Gracias Pachamama

We have just arrived in Purmamarca (Jujuy, Argentina), and opposite me is a small pink peak with iron red, copper green and basalt grey stipes diagonally down it. on the right hand side of the mountain, it looks like the ancient temples of Petra, but carved by the wind and the rain. Below the mountain and to my left is the old colonial town of Purmamarca, and in front of me a veil of trees. I am sitting on our bedroom doorstep, and there is a similar view from bed.

Our journey here was no less amazing. We left Salta at first light this morning with two other people and a guide, from where we headed west into the Quedbrada del Toro (gorge of the bull). A wide gorge where the tren de las nubes begins its long climb to Chile. In its own microclimate, their are no clouds in the gorge, just mountains towering 1000 meters each side. Within 10 minutes the flora has changed too, from shrubby trees to giant cacti; some over 450 years old and 9 meters high. We soon arrived in a Quechua village of about 80 people. They farm llama, Alpaca, sheep and vegetables, and make handicrafts. Raquel has a beautiful handwoven shawl. A few hundred meters above the village of Santa Rosa de Tastil are pre-Incan ruins -- granite stone walls standing about a meter high. They start just below a small peak and once you climb over the brow, you can see that they extend continuously down the other side to cover 11 hectares! Behind them, the gorge continues into the distance with its lush green floor.

We climb out of the gorge over our 2nd highest pass at 4000m and into the puna. As we do so we glimpse the snowly 6380 peak of Chani. The puna in Chile is called the altiplano, or high plateau and it is a wide flat valley that lies at 3400m and extends all the way to La Paz.

We pass through the mining town on San Antonio de los Cobres and on through the puna towards the salt flats for lunch. One of the other members of the group goes all wobbly halfway there. It may have been the altitude, or he may have forgotten to breathe whilst sleeping in the back of the car. Everybody else is fine. The salt flat emerges as a white band on the horizon, and as we draw closer mirages begin to appear all around. This cracked white flat gritty surface is stunning; quite literally as you can´t see a thing, it is so bright and it is hot. It is fine to walk with your eyes closed though, because there is nothign to walk into.

After tuna mayonese sandwiches and a sprinkling of dubious cream cheese we head out of the puna. Storms are brewing over the highest summits as we climb to our highest point of the day, the Paso de Jaman, 4170m. Ben wanted to run to the nearest peak to get a better view, but there wasn´t enough time or oxygen. Just the other side, the clouds are thick down to 4000m where we suddenly view the road that winds down another 2000m to Purmamarca, 30km away.

The scenery changes rapidly as we descend to red rain cut mountiains. Thousands of thin eroded spurs look like a gothic chessboard army. As we arrive in Purmamarca the colourful rocks erupt out of the ground. There are about 7 contrasting shades of rock, all in one view. The quaint little hostel we are staying in is at the back of the town and our bedroom is 5m abouve the courtyard, on the side of the hill. Midway through writing this two people arrived from apparently nowhere: a trail leads up behind our room over another colourful rocky ridge, which makes a hoorseshoe around the town. What a gerat place to be our home for the next few days.

Thank you Mother Earth!