Go to Iruya, they said. It’d be fun, they said. I stared at the map and wondered how an apparent popular tourist hotspot could possibly have developed so far out of the way, in the middle of absolutely nowhere. But well, I knew some fellow globetrotter friends had already made it down there and wherever they are there would be wine and laughter, so I guess the direction of my journey was yet determined.                       

Because they told me hitchhiking would be a no-go I thought it would be a fun thing to try. Going early would be the best strategy. So I slept until midday and slowly started walking to the highway, where I got picked up by the very first car. Ha. While sipping on some mate I listened how the driver had found his partner in bed with another man that early morning… he had this spontaneous idea to take revenge with a Dutch girl. I patted him on the shoulder and wished him good luck finding one, after which I got out at the crossing with the dirt road heading to Iruya, meandering into the mountains.    

It looks like Iruya is a lousy 4km away… but that is in fact 54. Not the distance you’d walk on a rainy Monday evening. 

The moment I stepped out of the car hell broke loose. Thunder, rain, lightening, hail! Whatever misfortunes Mother Earth had hidden in there, all was poured right over my face. Screaming I ran towards the Gauchito Gil (introduced to you in this previous blog) shrine further down the road, which was my only option for shelter. It was a good one too, not only could I keep myself and my backpack dry, it was even big enough to camp in, in the unfortunate case I might not track down a ride before sunset.     

A very feasible scenario, as for the duration of 2 full hours not 1 single car passed by into my direction. Well ok, just 1, but I guess I scared that one away by grunting along with Arch Enemy roaring out of my iPod while stamping on the floor and making angry arm movements (I thought I was alone).  

 

When I was a little girl I wasn’t playbacking along with Britney or Shakira in front of the mirror, holding a hairbrush in my hand as a microphone… no, I wanted to be this woman. 

I started to get hungry. Well shit… of course I didn’t think about that. I just get lost in some desolate mountain range with one rotten avocado and 2 raw potatoes in my backpack. I looked at the map again and figured I might walk to the next village: Iturbe. Perhaps there I would find slightly more traffic… or food? Negative! There was absolutely no living soul to be traced down there, except of the people in that bus passing by. *Sigh* It’s against my principles, but alright, I’ll surrender: I’ll pay those 3 dollars and take a damn bus in Argentina.     

Once arrived in Iruya I immediately ran into my short-term friends I met a day ago at yet another mountain. They were camping for $2,50 a night, did I want to join the party? Sure, I drag something along that in theory qualifies as a tent, so why not drop it down there.     

I had the choice to camp with the boys or join the girl clique. A rather obvious choice I would say, I’m a tomboy. Even though I dress and act very much like a woman, I’m far away from being a princess. My entire life I’ve been ‘one of the guys’, about 90% of my friends being men. I generally just don’t connect so well with the female kind… all that drama, jealousy, gossiping and going-in-groups-to-the-bathroom-bullshit, what is that all about? Just speak up if you want something, slap me in the face if you’re angry or tell me straight up what’s bothering you and move on, I’m no bloody Sherlock alright. Long explanation short: my tent was next to Pierre’s and Julian’s. In a place straight out of a fairytale.     

Ok, fair enough, you have to take quite a detour off the obvious route to Bolivia, but the rewards are overwhelming. Smack-bam in the middle of the sierras plus a sensational view under a tree with my brand-new sidekicks. That had to be celebrated with an asado, it’s Argentina after all. And who says you can only throw animal corpses on the fire? The whole interior of the greengrocery was roasting on those flames alright. Especially that 5-liter-bottle-of-wine I bought was essential to keep the convo’s flowing, certainly one of my better recent investments. Just one of those nights...    

After too much food and way too many drinks I stumbled to my ini-mini-tent, the campsite literally covered in clouds. That’s how high we were, 2780 meters above sea level. Reality-check: those Caribbean outfits I stuffed my backpack with were certainly not enough. Even if it’s 35 degrees during the day, the mercury could drop under freezing point at night time. I was literally wearing everything I had in my backpack (the rest was still stored  in Buenos Aires): tights, 2 pair of pants, 3 pair of socks, 6-t-shirts, a sweater, a wind-jacket and a sleeping bag which I left open for only 1 cubic centimeter so I could stick out my mouth and breathe. The fact that I was lying on the floor as I don’t even have a sleeping mat didn’t help, my total hours of sleep summed up to zero.    

But if I can be a big girl at night, I should be a big girl during the day as well, correct? So I covered the dark-circles-panda-look behind some sunglasses and joined my boys on a devastating climb to the Mirador el Condór.     

Devastating, not because it took so much time or I grew old overnight, but that height robs you from every single sip of oxygen. It’s really unfair. However, there are only two things to do in Iruya and this is one of them, so you can’t really hide behind excuses this time. Just keep on going up-up-up and once you see a sign ‘forbidden for tourists’ (in Spanish), just continue and go up an hour more. You won’t be disappointed, erosion can be pretty damn spectacular at times. Condors, you say? Right above your head, m’lady! Some bonus goats on the side. What a place.     

Once down we joined the girl squat again – consisting of one girl who looked like that kid from the movie Léon and the other 2 like Roald Dahl's Mathilda – who had to cancel on our intense ascend due to some cigarette-scorched lungs. They just finished our home-made pizzas, served straight from the open fire. Honestly, if I would die right there I think I could even have peace with it. Iruya seems to be too perfect at times. I kept the cork wisely on the bottle this time though as I had a night of sleep to take back. Just before I crawled into my little canvas home-base again I made a little round around the campsite to borrow some extra layers and sweaters… ha, joke is on you, cold! I had the best night in months, I slept like a baby.     

Energized and way too early I stuck my face out to check the weather for our planned San Isidro hike. Taking on the role of that ‘annoying person who’s way too happy for that early hour’ I woke up my companions, screaming and jumping. Rise and shine! Before the excessive heat kicked in we started walking across and later on straight through the mesmerizing valley. The fun part is that there’s a river lingering through the pointy rocks and there are no other means of getting to San Isidro than continuously jump over the water. And the even more fun part is that I had waterproof Gore-Tex shoes and the rest of the group did not.     

So with my perfectly dry socks I optimized the opportunity of making photos of the others getting soaked, a really satisfying pastime (you wonder why I travel alone mostly?).     

This relatively flat and relaxing hike cuts right through indigenous territory, the only means of reaching the destination being by foot, horse or donkey. The enjoyment of the earth-shattering views is constantly alternated with the problematic status quo of the complete absence of shades.        

Just keep in mind that the journey is more interesting than the destination in this case, the tiny hamlet of San Isidro being nothing more than a bunch of houses. While the group fulfilled their meat-addiction I decided to eat my vegetables a bit higher up, far away from the deep-fried suffering. Together with Pierre, the only other hiker that was not the least tired, I climbed up to the cemetery to subsequently clamber up to the highest look-out point.     

Maybe that magic cigarette wasn’t the wisest thing to consume right before a climb in 43 degrees at 4km above sea level, but for sure the colors came out twice as intense. With my boots in the sand and my bum on a rock I sat there for an hour, one and a half maybe, staring into the ravine unfolding itself as a kaleidoscope, the secrets of the valley giving answers to all my existential questions. Where your brain capacity of capturing the unexplainable stops, nature takes over.    

We returned to the place where our happiness found its release every night, our social entourage expanding after every stroll. The brothers Pedro and Emilio, with whom I had shared a dormitory and a few Fernets too many in Humahuaca, and who also happened to be class mates of my new soulmates Emiliano and Xio… the good-looking broke guy who had sung a private serenade for me at a plaza in the Jujuy province in exchange for my change and some fruits… the girl who shared the back of a pick-up truck with me on the way to Cerro de 14 Colores… everyone meets again in paradise.     

Our paradise, defined as a desolate campsite among the clouds of the Quebrada de Humahuaca, where anonymous lives connect in merriness and improvised guitar sounds echo in memories.  

Traveling shrinks the Earth and maximizes its intensity.

Until we meet.

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