Jujuy, capital city of the province of Jujuy, is another place I went to in Argentina that no-one recommends. Most tourists pass through, on their way to Humahuaca and further north to the famous sign at La Quiaca on the border with Bolivia which states that the distance between the country's northernmost point and the Ushuaia in the far south is 5,800 km (I'd travelled almost 5000 of those) and onwards and up, into the high Andes and beyond.
"It's not an attractive place, nothing to see, Polly", Maxi had said in Jesus Maria and I suppose he was right. It's a tiny city - not even a large town really with a handful of crowded central streets and one lovely square. I never worked out why the streets were always so crowded - what for? where was everyone going? - or what anyone was doing in Jujuy. The bus station, a short walk from the town centre and its chaotic sprawl, the little kiosks selling hot dogs and fizzy drinks, the stalls flogging knock-off dvds and all kinds of plastic crap was as exciting as it got in the city. But I liked its nostalgic neon-lit signs and its dusty stores, the roads bleeding out into the countryside, green hills rising and the river running through. No-one bothered me, no-one seemed startled or surprised by my presence. I was left alone and there were few distractions.
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