I loved Argentina. And in Argentina, with a helluva lot of competition - endless, seemingly - the place I loved the most was Humahuaca. I loved the little town with its abandoned railway tracks and its straggling market. Its river and cacti and mud houses. I loved the tasty food - not just slabs of meat but spicy stews, delicious yellow potatoes and the best empanadas I'd eaten in Argentina (from the woman on the corner by the market in the mornings, rushed from her own kitchen, warm from the oven. She came out again in the evenings with huge rough slabs of home-made bread). I loved my simple hotel - Hotel Saltenita, £5 a night and immaculately clean - even though I had a tiny bed and the walls were a bilious green. I loved the pink cheeked coffee woman at the station and the dramatic bus ride to Iruja. I liked the simple churches and their gold interiors. I loved the name Humahuaca and kept saying it, as much as I could.
Best of all I loved the climate. Every day the coolness of the night disappeared with the sun and every day the sky was bright blue and cloudless. It was always warm and the heat was dry with no humidity. Truly una delicia. Delicious. Every evening the rocks of the gorge walls turned red in the dusk and the clear sky changed from turquoise to a deep navy blue, strewn with thousands of glittery stars. I've never seen night skies as beautiful.
I chatted to a chatty woman selling woolly hats in the market one morning. She caught me gazing at the sky, marvelling again at its amazing colour and light. "Is it really like this every day?" I asked her. "Yes, every day" she said, smiling, "isn't it lovely? But ah, have you seen the stars at night?"
No comments:
Post a Comment