Top Argentina Wines from Salta, Adentro & Colome
- adrianlatimer61
- 1 hour ago
- 9 min read
Cachi. It’s a beautiful small town high up in the Andes full of picturesque white adobe buildings and molle trees on every street corner with their cascading garlands of (false) pink peppercorns like miniature bunches of scarlet grapes. It’s known for its red peppers (paprika) and spices and, of course, for wine. As I look out from our favourite hotel (El Merced del Alto), over and beyond my glass of Torrontes towers the Nevado de Cachi, 6400m of mountain, that’s over 20,000 feet. Right there on the horizon.
A couple of years ago we’d been for a walk towards it, through a forest of cacti twice our height and full of a cacophony of parrots. Grabbing lunch at the Bistro (& wine shop) de Cachi, they’d served us the same wine, the Adentro Torrontes, the highest example of the grape at 2685m (8800 feet).
Torrontes. I first came to Argentina in 1998 and must have returned 20 times. I don’t see much point in travelling to South America to drink French grapes (ok, let me state here that I now consider Malbec effectively to be Argentine, all be it I know from Cahors in SW France), so forget the Chardonnay and bring on the indigenous white. But when I think of Torrontes, what would the descriptors be? Grapey, floral and aromatic. Exotic fruit, a bit sweet. Nice for the first sips, then cloying, then just too much.
Being Argentina’s one unique calling card (as said, Malbec is a French import), I have tried for ages to like it, but it just was not to my taste (I don’t like Gewurztraminer either and struggle with Viognier to put things in context). Its heritage is complicated, but there are three types of Torrontes in Argentina, the quality one here being the Riojano (totally unrelated to the Torrontes in Spain). The parents are (the red) Criolla Chica and white Moscatel de Alejandria (which obviously carries the predominant genes). Criolla (or Listan Prieto in Spain) is the Mission grape the Spaniards took to California for sacramental purposes, and it amuses me now to be drinking a descendant of the Jesuits’ religious wine. In Chile it would be called Pais and you also see Criolla for sale in Argentina sometimes (and it was the first historic vine that was planted up here at Colome back in the 1850s).
But that was before I tasted high altitude Torrontes. And, after all, the glass in hand was the highest of all. If you drink the best Torrontes from Salta (El Porvenir Laborum, El Esteco Old Vines, Colome…) that (to me) overpowering floral grapey taste is muted and though aromatic, the wine bears more resemblance to Sauvignon Blanc than Muscat and, blissfully, the sweetness is gone and the finish cuts through with acidity and a last bite of saltiness. It’s light, refreshing and just a very nice aperitif. And, compared to European whites, ridiculously good value. With a view like this..?!
But although we absolutely love Cachi as somewhere to stay, we’d not had as much success with its local wines. A little further north in Paygosta, in the Cactus National Park, or south at Molinos or further down in Cafayate, yes, but not in the prettiest landscape of all at Cachi. Apart from that glass of Adentro Torrontes.
Obviously, I needed to find out more. A search on the internet found me a short website and a contact. An hour later I had an invitation to visit from the Swiss owner Christian Gotz.
Which is easier said than done. Three years ago, we learned the hard way that travel in Salta and Jujuy (up near Bolivia) requires a 4WD and this time we had a suitable tank, much needed as we sloshed our way through puddles, ditches and roads that had been washed away by the 30mm of rain overnight. The weather up in the Andes seems to be cloudy and cold at breakfast, sunny and hot at lunch, cloudy at teatime and thundering at night. Complicated for the wardrobe and even more so for the car navigator. But it’s that thermal amplitude (an 18-20c difference in temperature day-night) that gives the thicker skins and added intensity.
Eventually we saw vines and then a building, and I presumed we’d arrived at the Finca Rio las Arcas (we later tasted under the Arca – acacia tree – from which the name, and wine label, comes).
I think if you have to use one word here it would be ‘heroic’ (‘insane’ sounds less charming). But if you meet Christian (and Veira) you realise that these are not ‘normal’ folk. He liked climbing and so loved the Andes (here and in Bolivia). Indeed, he’d tried twice to ascend that small lump just beyond the horizon (where their irrigation comes from, a system originally set out by the Incas) but been pushed back by the bad weather when at a mere 5,800m. For most of us mere mortals the only time we get that high is in a plane.
Anyway, they fell in love with the place and thought, why not buy some land and plant a vineyard? I mean what else would you think if you lived in Switzerland, a zillion miles away? Oh and, no, they were not wine makers or growers. And would need to commute from Europe. But you can easily go to a year’s winemaking course if you can find someone willing to sell land, which they did, though the initial asking price was way too high and it was a sort of parting last offer that in the end sealed the deal.
And one of the main reasons for it, apart from the glorious scenery and Andean battlements was that in the middle of the plot was a plant, a century old Criolla vine trying to survive and wind its way up the trees as wild vines do. Branches had drooped to the ground and re-rooted themselves in what the French would call perfect provinage.
Criolla. Father to Torrontes…
Christian actually owns 30 hectares in all, with alfalfa and beans (and irrigation channels and a water reservoir now with indigenous pejerrey fish in it) but the key for us is the 6h of Malbec, 1h of Merlot (also the world’s highest) and 1.5h of Torrontes.
I guess a steep learning curve is not an obstacle to a mountaineer, but the Torrontes here is grown in the habitual French double cordon style, whereas locally it’s mostly grown as a pergola/canopy. As such it can overcrop, an excess mass of grapes that requires thinning down if you want any semblance of quality. Well, that’s if the spring frosts haven’t frozen most of the crop. They burn goat and cow dung to try to cloak the vines in warmer smoke and keep the freezing air from descending. It doesn’t always work. But the perennial wind at least keeps disease away. The vines are ungrafted pie franco (for which you pay a fortune back home) and interestingly the usual drip irrigation just didn’t succeed, the vines failing to grow, so they dug irrigation channels (ditches) between the rows and when they were flooded the vines began to thrive. Without water from the Andes the grapes would wither on the vine – there’s rainfall from December to February and then not a drop for 8+ months.
When you look at the neat rows of vines stretched out below the incomparable backdrop, it all looks so pretty and so easy. But then you think of 20 years ago when they bought a few fields (and that untrained wild Criolla vine). They had to clear the terraces, removing all the rocks, some of which were so large that they had to light a fire on top and then pour cold water over to try to crack them apart so that the pieces could be hauled out. Then the planting, the irrigation channels (for vines, drip lines and the other crops), the reservoir, the hungry parrots who like to munch the odd tasty grape, plus all the vicissitudes of high mountain weather and farming. As Christian generously commented ‘the birds were here first’. As I looked up at the ridge of mountains all I could here was endless birdsong and the odd bass note of thunder.
Some parts of the estate are left to Nature, to the flowers, trees, birds and insects, the odd Torrontes vine gone wild and insinuating itself up the branches Two of the parcels are on adjacent terraces, 30 meters apart, one planted N-S, the other W-E. A stone’s throw separates them but one is the first and the other the last to ripen. Go figure.
For the first years they lived in Switzerland (and the local hotel) and still there is no winery here, the grapes having to be carted off each evening on the appallingly bad Route 40 to Molinos.
There are 2 Torrontes, one oaked and one not. Four of us debated the merits of each and I think concluded that the unoaked was a wine of place and variety, and the oaked version a more sophisticated version of good winemaking. Undoubtedly both are good and up there with the best, the oaked more ‘grown up’ the unoaked perhaps a bit fresher and truer to its origins. The Merlot is aromatic and powerful and there’s a young unoaked Malbec which is simply a blast of raw fruit. But the top two reds are the straight Malbec and the Gran Nevado. Again, it’s a matter of personal taste and bias. In general, I suspect all the wineries in Argentina feel commercially obliged to throw in those Bordeaux grape varieties, up the oak and make a reserve cuvee. Yes, it’s impressive, but for me there’s enough Bordeaux here (in France) and I find the unadorned Malbec’s the most pleasing – wines of place, full of wild fruit with a herbal undercurrent that you find up in Salta (& Jujuy).
Bravo Christian, and Veira, a fascinating, generous and eye-opening visit. I just wish we could buy your wines in the UK or France…
But before we leave Cachi we should shake, rattle and roll every joint in the body down Ruta 40 to Molinos and taste our favourite wine from the north, Colome’s Altura Maxima. Or, to ease the muscles and spare the car suspension, order the wines at the Bistro or El Merced.
I’ve already recounted the Colome story in these pages, (and the book), so wont repeat here, but at 3111m it’s the world’s highest commercial vineyard (only topped by some simple local wines produced and consumed in Tibet). It’s also the oldest in South America.
And here we need to start with somewhat of a surprise, my favourite French grape but not grown in Burgundy. In general, Pinot Noir from ‘elsewhere’ has my local bias showing on steroids. I just don’t like it. Sweet, simple, tasting of cola, anything except the sacred terroir of the Cote d’Or.
But Argentina produces a certain type of extreme Pinot that we all like a lot. No, it’s not Burgundy, and why should it try to be? It’s lighter (12.5%), pale, with a gentle lick of caramelly oak and a wonderfully inviting nose of flowers and red fruit. Elegant. It reminds me of sitting outside next to our (fragrant) rose bed eating a bowl of summer fruit. It’s quite simply delicious. It wont last two decades and has neither the weight nor complexity of grand crus, but I bet if you put it up against many a village Chambolle-Musigny at twice the price, I know which one you’d prefer, shock horror.
And it’s extreme because it’s either the highest in the world (Colome) or the most southerly (Otronia) or grown elsewhere in Patagonia (Chacra being the best), somehow managing not to be frozen or blown to death.
Both the 2020 and 2021 Colome Pinots were lovely. And a perfect precursor to the main event, the Malbec. I was surprised to be served a 2016 at the hotel as it’s unusual to find an older vintage, but though we don’t like high alcohol and the label stated a scary 15.5%, it really didn’t show. The energy and intensity of fruit is evident, plus that herbal undertow, though here there was quite a meaty tone which made me think that the wine from young vines was perhaps maturing quickly.
Truly wines from the high extremes of northern Argentina. Bravo again.
Postscript - ‘The Wine in My Glass’
After some encouragement and a fair few blog posts, I published (Sept 2025) a book about my travels in the wine world - the people, places and, of course, wines. I am not a professional, so everything I say is objective and unbiased (so I can criticise when other journalists do not dare to do so for instance) and any profits will go to the Vendanges Solidaires association which was set up in 2016 to help winemakers who are in trouble after suffering the extreme weather conditions (frost, hail, fire, flood etc) which sadly are becoming ever more frequent: www.vendangessolidaires.com.
The book ranges from California to Sicily, via Salta, Jujuy and Patagonia in Argentina, Valtellina, Piemonte and Tuscany in Italy, Madeira and of course all over France (Burgundy, Chablis, Sancerre, Beaujolais, Bordeaux, the Rhone).
If you have found any pleasure and/or interest in this blog, I think you might enjoy it, especially as it has been brilliantly illustrated by Arabella Langlands-Perry who managed to juggle bringing up two young kids, helping run Maceo/Willi’s Wine Bar in Paris and producing artwork with an abundance of both talent and wit. Brava.
‘The Wine in My Glass – Tales of Wines, Winemakers and Places’
Published by The Medlar Press Limited, Fishguard, Pembrokeshire, autumn 2025. www.medlarpress.com
Available from Medlar in UK, and/or from me in France or Willis Wine Bar in Paris.
Price UK Pounds 26 from Medlar or 35 Euros. All profits to charity.
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