Yesterday, I tried to get a tour through Quebrada de Humehuaca, a region known for its natural beauty and a ways outside of Jujuy, but sadly, there were none that had an English-speaking guide and for the big money they wanted, I just had to take a pass. So my plan today was to just hang out and chill in Jujuy.
But when I woke up, I thought, “I can’t NOT go to Humahuaca because there’s no tour in English… that’s loco.” So I had breakfast – yes, and all-bread breakfast, all this bread is killing me, I’ll never be able to eat healthy on this trip – and headed to the bus terminal to catch an autobus to Purmamarca, about 1 ½ hours outside Jujuy.
I arrived at a small village, just a few dirt roads with adobe houses, a few restaurants and shops, and a small but lovely central square around which there was a local crafts market. Now I know that I’m in Northern Argentina, but I keep thinking I’m in Bolivia. Everyone looks Bolivian, the high desert feels Bolivian, and the handicrafts seem Bolivian.
The sweet solitariness of this place immediately spoke to me. I was far away from anything and surrounded by silent desert beauty. Purmamarca is known specifically for a natural formation that is utterly stunning, Cerro de los Siete Colores. I took my time strolling around the town and finally came to a road that looked like it led to the nearest hill. I saw a path and climbed to the top where I found other people sitting and quietly chatting, drinking maté tea and looking at the entire panorama laid out before us. The morning sunshine had this quality that I love, this certain brightness, newness. It was a perfect time to be drinking in this whole landscape. I sat for over an hour there, shifting my position like the hands of a clock every 20 minutes or so so that I could really absorb each detail of the formations surrounding me: the colors, the shades, the shapes. There was so much to see and I wanted to sink in to it as deeply into it as I could.
The sky a vibrant, intense blue and perfectly clear. In the deeper mountains: emerald, jade, adobe, moss, willow, deep grey, and grey-green. Offset by the deeper mountains, mountains in the foreground: adobe, purple brown, snow-pink, deep pink, burgundy, mauve, clay, rust, ochre, orange, peach, yellow-green. And closer in, the trees and their blooms of bright yellow and coral.
As I looked, I saw a small trail leading into the mountains. No one seemed to be taking it, and as a person who seems to be drawn to the road less traveled, I came down from my perch, sought it out and started walking.
I climbed and passed through a gateway of sorts, a “V” between two hills that was a passageway from town into mountains. The gravity of these formations became clear and present. I stood at the crux just drinking in the unbelievable view. Impressive mountains, hulking but also with graceful curves, presented themselves to me, or more accurately, I presented myself to them. No one was around. I set off. Without at map, in flip flops, and with only one bottle of water, I was cautious at first. But eventually as I walked, I saw two other people taking the trail ahead of me so I knew I could follow them and feel safe.
Broken rocks and intermittent desert scrub covered most of the ground save for the hiking path. Previous hikers had made rock mounds, altars or rough sculptures. I did a Goldsworthy meditation, carefully seeking out just the right rocks to build a round, column altar. I played with working quickly, and with working slowly, each of those processes yielding different experiences of building. After about an hour, it felt finished so I moved on. This hike had turned into a meditation, so I walked slowly through the large hill structures, taking my time to notice detail and see how things shifted as my own perspective changed. I heard the rocks crunching under my feet, felt the sun beating down on my shoulders and face and the wind cooling my skin.
I rounded another corner and a huge hill in shades of orange appeared. Not only were the colors amazing, but the erosion of the rock made fantastical stalagmite-like formations – as if the stalagmites all clustered together for protection against the elements.
On the last part of this hike, I was directly up against one of the large hills. It was made of millions of tiny shards of sharp rock, like pieces of broken glass, fused together by course desert earth.
I passed through another crux, like the one I entered to embark on this hike, and emerged again close to town. But before I descended, I stood still at this crux. Two hills rose on either side of me to create narrow passageway that acted as a wind tunnel. I stood there, feeling the fierce wind pushing me. It was so strong I could lean into it without falling. The sound was thunderous.
I made my way back into town, then to a hole-in-the-wall shop to get a drink and a late, late lunch, and to the little central square to read my book. At 4:20, I caught my bus back to Jujuy. It was a good day.
Tomorrow, I leave for Salta.
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