Leaving the multi-coloured hills of the Quebrada de Humahuaca was hard because they were so stunningly colourful, but we were eager to see more and looking forward to a bit of culture in Salta before heading back into the mountains again a bit further south for a few days. We spent a couple of nights in this medium-size town, enough to see the major sights including two huge churches one disguised as a pink wedding cake, the other, a homage to St Francis, tried to pass itself off, bizarrely, as a theatre, complete with fake plaster curtains.

The main highlight of our stay was a visit to the Archaeological Museum where they have an excellent display of the finds of an expedition that took place in March 1999 on the edge of an extinct volcano 6,700 metres above sea level. Sacrificied and buried over 500 years ago, they uncovered the almost intact mummified remains of three children together with a number of sacrificial offerings that were to accompany them on their journey to another world. Miniature objects made of gold, silver and shell representing plates, cloth, ceramic vessels, food and jewellery were arranged around the bodies. The children are known as the Children of the Llullaillaco, and perfectly preserved. The girl we saw is known as The Girl of the Lightning. She was only 6 years old and despite the fact she died sometime in the 16th century, her eyes are closed and her eyelashes intact and her face looks almost reposed as if she is sleeping. It´s a moving yet incredible sight.

One of the main purposes of visiting Salta at the weekend was to check out the local artisans market which I kept being told was marvellous and unmissable. Unfortunately it was a bit like going to see one of those heavily advertised films, not quite as good as the hype, in fact we had a much better shopping experience in Purmamarca, so I was very pleased we had stocked up with your basic stripey good shopping basket before hitting Salta.

Meanwhile, our bad luck continued, we discovered that we had inadvertently checked into the Argentine equivalent of Fawlty Towers, run by a man who should never have any contact with tourists or perhaps even the wider general public. At breakfast the first morning we overheard him ranting to a couple of fellow guests on the dastardly europeans and the fact that they should be made to recompense all South Americans for stealing all their gold and silver and other precious things. And then the whole of Europe would be bankrupt, ha ha, that would show them! We kept our heads down, kept munching our croissants and made a hasty exit, making a mental note not to mention any precious metals within his hearing over the next 24 hours. Unfortunately, that night, I got really sick, some sort of virus I think. We should probably have stayed in Salta another day for me to recover, but we really didn´t fancy staying another night in the hotel, it just had a really funny vibe about it. Brian breakfasted alone after I weakly implored him not to venture into any dangerous or contentious subjects, knowing how provocative he likes to be, and off he swaggered carrying a glossy magazine for protection against uninvited comment.

He returned from breakfast confident he had avoided a major international incident but sans magazine; Basil had declared an interest in it and Brian had left it with him for a quick browse whils he finished packing and hoisted me and the luggage into the car. As I sat trembling with fever and aching all over in the front seat, I waited for him to return from his mission. And waited.

About 15 minutes later, just as I was about to pass out, Brian reappeared, grim-faced. Returning to the breakfast room to collect the magazine he discovered Basil had ´disappeared´. He called out, no answer. He called again. Finally he went upstairs to Basil´s flat and knocked at the door. He heard noises from inside though no-one answered (probably too busy looking for a cunning hiding place for our poor magazine). So he knocked again and, thinking he heard an invitation to come in, he opened the door. At which point Basil flew at him wild-eyed and menacing and accused him of having the audacity to enter ´his home´ uninvited and demanded that he leave. Brian pointed out that he needed his magazine back at which juncture Basil told him that actually he hadn´t quite finished with it and now wanted to photocopy it, would Brian mind waiting while he did so? Those of you who know Brian can probably imagine his polite but firm response.

So we scurried out of Salta in the wind and the rain, leaving Basil in our wake hopping up and down furiously and no doubt taking it all out on an innocent croissant.