Change of scenery, I leave this area of Argentina, bordering Brazil and Paraguay to go to the Andean northeast. After a stop in the city of Salta, I head for the Humahuaca quebrada where a set of tiny villages stretch out along the canyon. The Argentinians who lives in these lands have much more similarities with their Bolivian neighbours than with the distant porteños (inhabitants of Buenos Aires). The quebrada-built-in asphalted road leads me up to the village of Humahuaca. The dusty alleyways weave in and out of the whitewashed buildings. I live in the Posada El Sol hostel, an architecture jewel, simple and local, nestled in the bottom of the village. The overhead colourful hill overlooks the village. A heaven to rest or to immerse oneself in the Andean culture.
The next day, departure for the village of Iruya through a bumpy, earthy road. We cross a 4000m-plus pass. We are geographically at the beginning of the Altiplano, this high Andean plateau that towers between 3000 and 5000m high. The village stands in the only flat corner of the canyon. All the rest is only stone-draped hill and dried riverbed. A promontory-topping shrine and a white cross enlighten and protect the villagers. The time seems to stop and the daily public bus is the only link with the other southern villages.
Tilcara and Purmamarca complete the list of the villages of this valley. While the first one entices the Andean-craft-lovers tourists, the second one nestles in the spurs of the seven-color hill. A path goes up and down behind the village. I plunge into the earth and stone rainbow which covers the hillocks of the route. The night, zampoñas, sikus and guitar propagate the melodious waves of the Andean music in one of the restaurants of the village. The music is gut-wrenching. I walk out the restaurant, the music keeps on resounding inside my head ; my feet lift up the dust of the church-lined alleyways in the silence of a soft night. It's hard to think that in one week I'll set foot on the big malls among the crowd, two days before Christmas.
Before definitely leaving the quebrada, a small local travel agency offers an excursion to las salinas grandes. A miniature replica of its Bolivian neighbour, the salar of Uyuni. A flat, white expanse stands out with the tormented sides of the quebrada, salt in abundance cracks under our steps. A white desert whose salt is partly exploited to end in a box, laid on a table.
Keyword - desert -
Saturday 15 December 2007
the palette of colors of the Humahuaca quebrada
By dorian on Saturday 15 December 2007, 10:03 - RTW-Argentina
Tuesday 9 October 2007
On a dromedary's back in the Thar desert
By dorian on Tuesday 9 October 2007, 22:54 - RTW-India
The stone castle dances in the desert wind of the Rajasthan. These thick bulwarks carry a bloody, more or less glorious past within their bowels. The fort of Jaisalmer knew its moments of prosperity, at the thriving time of the silk roads. Vendors of every kind sold their textiles, spices, elixirs and miraculous products. But the development of the maritime saling in the south of India suddenly shattered the opulent prosperity of the city nestled on the edge of the Thar desert. It had to wait for several centuries before some backpackers rediscover the serenity of this small hamlet overlooked by lofty ramparts. Sensing the fledgling market, a great deal of inhabitants turned towards this new type of modern business, the tourism. To the point to spoil the old buildings, from now on being weighed down with signs utterly dedicated to the tourists.
The touts fidget as soon as we get off the train and are omnipresent in the city. Up to lose patience several times. The inebriating alleyways within the ramparts are dotted with souvenirs shops and snake among sable-hued delicately chiseled buildings. Jaisalmer epitomizes Rajasthan where the time seems to get fixed. Most of tourists come here to enjoy riding a dromedary and sleeping on the sand dunes of the Thar desert.
We leave for a 3-day meharé in the desert. The jeep draws away the fort of Jaisalmer while a swarm of windmills whril in the glowing morning sky.
A short stop at the royal cenotaphs and we take our way again. We plunge into the flat and dry roads of the desert.
On the edge of the road, 2 heavily loaded dromedaries wait for their hosts. We make Badia's acquaintance who will guide us throughout this stroll in the desert.
We sit astride the animals and with a slow and gentle pace we leave to the unknown. The dromedary is not really comfortable. We often stop to get over our trials. We take advantage of the stops to watch this fascinating animal able of staying 2 weeks without drinking and then swallowing 200 liters of water within 3 minutes. The soles of their leg cushion the heavy carcass when the long bend neck swings at the rate of the steps. A timeless experience while we reach a bit of sand dunes where we get off the animal to spend the night. We run onto the sandy mounds. A magical sensation of the feet which sink into the blong sun-heat sand. We sit down on the crest of a dune, vague look and fixed mouth. These desert wind-shaped landscapes penetrate and mesmerize us. We share the diner in a deep silence and dash to settle a pile of blankets up a dune. Lying down on the sand area and the eyes skywards, the star-dotted sky shows our pettiness. Without being able to say anything, our looks peer into the sky, endeavour to piece the constellations together, capture the fleeting apparition of a shooting star or the slow trip of a satellite. We fall asleep as in a dream, a dream full of stars.
We sit astride our mounts for a long stroll, far from all. We start again our slow drift towards the inknown et lose the notion of time and space. Bushes and small trees immortalize the few signs of life that surround us and mark a set of dunes out. Without comparison with the Sahara infinity, the sunset over the dunes of the Thar desert remains poignant. The golden disc vanishes in the distance, the bronze shades darken and the first stars break through the celestial vault. A second magical night lying down on a dune, the hands crossed under the head and the eyes getting the light of these millions of stars and galaxies that slowly turn around the polar star. Silence and admiration.
Third and last day of our stroll and our dromedaries drop us off at the edge of the asphalted road where a jeep waits for us to go back to the fort of Jaisalmer.
A break in the desert utterly out of time and completely invigorating.
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