Jujuy quenched my rainbow mountain cravings. Backpackers told me of hypnotizing hills and tucked-away villages, trekking opportunities and Northern Argentine cuisine and culture. A province mostly visited via tour bookings and rental cars based in Salta, I preferred to save money and appreciate these treasures on my own time.

 

Getting There & Around

From Salta, busses frequent to the city of Jujuy, captial of the Jujuy province. It´s a two-hour journey costing around $8; daily busses left as early as 5am. From there, smaller colectivo busses run to the villages, with the most frequented attractions being in Purmamarca, Humahuaca, and Tilcara.

Another quicker option is taking autos, or shared taxis, for the same prices as the busses. Ask locals where the meeting points are in each town.

Lastly, a perfectly good way of moving around is hitchhiking. As a solo female, I was comfortable throwing my thumb up throughout Salta and Jujuy.

 

 

Accomodation

All the villages have places to stay. I slept in Humahuaca, one of the more attractive and warmer villages with no shortage of backpackers to befriend.

It made me happy to again have lodging with a solid atmosphere in Hostel Giromundo. Around $9, hot showers, kitchen, standard breakfast of rolls, jam, butter, and coffee.

 

 

See and Do

Others dismissed the sites of the North as destinations that can be seen in several days, but I could spend a week and still be busy exploring Jujuy. I didn’t only because I was on a time crunch to make it to my next workaway.

Purmamarca Village

Cerro de Los Siete Colores

Day 35 (am)

The Italians were late. The three of us sped to the terminal in record time. Out of breath, I watched a screaming, sprinting Jack stop a moving bus as it was pulling out of the platform. Impressive, but they had tickets and I did not, so I stayed back and got on the next trip.

With the end of deprivation of sunshine that lasted a week came instant happiness. I drank in the seven colors on the mountains from the window. The tourist information office guarded my backpack for less than a dollar and gave me a map.

Hypothermic winds had me swaying. The 3km loop circling the Seven-Colored Hill took 45 minutes and a roll of oreos (which, by the way, are more oily and just not as good or dense as what we find in the States).

I attempted another hike on my map along Cerro Morado but it ended up being a pointless walk along a dried river bank with nothing to offer. Except more wind.

Purmamarca itself was lovely. I passed a pimp of a Mercedes van with “Alaska—Ushuaia” written on it. A classic roadtrip and personal dream of mine.

Lunch was an overpriced tamale for $2 and fried empanadas for the usual $.50 a piece, but I recommend the restaurants near the bus station serving set menus for $3.50. Twice I ran into my Italian friends, Jack and Kei.

In waiting for the tourist office to reopen after its lunch break, I spotted a cyclist donned in Canadian flags. He told me he had been traveling for eleven years, creating a life of many wonderful memories and three bad. Stabbed by aboriginies in the Outback, mugged and beaten and left to die in Guatemala, and held with a gun to his skull in Mexico. But almost always he was greeted with respect (passed through El Salvador’s capital just fine). He biked from Alaska to Ushuaia, and was at the time on his way home to Alberta.

Bags on, I walked the three kilometers to reach the main highway, Ruta 9. Within five minutes I was in disbelief. An 18-wheeler pulled over in front of all the other cars. The nicest man who transports grains between Argentina and Bolivia was my driver; sitting next to him was so awesome.

 

 

Humahuaca Village

Cerro de Los Catorce Colores

Day 35 (pm)

I alighted just outside Humahuaca and I navigated with  maps.me to Hostel Giromundo. Walking past only locals, I suddenly was in an oasis of backpackers. However, I didn’t have time to meet them before Kei showed up and I was suddenly hiking again.

At the bridge a man named Juan offered to take us to the Fourteen-Colored Hill, $10.70, the same price as my hostel (which has tours at three times a day starting at 11am no booking ahead needed), 2.5 hours. The Italians I was with (now four in total!)  told him we would negotiate later.

Peña Blanca was perfect at sunset. Town was in a shadow when we arrived, but suddenly it was as if we were gifted an extra slice of the day. Everything washed over with the last bits of light. Pink canyons surrounded us.

Two Argentines at the top shared their mate and saltines. They told us the whole Milky Way should be visible at night. I had every intent to come back but my head hurt too much. Apparently it was beautiful.

 

 

Day 36

I despised myself. Who comes up with the idea to do a hike, ends up with hilarious company, and backs out halfway? Travel decisions should always should be all or nothing. The goal should be to live in the moment. In doing something partially in order to rush to something else meant I probably just ruined two certainly amazing, once-in-a-lifetime experiences, and exhausted myself. Now I’ll never know the Cerro de Las Senoritas.

After finally waving down a car who got me safely back to Jujuy, I realized it was actually a taxi which was double the price of a bus. I despised myself. I missed Manu, a hilarious Frenchman who insisted we were in Mexico and was inseparable with his alpaca scarf. I didn’t even want to bike the next day anymore, as originally planned, because I felt pure guilt.

In contrast, this morning was perfect.

I gastronomically enhanced breakfast with bananas, avo, tomatoes, carrots, and mandarins. All for just 70 cents at the produce market one block away, which opened at 7am.

The Italians were late. The four of them were now accompanied by four more boys. We found Juan and bargained the price to $7.20 per person, entry fee included.

We crossed the bridge on foot so the police couldn’t see us hop in the back of the truck, then sped through the magnificent hills to THE hill. Arriving at 4,350 meters, screaming from the painful cold and wrenching beauty.

A trail led us to a closer view rocks. I fell in love with the energetic Italian spirit years ago, but I’ll never forget Jack running and skipping around with his giant grin.

On the way back to town, Juan showed me his meal plan for managing his cholesterol after I told him I study la nutrición.

 

 

I loved the center of Humahuaca as well. The monument was characteristically lined with cacti, and white churches always look so good against brilliant blue skies.

Back at the bridge is a colorful market. One lady selling humitas was eating some dessert she said was similar to chicha so I asked to try some. I gave her the rest of my ice cream, a disappointing purchase on my part.

 

 

At the terminal I saw the fleeting backside of Manu and dashed over to the leaving colectivo, pulling a mini-Jack. A group from their hostel was hiking Cerro de Las Senoritas in Uquia (half hour colectivo, $.60).

The burnt color of the valley is known as colorado in Spanish. It was here that I began second guessing my plans for tomorrow and how I was supposed to reach my next stop in such a short amount of time. I turned around midway. The guilt from this poor decision slowly crept in until it was nauseating.

Shortly after I bailed a puma was spotted.