The story
Welcome to the beating heart of Salta. As you stand here on Calle Zuviría, just a few steps away from the bustling Plaza 9 de Julio, take a moment to breathe in the atmosphere. To your side, the street hums with the life of a modern city, but before you lies a scene that has remained remarkably unchanged for centuries.
The plaza is an emerald jewel of manicured gardens and fragrant orange trees, framed by some of the most stunning colonial architecture in South America. But your eyes are likely drawn to the building that dominates this corner: the Cathedral Basilica of Salta. It is impossible to miss with its striking, salmon-pink facade and intricate cream-colored ornamentation.
Built in the late 19th century, this neo-Renaissance masterpiece is more than just a place of worship; it is a sanctuary for Salta’s soul. Step closer toward the cathedral’s entrance, and you are stepping into the story of Argentine independence. Inside, in a dedicated pantheon, lies the body of General Martín Miguel de Güemes.
To the rest of the world, he is a historical figure, but here in Salta, he is a legend—the "Father of the Poor" and the ultimate defender of the north. Güemes was not your typical general. While the formal armies fought in the south, Güemes led a fierce, unconventional militia known as the Infernales, or the "Infernals."
These were the legendary gauchos of Salta. Dressed in their distinctive red ponchos, they were masters of the rugged terrain. Using guerrilla tactics, they held the northern frontier against repeated Spanish royalist invasions, often fighting with little more than lances, knives, and an intimate knowledge of the mountains.
Without Güemes and his gaucho army, the independence of Argentina might have been snuffed out in its infancy. He was the only Argentine general to die from a battlefield wound during the war, succumbing to his injuries in 1821 after being ambushed by Spanish forces right here in these very streets. As you look at the cathedral’s towers today, imagine the plaza in the early 1800s—the dust of horses, the flash of red ponchos, and the desperate, high-stakes struggle for liberty.
Today, the city honors him with quiet reverence. Every year, on the anniversary of his death, thousands of gauchos from all over the province ride into the city, their red ponchos flowing, to pay their respects at his tomb. Take a stroll along the plaza’s edge toward the cathedral.
Listen for the bells and notice how the light catches the pink stone. You are standing at the intersection of faith, history, and a local pride that remains as fierce today as it was in the time of the Infernals.