A trip to Jujuy.

Visiting Purmamarca, the Mountain of 14 Colors, and more.

San Martín, Calchaqui Valley, Argentina

February 4th, 2025

We pulled up at a small checkpoint. The flags of Argentina and the Province of Juyuy waved in the wind.

Written in white rocks read the words Bienvenidos a la Comunidad de Hornocal - Welcome to the Community of Hornocal.

An old woman came out of a small stone hut. She wore a large brimmed blue hat over long, stringy, salt and pepper hair, thick stockings, a loose skirt, and a shawl. She held a clipboard.

“It’s 1000 pesos to enter please.”, she said. Her mouth bore no teeth, yet she smiled pleasantly.

We handed her a 1000 peso note.

“Each.”, she simpered.

Ah.

We handed her another.

“Thank you.”, she said. Then she wrote down our license plate number, and asked us where we were from. She wrote that down too.

“Adelante.”, she said. Go ahead.

We wound our way around a bald mountain till we reached the top. Straight smack in front of us was a spectacular site: the Cerro de Catorce Colores - the Mountain of 14 Colors.

We parked, got out, and walked to the lookout point. The wind whipped our faces, and the sun beat down. Yet it was cold. I pulled my jacket round me.

A sign read 4,350 meters - just over 14,000 feet.

Over to the side was an area dedicated to tourists. A huge igloo shaped dome stood in the middle of a clearing, and there were a couple of stalls from which women were selling tortillas (like a large hot pocket - fillings include corn, cheese, salami, and ham) and empanadas (small hot pockets - fillings are similar to the tortilla), grilled over an open fire.

They say a photo is worth a 1000 words. So, here’s a photo I took of the natural rock formation called Mountain of the 14 Colors.

Mountain of 14 Colors.

As you can see, there’s a little footpath one can walk down to another lookout point.

“Would you like to go?”, Adrien asked.

Feeling the puna - altitude - I declined.

He set out alone while I wandered over to one of the stalls. I asked for a coca leaf tea. Tempted by the smell of the tortillas, I ordered one with cheese and corn.

I took a look inside the igloo. Tables were set up where merchants displayed their wares: knitted socks, sweater vests, and other artesanias along with an assortment of llama keychains, packets of coca leaf tea, and more touristy knick knacks.

I went back to the lookout point and sat down on the stone wall. Three women wearing matching sweaters were taking photos of each other, a couple of grouchy tourists were arguing in French over where the next stop would be, and a group of visor and flip flop wearing Brazilians called to each other loudly between gusts of wind.

Finally, I saw Adrien in the distance. He had his hands on his hips and slowly wound his way up the hill to where I was sitting.

“Heck of a view.”, he said, gasping for breath.

“Sure is.”, I replied. “Shall we head down?”.

On the way down we passed wild vicuña grazing. These delicate animals produce one of the most expensive natural fibers in the world. They are a protected species, and can only be rounded up and sheared with special permission.

The vicuña.

Over the weekend, dear Reader, we took a trip to the region of Jujuy. From Salta, you head north. After about an hour of driving, you know you’re in Jujuy without even having to look at the signs because the roads suddenly become smooth as butter. Also, temperatures rise to nearly 100 degrees. On the side of the road, merchants sell mangos, bananas, grapes, dragon fruits, figs, avocados, and peaches.

The stands are covered with large sheets of cloth to shield the crates of goods, and the pedlars, from the sun. But still, flies swarm around mercilessly and the heat is staggering.

Our hotel was located in Purmamarca, a dusty tourist town in the middle of the mountains.

Purmamarca.

We walked to the main square. Tables were set up all around it, and upon them were piled hats, shawls, the usual llama key chains, handmade clay pots, coca leaf caramels, and more.

Outside every eatery, a young man or woman stood holding a menu.

!Buenas tardes!”, they said. “Want to see the menu?”.

When we’d parked our car a man walked over and told us it was 500 pesos to park for an hour. We paid his fee and asked where we could get some lunch.

“Walk two blocks down”, he said. “Then take a right, go one more block, and it’s on your right. Marito.”

We followed his instructions and found the place. A young man with died blonde hair greeted us at the door.

He handed us a menu and showed us to a table. Huge fans hung from the walls moving the hot air around, and at least giving us the illusion of coolness.

There was a stage at the front of the place. Two fellows sat - both with guitars - singing and playing.

The young men play and sing at the restaurant we stopped at.

We placed our order: six empanadas - three cheese, three meat - and a liter of golden Salta beer.

Our waiter brought an ice bucket and placed the bottle of beer in it. The meal quickly followed, and we hastily devoured it. Still hungry, we ordered a humita. This is a mixture of corn, cheese, and red peppers, wrapped in a corn husk and cooked until soft and creamy.

We finished up, tipped the performers, and headed over to our hotel. Checked in, we made a bee line for the pool.

“I’m sorry to inform you that the pool is not heated.”, said the lady at the front desk.

“No matter!”, we replied cheerily.

Plunging into the cool water was heaven.

Tomorrow we head up to Gualfín.

More to come…

Abrazos,

Mariah