The white four-wheel drive pickup truck, with ``Los Cardones'' painted on its door, arrived punctually at the hotel in Salta. The driver packed the luggage carefully in large black plastic bags before stowing the bags in the back and snapping down the tarpaulin cover.

``That's to protect them against the dust,'' the driver explained in near-perfect English. ``There's going to be a lot of dust on that road.''

With that understatement, we moved southwest from Salta, the capital of the province of the same name in northwest Argentina, and headed for the Calchaquí Valley. My goal was Colomé, Argentina's oldest operating winery, and a new museum built there in honor of American artist James Turrell.

Colomé is about as far as you can get off the beaten track: first an international flight to Buenos Aires, then a 2 1/4-hour flight to Salta. After that, it's a 4 ½-hour, bone-shaking drive along largely unpaved roads. It is possible to rent a car and drive yourself. After the first of several flat tires, I was glad I'd chosen the more expensive alternative.

The driver keeps a running commentary that is both entertaining and enlightening. We are out of range of the last radio station and there is no mobile phone network. I'm beginning to re-evaluate the meaning of the word remote. The cacti, called los cardones, are similar to the saguaro native to Arizona's high desert, the driver informs me. His cheek is distended and I wonder if he has a toothache. A strange herbal smells fills the truck.

``Coca leaves,'' he says, pushing a blue plastic bag filled with something that looks like bay leaves toward me. ``Don't chew. Just put them in your cheek and you won't get tired and you won't feel the altitude.''

A half-hour later, we have our first flat tire and I help remove the luggage so he can pull out the spare. While he's busy jacking up the truck, I quickly recycle my wad of soggy coca leaves at the base of a three-armed cactus.

Wind has eroded the red rock, forming bizarre formations, and cacti, some bearing hard young green fruit, loom on the horizon. Behind them, the blue-black foothills of the Andes reach toward the sky. I see a brown animal about the size of a deer in the distance. The driver lends me his field glasses and I come face to face with my first guanaco, a camel-like animal native to South America. It returns my stare and turns away with a visible snort. Local farmers raise llamas for meat and wool, but guanacos and vicunas -- another llama relative -- still roam free in the hills.

At El Colte, we finally reach the legendary RN (Ruta National) 40 that runs the length of Argentina from north to south. It, too, is a dirt road. We bump onto it and head toward Molinos, a town of adobe buildings. The land flattens and becomes noticeably greener. The first grapevines sculpt the hills and a dusty sign points to Colomé.

The last stretch of road seems the roughest. It's a relief when the Bodega Colomé, a luxury hotel surrounded by vineyards, finally heaves into view. The grape harvest is in progress. Workers, many descendants of the Incas who ruled the valley more than 500 years ago, are harvesting grapes.

WORTH THE TRIP

Those who make the effort -- and it does take an effort to get there -- are rewarded by the view of the lush green valley framed by the foothills of the Andes. A huge tree shades the entrance. Inside, the light splatter of water replaces the drone of the diesel motor that still echoes in my eardrums.

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