Celebrating Freedom

CAFAYATE, Argentina -- We arrived in wine country just in time for the Fourth of July, and I can think of no better way to celebrate freedom than with free tours and tastings. Our hostel runs a bus to not one, but two vineyards every morning for wine, cheese and education, and we plan to be on it tomorrow.
One might complain that this seems a bit too French for Independence Day, and perhaps we should make do with boorish American beer and barbecue, holding off 10 days or so until Bastille Day. I say wine and fromage is a great way to celebrate the crucial French contribution to our revolution, and we can always repeat it again July 14. And, in between, we have Argentine independence day on July 9. We have hit all of the winter´s major secular and religious holidays between La Paz and Buenos Aires.
Cafayate has so far proved to be a relaxing departure from the big city of Salta, which we found a little overwhelming after two weeks of desert solitude. The road running to the small town, overshadowed by mountains, runs through red rock canyons and grape-filled valleys.
We made it here, once again, despite ourselves. Luckily, we had scheduled a wake-up knock on the door for 6 a.m. When the knock came, I insisted to the night manager that he had arrived an hour early, as my clock said 5. He insisted it was indeed 6, and furthermore, as we had spent five minutes debating the issue, it was now 6:05, and we had better get a move on or we would miss our taxi. We grudgingly complied, and, in the shower, it dawned on me what had happened. We had throughout our four days in Argentina wondered why we seemed so in synch with a country so notorious for its 9 p.m. dinners, though we were dining at 7 or so. Our Chile-to-Salta bus´ arrival an hour early had pleasantly surprised us, though we thought nothing of it later. And when the laundromat seemingly closed an hour early we threw a fit because it stranded us an extra day.
Now, I realized, we had advanced a time zone to the east when we crossed the border with Chile four days earlier. The driver must have reminded everyone on the bus about this during our sprint, before we caught up with it at customs. Consequently, we had spent the week living on Chilean time.
We reset our clocks and apologized to the night manager. If not for his wakeup knock, we would still be in Salta.