You climb into the van in Cafayate before dawn, the town’s low adobe roofs still cool and quiet, and the road unspools west toward a canyon that seems to have been painted by wind. In an hour the green of vineyard rows gives way to a corridor of red and ochre, where layered cliffs lean in close and the highway slices through sculpted stone. The tour pauses at the Amphitheatre — a round, earthen amphitheater that throws your voice back at you — and at Garganta del Diablo, a narrow slot where the canyon jaws compress into a throat of shadow and light.