Iruya and San Isidrio
You look on a map of the provincia of Salta, and the town of Iruya is like a tangent coming from the main route, a remote speck that just calls to you to break away from the beaten path and come visit it. So you board a huge bus resembling a tank in Humahuaca, one of the last towns in Argentina before the border with Bolivia, and brace yourself for a three-hour seat-gripping descent into a mountainous valley where lies the town of Iruya.
The ride seemed to take us into the mouth of the Earth, further and further into the jowls of jagged gorges like a pill going down the throat of a monster. When we finally arrived, the passengers actually applauded the driver for having navigated us through so many traverses and quick turns. Then we were greeted by small, bubble-eyed girls who took our hands and led us to our lodging. We climbed up the largest hill in the town over cobblestone paths. The room we stayed in was humble, but just sitting out on the stoop and drinking mate, enjoying the view, was enough to make us feel like we were in a palace of natural beauty.
The people of Iruya are proud of their indigenous identities and they are shy to mix with visitors from urban Argentina or elsewhere. Despite this hesitancy, they are incredibly friendly and patient with tourists who ask nosy questions about their local customs. Although the people of Iruya wear factory-made clothes and watch television, they live in the middle of the mountains and raise sheep, goats, and pigs. With their hands they spin wool throughout the day to make carpets or clothing. If it weren’t for the presence of the three staples of every Latin American town - a soccer field, a main plaza, and a church - you wouldn’t even know you were in Argentina, or any country with Spanish descent. The unique culture and lifestyle of Iruya, as in any remotely located village, is a result of hundreds of years of interactions with the surrounding natural environment and settlements.
A twelve-kilometer hike down the river took us to the tiny hamlet of San Isidrio. Whereas in Iruya there were televisions, cars, and tourists wandering about, here there were no vehicles and you didn’t see any place resembling an actual bar or cafe with a TV. We saw people washing clothes in the river, sitting in adobe houses knitting wools, or boys walking in groups with a soccer ball. It was surreal to be so remote from anything resembling a city, and it made me daydream about Spanish explorers following the valley and river until they reached this settlement, and the kinds of cultural interactions that must have produced.
These magical places have really stuck in my conscience as experiences of different lifestyles and realities. I continue to be amazed by the scale of different cultures within just the country of Argentina, not to mention South America as a whole.
Now I’m back in Buenos Aires, living the urban life again, and wondering where I will next go with just a backpack and a bus ticket. These days I’m spending a lot of time with friends, writing, cooking meals, and visiting my favorite cafes and parks in the city. Soon I will be back in the States.
