The bus pulled up into Cafayate on a sleepy Saturday afternoon. The dusty square was flooded with sunlight, the grassy area in the centre filled with locals and tourists alike, whiling away the day sunbathing. We decided that perhaps it was finally time to give ourselves a few days' rest and that perhaps Cafayate was the place in which to do it.

We were staying in a hostel called Rusty K, which had a gorgeous suntrap of a garden, and after a quick trip to the corner shop for crisps and beer, we sat in the sun and planned the next few weeks of the tour, stopping occasionally to pet the two adorable dogs belonging to the owners. This was starting to feel like a regular holiday!

Our gastronomic explorations continued here in Cafayate. Northern Argentina has some traditional dishes, and so we tried tamales, balls made of corn filled with minced beef and vegetables (writing this down makes it sound disgusting but they were actually very good!) and humitas, a mushy paste made up of sweetcorn, onions, and bits of melted cheese, which I was considerably less keen on – it's what I imagine eating baby food would be like. But the best thing was dulche de leche, an Argentinian-wide obsession, which is essentially a sweet caramel spread, eaten at every possible opportunity, but especially at breakfast time. It was too sweet for James, but I loved it – took me back to my youthful obsession with Nutella. Yum!

Cafayate is best-known for producing the best torrontés wine in Argentina, and so we were obviously keen to sample a glass or two. We had high hopes after having such a good time in the Marlborough region in NZ, but we were to discover that the Argentinian approach to wine tasting was generally a little more...low key. There were a few small bodegas in the centre of town, which we decided to have a little wander around first. Our first and favourite stop was Bodega Nonni, which we arrived at straight after lunch, ready for the 3pm tasting. We were early. As we sat in the little sun-filled courtyard, awaiting our tour, we realised this wasn't the first time we'd waited for a winery to open....we probably shouldn't make a habit of it. The tour was conducted entirely in Spanish, and although we did our best to follow what was going on, we spent most of the time nodding, smiling and saying “si” whenever occasion seemed to demand it. We got to sample a few wines, including the lovely torrontés, which is a lot like sauvignon blanc, only fruitier. They also gave us a rosé which smelt like strawberries and cream, but tasted more like syrup – apparently rosé wine is not yet very popular here in Argentina. I am starting to see why.

The next day it was the turn of the bigger vineyards: both Diageo and Pernod-Ricard have bought wineries in the area. Our first port of call was Diageo's Bodega El Esteco, a sunny 2km walk down the road. Diageo has clearly invested a lot of money in the area, as all of Cafayate's street signs are branded with the bodega's logo. The vineyard was suitably impressive: the vines sprawl over 400 hectares, and the wine-making equipment is housed in a huge white building, built in 1892. The tour was again in Spanish, but we'd picked up a bit of technical vocab by now, plus what we saw was interesting enough not to require much explanation. I couldn't believe how close we were allowed to come to actual production. We wandered amongst workers washing out barrels, operating the bottling line and packing the finished product ready for shipment. Very cool. The tasting was a little less impressive – despite paying for a tour, we were only allowed to sample one white and one red, both from the most basic range. We weren't impressed, especially when we glanced outside and saw another group enjoying a private tasting. Damn them.

But all was redeemed by Pernod-Ricard's Bodega Eckhart. This was a little way out of town, and so we hired bikes from our hostel and cycled along quiet roads flanked by bright green vines and the peaks of the Andes beyond. A pretty spectacular place to grow wine. The bodega itself was pretty industrial, with huge metal vats filled with litres and litres of torrontés and cabernet sauvignon, but the tasting room, in the oldest part of the building, was beautiful – all old oak panelling and wooden casks. They also still have about 40 bottles of the first wine they ever produced, in 1938. Can't imagine it tastes any good now.....

The tasting was fantastic: our group of ten (all Argentinian except for us) gathered around an old cask, cut in half and varnished to become a table. We shared glasses between two, which is apparently the norm here, and were given in turn a delicious torrontés, a malbec, a fruity cabernet sauvignon and a late harvest torrontés. Fans of the late harvest already following our stint in NZ, this was our favourite. In each case, James and I passed the glass between us until it was finished. It was only at the end of the tasting, as we looked around the table, that we realised we were the only ones to have done so: all the other glasses were at least half-full. Clearly 'tasting' really does mean just that in this part of the world! With a cheeky smile, and a joke about “los borrachos Ingleses” we made some instant friends. One of the guys started trying out his English language skills on us. He'd mastered about 5 words, after which he resorted to the names of his favourite English musicians (the Beatles featured prominently) and all the Argentinian footballers currently playing in the Premier League.

It was in Cafayate that we also met one of the weirdest people we've encountered on the trip so far, a man from one of the Hebrides (I forget exactly which) who was celebrating his retirement with a 6 week trip around Argentina, Bolivia and Peru. We happened to be having lunch at the table next to his one day, and using the merits of the Rough Guide (his choice) vs. the Lonely Planet (ours) as an opening gambit, invited himself to come and join us and quiz us on our recent travels in Bolivia. He only wanted to visit “non-touristy, authentic places” and on these grounds, was thinking he probably wouldn't go to Machu Picchu at all! He also boasted about having stayed in the most dangerous part of Buenos Aires at the start of his trip, recommending we do the same. Since he was wearing what I can only describe as a bright green smock during this conversation, I find this hard to believe, but will take him at his word. So it seems we have discovered a new breed of traveller: the Gap Yah Retiree.