While I was reluctant to leave the breathtaking beauty of Purmamarca, I looked forward to arriving in Humahuaca (pronounced Oomawacka), about an hour or so further along the highway — and higher up! We left right after breakfast to get as much of the day there as possible.

I was constantly impressed by the highway up here. It’s well paved and well maintained, and I guess it has to be to support the heavy trucks going between Bolivia and Argentina as well as the tourists like us. But there are still many sections with steep drops on one side, and although I had complete faith in Cecilia’s driving I’ll admit to a degree of nervousness.

The drive continued to be through achingly beautiful scenery. One of these days I’ll research what minerals are up there to have created such a range of colours. And the patterns! It just goes to show you our meagre human efforts are no match for Pacha Mama (Mother Earth). At one point I started to cry just out of sheer overwhelm.

We arrived in Humahuaca before lunch, and Cecilia went in search of someone to take her to a place everyone told us not to miss, El Hornacal. I had already opted not to go, because the roads were getting just a bit too scarey for me, but there are tour operators who will take you there. As it turned out, the weather closed in and the guy told her there was no point in going because she wouldn’t be able to see anything. To give you an idea why everyone recommends this place, I’m including a photo from a postcard I bought. They call it “Fourteen Colours”. Isn’t it something?

Walking around Humahuaca, we found the cabildo (town hall) side-by-side with the church. Someone told us that “the saint” would come out at noon from a window in the cabildo (I found it strange it wouldn’t be the church, but hey, what do I know?) We decided to wait, and by noon a small crowd had gathered.

Just before noon someone began to play Ave Maria (the Bach Gounod one) on a mountain flute, and the sound was so pure and clear it made me cry yet again. Right on the dot of noon a window opened and a figure of Saint Francis slowly moved forward. He was about double life size, and after a moment I realized he was moving. His head lowered towards the crowd and his hands slowly moved in a blessing. When the music finished, he moved back in.

Now for those of us from the more “sophisticated” parts of the world, this should have been an eye roller — it was just an animated figure after all — but somehow it wasn’t. There’s something very moving about the simple faith of people in remote places and I’m glad we saw this.

Then in the middle of it all, just to keep us grounded, this old woman was selling coca leaves to the crowd!

While Purmamarca was prettier, it always seemed to me to be a place made for visitors. Humahuaca, on the other hand, is a real place with real people living their lives. I loved it.

Next day would be a hair-raising marathon trip, all the way back down past Salta to Cachi. Stay tuned for this one!