If Buenos Aires is Argentina’s brightest star — and well it should be — Salta, the capital of the province by the same name in the ruggedly gorgeous northwest of the country, is its best kept secret. Tourists come, but they don’t crowd. And Salteños, to be sure, would prefer it stay that way. They love their city. La Linda, “the beautiful,” they call it. Salta stands out in a region renowned for its natural landscapes, its red rock canyons and desolate plains, its sprawling salt flats and mountain lakes.

“Argentina at its purest,” one friend described it. “This is where the guacho was born.”

It must have been the Malbec. I’d been dining with fellow carnivores at El Solar del Convento, Salta’s top traditional steakhouse with its inch-thick slabs of Angus. By the end of the meal — which is to say, by the time our arms had tired out from the lifting and six bottles of wine stood empty — it had been decided: “Tomorrow,” we said, our glasses raised, “we ride!”

When I was 9 years old and obsessed with cowboys, I sometimes imagined myself atop my steed, lasso in hand, galloping across the range with a trail of dust in my wake. Now in Salta at age 28, I was doing it again. Only this time, I was a guacho, the roughhewn horseman of Argentine lore — and I had a real horse.

“In Salta, everyone can ride,” said Juan, a second-year law student in the public university and our guide for the morning jaunt in the highlands just beyond the city limits. “We learn to ride before we learn to walk.”

Juan saddled up the horses, and off we went, trotting through a pine forest wreathed in mist, the chirping of finches the only sound save the clip-clop of hooves on the dew-damp earth. Salta and its surroundings are famously arid, but the high, humid cloud forests or yungas are proof that the Amazon is not so far away. Like the rain forest, the yungas, with their abundant biodiversity, an estimated 80 percent of which is still unknown to science, give Salta a trove of natural treasures well worth a visit.

With my Converse All-Stars snug in the stirrups and my Northface jacket flapping in the wind, I hardly looked the part: A guacho I was not. But once we got going, I felt as free as those nomads of the pampas who, just a century ago, had roamed this land, their only possession the horse they rode. Although it was the Spanish who first settled here, and whose legacy lives on in the quaint colonial architecture all over town — the whitewashed adobe Cabildo is one particularly well-preserved example — it was the half-Spaniard, half-native guachos who won the city’s independence. Ever since, the guacho, revered for strength and self-reliance and a hardy, pioneering spirit, has served as the symbol of Argentine nationhood, a counterpoint to the European forces that have shaped much of the country’s history.

Still, for all of its rich tradition, Salta isn’t just a period piece on the Argentine stage. Office buildings share a block with the 18th century San Francisco cathedral and a mall as modern as any in Buenos Aires is just doors from the old colonial government house. By day, the grassy Plaza 9 de Julio fills with a smartly dressed business crowd sipping coffee under the tipa trees that line the square while shoeshiners dash about, their footstools in tow.

When I arrived, Salta was utterly abuzz. It was a special — almost holy — day for Argentines. Their soccer team, which rivals the guacho as a national symbol, was to meet Holland in the second round of the World Cup. Wearing jerseys and waving flags in a raucous pre-game ritual of chest-beating, song-singing mayhem, fans filled every cafe and restaurant to capacity. Indeed, come game time, not a soul was on the cobblestoned streets.

The game ended in a tie, and that was just fine with the Salteños. They partied the night away in the bars on Calle Balcarce, where live bands played rock nacional and added their own twist to old songs by Charly García, godfather of the genre. It was a side of Salta I hadn’t read about in the tourist brochures, and I was glad to find it. Few places, Buenos Aires included, can boast Salta’s combination of inspiring scenery, elegant architecture, seemingly endless outdoor activity and a vibrant nightlife — not to mention some of the best wines in the world.

On our last day in town, we decided to seek out the source of these wines by partaking in a vineyard tour to nearby Cafayate. We rented a car in Salta and set off on National Route 68 through the jaw-dropping scenery of the Quebrada de Conchas, a veritable highlight reel of geologic formations and stunning views. (The Incas, as was recently discovered, built their own road nearby.) Home of the torrontes grape, which produces a fragrant, fruity white wine, Cafayate resembles my idea of paradise. In addition to postcard-perfect beauty and ideal weather, there are the famous vineyards — Bodega La Rosa, Etchart y Domingo Hermanos, La Banda and Nanni, among others — offering free wine cellar tours that end in the tasting room. There are also the smaller producers, many of whom still crush grapes by foot, scattered around town.

In Salta, you’re sure to sample something celestial.