The Hill of 7 colours

The Hill of Seven Colours.
I can't quite put my finger on what makes this place so special. Could it be the thinner air? At 2324m above sea level, most people don't even notice a difference - but for some reason - I'm finding even mundane tasks quite tiring. Perhaps, it is because on arrival I took a remise (normally a shared bus service- it doesn't go until it's full) up to the Salinas Grandes - 3350m above sea level - but the pass was at 4000m. There, the air is thin for almost everybody. Maybe it was all too much? Flying from Buenos Aires, at sea level, and then travelling up North - and travelling up high.
Nevertheless, what is under no doubt, is the sheer scale and complexity of this region geologically, geographically and from a historical viewpoint. Since the beginning of the Holocene, this area, la Quebrada de Humahuaca, has been the ancient motorway connecting East and West parts of South America.
This valley cuts down through the Andes; high up on the puna, the name given to the highest part of this region in Argentina, to reach the yungas, the jungle area.
This area is dry, but comes alive in December and January in the wet season, when the scorched ground evolves dynamically into fast-flowing mud flows that rip away anything in their path.
And that's fine, if you can afford a house or flat in the safety of the towns, where the population pay their rent or mortgage in dollars. But, what about everyone else? They live where they can, often on the periphery, where noone else wants to live.
I was shown a marvellous viewpoint by an amazing guide running a small, private venture on sustainable tourism. He took me up another valley overlooking the Hill of Seven Colours. And yes, whilst his stories about weeping willow being used traditionally for aspirin, and the Molle evergreen tree being used for a cure everything were fascinating; immerse a few branches of Molle in a hot bath to cure muscle ache is just one of many medicinal uses. And yes, whilst the stories about the formation of this valley, the layers of an ancient lake bed visible, showing hundreds of thousands of years of history left me gaping at the landscape in front of me. And even the spiritual and mythological stories of the ancient guardians of this valley;  they are cactuses perched up high on the valley sides, el hombre y la mujer, resembling a man with a backpack and a woman...observing, watching and protecting...
But, no.
What struck me most, was the story of the 10-year-old development of shacks built underneath sheer cliff faces with rocks perched perilously above them. And the danger is not only from above, but also from below; those houses are under the constant threat of the shifting ground beneath them on the alluvial fan.

And that's why , here, they say

Pachamama, Santa Tierra.

 And they bury coca leaves in the ground, in a ritual that has continued for thousands of years, so that Mother Earth does look after them. Because, here, on the periphery, if you don't look after nature, it won't look out for you either.

Perhaps, we ought to use some of that philosophy in our urban areas too...

Just because we live in cities full of millions of people, with streets buzzing with life, food available packaged neatly in plastic, exotic fruits at our grasp, we should never live far from the fact, that we too, live on the periphery.
And that mudflow could be coming straight for us too.

Pachamama, Santa Tierra

Purmamarca
Jueves el 22 de noviembre 2018