We did not do much in San Salvador. That is because there is not much to do. We showered, walked the town, and had a bite to eat before we went to sleep. At dinner we met Juanito, a homeless boy who came and sat at our table with us. He is eight and has not gone to school since his mom died. He asked for my soup and I gave it to him. He added too much salt and didn’t want to eat it, although later he changed his mind. A picture of him, and my soup, are included.
On Wednesday morning we woke up in time to make the early bus to Purmamarca, a small town north of San Salvador. The bus had broken down and was cancelled. A young man in his early twenties asked us if we needed a ride. He said it was fifteen pesos, which was cheaper than the bus. His name was Luis. He also said that we could stop and take pictures when we wanted. Two weeks ago two French backpackers were found shot to death in a sand dune one province south of Jujuy-- we decided it was a bad idea to get into this stranger’s car. We asked when the next bus was coming and they said they didn’t know. Then we told Luis yes.
His pickup was parked behind the bus station and his mother was in the passenger seat. We started to feel better. They were driving north to visit Luis’ grandparents and had decided to pick up a couple gringos to cover the gas money. The ride was stunning and they knew a lot about everything we passed, including which busses would get stopped and searched by customs officers and which would not. His mother said something about cabras and I asked what kind of animal that was. She couldn’t explain it to me. A couple minutes later some goats crossed the road—- cabra, cabra she said, pointing. We laughed and she smiled.
Purmamarca was about an hour away and by the time we got there Luis’ mother, Augustina, asked us if we wanted to stay with them and go and visit her parents in the village where she grew up. She said it would be a very, very different experience. The village was another hour north but we had been planning to go to Humahuaca, a small town near it, anyway. All it meant was that we would work our way through the province top to bottom rather than vise versa. We said sure.
When we got to Humahuaca they dropped us off for lunch and said they would be back in an hour. We had llama stew and dark beer. When we walked outside they were waiting with two more tiny indigenous looking women in the truck. We started to drive on a small rocky path that wound back into the mountains. Augustina asked if we were worried. We said of course not and the women in the truck laughed. I tried to talk to the one next to me but she had a funny accent and did not try to make herself understood. After a while she fell asleep. Her head would hit the window when the car went over bumps in the road but she didn’t wake up or seem to mind. I spent a long time looking at her face while she slept. It seemed impossibly wrinkled and full of some sort of character I am not accustomed to.
The road wound further and further back into the mountains. We saw wild llamas, sheep, goats, an eagle, and a bull that refused to move out of the road. When Luis edged up closer and closer to the bull, honking his horn, I was afraid it would charge. The roads became very narrow and the drops became steeper off the sides. I asked Luis how he was not afraid to drive on them and he said you get used to it.
Augustina asked if we had any issues with our blood pressure and we said no. She said we were going to be above 4,000 meters soon and it was common for foreigners to get altitude sickness. They gave us coco leaves to chew on. The leaves are illegal in the rest of the country because they give you a strong buzz but they have not been outlawed in Jujuy because they supposedly help with the altitude. They tasted like shit and I wanted to spit them out. I do not know if they helped with the altitude but I did not get sick. My mouth, however, did turn numb. It was not an enjoyable experience.
Later, we drove past two people hiking up the road. I couldn’t believe they had gotten there without a car: we had been driving at least an hour from the town. They wore balaclavas and aviator sunglasses to fight off the wind and the dust. Luis asked where they were going and if they wanted a ride. They said yes and got into the bed of the pickup. We turned off onto a smaller road and drove further. When we rounded the corner there was an amazing view of mountains with different colored layers. The different colors come from the oxidation of the different metals in the mountains-- each color is from a different metal; I asked Luis why they were colored that way and he said they were simply a gift from the gods. The pictures do not do the mountains justice, and they are good pictures. Augustina said it wouldn’t be easy for us to forget them now, and that tourists did not know about this spot.
Later we drove to Augustina’s village to meet her parents. She does not live there now but visits when she can. We had to cross a bunch of large creeks to get there. In the summer the creeks are rivers and you can only access the village by foot. They said when somebody is sick it can sometimes take the ambulance days to get there. There are about one hundred houses in the village and for each house there is one family. Generally there are eight to ten children per couple, as well as the grandparents. The houses are not big. In fact, they are extremely tiny. They are made of mud and clay and their colors vary depending on the color of the dirt where the house is built. Inside they are filled with hay for warmth and they smell like earth and manure, but not filth. Her grandma had no teeth and spoke with her gums-- I did not understand a single word she said. She is ninety four and wore handmade leather sandals with thick woolen socks and a heavy red cloak. She also had a funny looking hat. I wanted to take a picture but I didn’t know if it would be offensive. People stared at us everywhere we went in the village. However, we were told that these days gringos are more common: the village was wired for electricity five years ago and the men that come to fix the lines after storms have white skin as well.
After, we went to another mountain vista. It was as incredible as the first one and even more remote. Luis pointed to the passes that his grandfather used to walk with his animals to get to the nearest town. It was nearly a week-long voyage. Augustina picked moss to brew in a tea that lowers cholesterol and showed us where to find white potatoes that taste sweet when you eat them raw. We found a mountain lake that was frozen over and Luis and I walked out onto it. We jumped to test the thickness of the ice and it made a cracking noise— after, I realized that I am not particularly intelligent.
The drive back to town was two hours and it was dark when we arrived. We passed several men bringing in their flocks for the night and while they crossed the road their sheep dogs barked at us like crossing guards. We saw the the handful of lights from Humahuaca from a long way off. For such a small town it seemed impossibly bright.
