words from the world

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.