at any given time. When I arrived it was la niña del rayo, so named for the marks left on her body by a lightning strike that hit her after her death. The children were sacrificed in an Incan religious ritual that took place around 1500. They were drugged and then left in a small chamber underground where they were left to die.

I spent some time standing before la niña del rayo imainging her short life and the lives of those around her while she still took breath upon this earth. I wondered about her thoughts and her hopes and what realizations she had. As I gazed upon her well-preserved body I imagined that she could wake at any time. I imagined her eyes opening and her mouth opening in a wide yawn as she took her first breath in hundreds of years.

From the museum I walked east across the plaza to the Iglesia y museo San Francisco. A wedding was underway and so I stood outside to glance at the interior before walking back towards the square.

I walked along the south side of the square and then took a left down a brick-lined street. It was late afternoon and some of the merchants were packing up for the day. A small gathering of campaigners for Millei brought a festive air to the corner. One man had donned a large foam mask and was handing out leaflets to the passers-by.

I continued south to the Lago Parque San Martín. Children played in the dry park as the sun set. I walked the length of it and then back, continuing south in search of dinner.

It was still too early to dine, however, and so I wandered into the Parroquia Nuestra Señora del Valle, a small church set in a courtyard, to wait until the restaurant opened.

Thinking back, I was surprised at how much I had seen after having first decided to do very little. When the restaurant finally opened and I was seated near the door, I reflected upon my return to Salta, satisified with how things had turned out. I raised a glass to the children and let my thoughts drift. 🇦🇷