I´ll miss you, Kathy Bates.

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  Iruya, Argentina
Friday, October 17, 2008

Sometimes Nathan gets these wild ideas to drag us out into the middle of nowhere, and I have to admit, they´re always a highlight of our trip. So last you heard, we were stuck in Humahuaca, aforementioned tourist trap, all day. Well, finally, 6 in the evening comes around, and a WWII-era type medevac bus pulls up with IRUYA painted in pretty state fair script that usually says ¨funnel cakes¨or ¨you must be this high..¨. According to our trusty guidebook, the 3 hour ride to Iruya is on an unpaved road that snakes up and down 4000 meter passes, so we´re staring in disbelief that we´re destined to bounce up and down in this boneshaker for the majority of our evening. As our luck would have it, portions of the route are being paved as we speak, so perhaps on our next trip to Iruya, we´ll have an easier time of things. The brave driver of our vehicle, however, did not take too kindly to the ongoing construction, and actually gunned the bus in reverse, jumped out, and began assaulting a construction worker as a result of a small rock hitting the bus. Fortunately, no one was hurt, but I was certainly ill at ease knowing we had a loose cannon like that driving us up a mountain. Soon, dense fog set in, darkness descended, and Nathan made the comment that we seemed on a bus to the underworld. Seriously, I thought we would cross the river Styx at any moment. We finally made it to Iruya, which miraculously had not only electricity, but a beautiful row of streetlamps leading up to the bus stop. We were greeted by about 6 little girls all waiting there in the cold to persuade us to choose their family´s guesthouse over all other options. We sided with the oldest one, who turned out to be a grown woman with children of her own, Mirta Diaz. Mirta led us up a steep-doesn´t-even-begin-to-describe-it hill to our spot to sleep for the night. Hospedaje Clarissa, if you´re ever in this neck of the woods, is clean, has a kitchen, hot showers, quite comfy beds, and boy is it cheap. Mirta is infectiously friendly and helpful, and a nicer stay couldn´t have been asked for, as far as we were concerned.
The next morning we woke to look upon Iruya for the first time, and it really is a breathtaking place. Some intrepid people climbed up a mountain a couple hundred years ago, and said, let´s build ourselves a town ritchere. I think they were a little cracked, honestly, but the fruits of their labor sure are easy on the eyes.
After breakfast (oatmeal we made ourselves, if you´re wondering), we went and asked the local people in the small stores some silly questions, got some provisions, thoroughly amused everyone involved, and went off to walk through the adjoining valley to San Isidro, a nearby trading town. Much of our trail was part of a network of footpaths that connect 20 or so tiny little hamlets in the area with each other for visiting and trading. The walk was incredible, San Isidro was eerily beautiful, and we were led the way by Kathy Bates, a blind-in-one-eye, thoroughly scruffy, tough old broad of a stray dog who kept us company and out of trouble. She promptly dissappeared as soon as we returned to town, only to come sit at my feet for a few minutes 2 days later while we waited for the bus. Thanks, Kathy.
That evening, we excitedly made plans to leave in the morning bright and early at 6am. A little rain fell at dusk, and we went to bed early. Awake at 4:30 the next morning, we quickly got ourselves ready and toddled down that steep, steep hill (last time!) to the bus station where we were informed that the rains had washed out the fragile mountain roads and there would be no hope of a bus that day. I must say that the fellow who sleeps in the bus station was, by my standards, overjoyed to be awoken by a pounding door and come outside in his stocking feet to answer some pushy foreigners´ transportation questions.
Either seriously or for his own amusement, he suggested we walk to Humahuaca (about 66 kilometers away), saying, if we started now, we could make it by noon, smiling all the while. He even stayed to chit chat with the handful of local would-be-bus-passengers after we put our tails between our legs and trudged up that stupid hill again. According to Nathan, it´s the type of hill you never get used to. Says he, you could walk up this hill for 20 years, and it would still suck everytime.
I won´t bore you with further details, suffice to say that the entirety of the 17th was spent attempting to get back to Jujuy, and in the end, we were successful, even receiving a hot meal for our efforts (no, we didn´t have to walk.)
Now you can see for yourself. I had no idea how foggy it was here until I looked at the pictures. Guess you get used to anything (except that stupid hill)

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