Purmamarca

Purmamarca, Jujuy, Argentina

Location No.: 64

Time spent there: 2013, 2015, 02-25-17

I remember being here as a kid, maybe 10 or 11 years old with Uncle Ruben and his girlfriend at the time, Mery. I always wanted to go back to that place framed by exotic memories of colorful soil and earthy homes.

Nestled against an mountainous rainbow of mineral infused colors and tones. Here is where this place is. They call it “cerro de siete colores” (hill of seven colors), but it feels like there are so many more than seven colors. The cerro spills into the few streets and its rich shades blend into the walls and roofs making an array of color. It’s all one big palette someone left lying in the desert.

I visited again in 2013, 2015 and 2017. Not a child anymore. But my town seems to have stopped growing, stopped in time, frozen in its own history. It seems to be the same size every time I come back. Don’t grow little town, I like you this way. I like you with your narrow dirt streets, with your small shops, with your craft market on the square. I like your adobe (mud) houses, your hidden white church and the lady selling roasted corn on the corner.

I keep coming back to this little town. I take the same photos of the big window with the white and brown spools of alpaca wool, of the bright aguayos on the tables, of the arches over the doors, of the children playing. I crawl all over your hills and the view is spectacular every time. My favorite part is to walk on that street in the northern end of the town, the one with the red clay. My shoes, dusty, speckled red.

Purmamarca, thats the name of my little town. In the local aymara language purma means desert and marca means city. City in the desert. It has been an oasis of color at times when life felt like a desert. On every occasion I’ve been here, life was taking some big turn.  In the aymara language desert also means untouched land, more specifically a place untouched by human hand. Secretly, I keep coming back here because it represents a place where my life is untouched by my own human hand. It’s not a painted canvas, its just a palette. I can come here for refreshment, for inspiration, its a shade of home. It’s an opportunity to take a step back and look at the colors of my past and to take new tones into my present.

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Purmamarca and “The Hill of Seven Colors”
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Marina, my long time friend at the square during a visit together in 2015
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View from the top of one the hills behind the town
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The owner of this shop hand spins her own wool. Stickers present, she does not accept MasterCard or Visa.
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“Aguayo”, a carrying cloth used by people from the Andes. I was once told by a little girl that these are more comfortable than backpacks.

 

 

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