Go to Iruya was a worthy continuation of the adventure on the Puna.
waiting for, the terminal of Humahuaca, there are two buses that are at best of the 60s, and a bunch of Indians who were with him for the impossible, huge packs, plastic bags, giant, looks like a real exodus own (why I would have understood only the next day).
You load everything on the roof of the bus, really seems to be in Cuba is not clear then how do I recognize the parcels at the end, as are almost all wrapped in the same blue plastic. Let's begin the journey towards Irun. 54 km, three hours walk planned. I understand why little by little. At first, the road is decent after all, a couple of fords but nothing earth-shattering. I almost think I could do it with the car, but those of the agency I was very discouraged. 
Climb the mountains, in the mountains, in the mountains. We make a stop in a country where that is no reason for being. Yet there is, and there are people. Climb, climb around us still wild vicuña and donkeys, so many asses. We get to the step that we did not even put too much are the usual 4000 meters, it seems that if you do not get there at least once a day are not happy now. The step change of province of Jujuy to return to Salta. And, as often happens, after the step change the landscape, but also changes, and definitely the road. 
Road? It is not a road, this, now I realize, you can not even define the trail, a trail carved on the back of steep mountains, is way off even a hint of what a car, but we we're on a bus overloaded with people and luggage of all sorts. 
The curves are becoming more frequent, gorges and cliffs are one step away from the wheel. I look forward and do not understand where it will end up, this thing they call the street. The valley narrows more Furthermore, ridges of rock that becomes ever more colorful but even more threatening more and more dangerously approaching the windows. We stopped in places where there are no traces of human presence, yet there is someone going up or down. Every now and then, in the distance, a house of adobe, which almost blends in, but which there is a place impossible, impossible to get there, but even if you get there, then?
The landscape is always more breathtaking (literally), we go down slowly, passing the miles with a maddening slowness. 
Then, around a bend, there it is: Iruya, the village perched in the valley, pseudostrada where this ends. Greetings to the flight the two girls from Buenos Aires who share the same with my bus and I head nell'hostal recommended to eat something (I was, as usual, without breakfast, but due to the road, the better!). The mountain in front of Iruya is impressive. I rest a bit, 'then I take a ride. It does not take much, really tiny Iruya. Here poverty is palpable, on the other hand, we are very close to the border with Bolivia. 
Epper is a wonderful school with a volleyball court, basketball, and there is a parable for the mega phone and TV. I climbed on the viewpoint that the sun is already almost hiding behind the mountains, there is a group of students / tourists who speaks to me of a fiesta the next day. In fact, going down, noted an unusual movement of cars, carts and donkeys for such a small country. We are preparing for the big party. After a dinner of local tubers (here we have an amazing amount of different types of potatoes!), And while I am surprised the collectivism of the country (we meet in a large salt to make decisions on holiday, and when someone is missing is called the speaker placed on top of the tower ...), I go to bed early. Tomorrow brings another great trek, this time not in the plan. 
When I get up the next morning, after another cold night (despite the heater on), I a hearty breakfast and ask for information on the way to San Isidro, who have advised me. The girl does not seem convinced, saying that it takes more than two hours. I was told 4 round trip to Salta. I have exactly 4 hours before departure of the colectivo. I start with the idea of \u200b\u200bgoing back after 2 hours even if they have not arrived yet. 
The first 3 miles are almost all downhill, and this raises my concerns for the return. But the mountains are beautiful, with their many colors. Then change the quebrada, I have to follow another river, and this time it's a nice climb, and the stream is strong enough, as water. 
Salgo while sun begins to emerge from the mountains and burn. Meeting dozens of Indians, on foot, horse or donkey, but they all go in the opposite direction to mine, to the feast day which is more of market: all bring their products to swap or sell. I continue, "obstinate and contrary in direction," as some would say Italian singer. With me is a dog who follows me Iruya. It 's the second time, after San Lorenzo. Perhaps you know that if you accompany and act as guides and will have something in return. Meanwhile he is, before me, waiting for me, barking wild donkeys here have the annoying habit of "load", as some may charge an ass, but better have someone who defends you.
The climb is slower not only because it obviously more difficult, but also because tens of times you have to cross the creek. It is not always easy, even if there are rocks put there on purpose. But the current is strong and the rocks are often wet, or a couple were taken away and you have to find another point further downstream or upstream. I go out and greet everyone I meet. A couple of times I ask to know what information is missing. I'm also still struggling against the clock. But it is a matter of principle and we want to reach San Isidro. 
Arrival at the mill is only a kilometer away, go ahead and send more, because I've already exceeded the time limit that I set for the return. And then, after one of the more difficult crossings of the river, there he is, San Isidro, a tiny village that we do not know how and why it is in this valley forgotten by God I did not do the last climb, the last 500 meters, because I was already well out of time. But the important thing was to get to see him get there.
I did not know that the return would have been much faster, a little 'because there was a bit down' because I knew at that point to ford the stream, and then I found the shortcuts of the Indians who were save a few ford. And so I return to Iruya even earlier, after only 3 hours. I also see some time 'the market, which is a strange market, not for tourists but for local use and consumption (and there must be a lot of opportunities for trade, sale and exchange, and indeed all things) . There is a bit 'of everything all mixed up. What strikes me is even here, will be the television, the boys try and dress the same way, a bit 'American rappers say.
In the end, galvanized by this latest hike in the sun (but this time I was a little bare, in front, and despite the fact that I had water to bathe in spades), I try to challenge Montezuma that have not miraculously touched me, and lunch (and then Humahuaca merendo well) from one of the many inviting vendors who are there to cook meat outdoors. Perhaps the hygiene is not their primary concern, but the Panozzo is delicious. And then, I've survived the infamous "fish kebab" fish cooked and eaten on the heavily polluted waters of the Bosphorus, so ...
Well, I take the bags from the girl who did not trust my strength, and perhaps even inflated the victory just achieved (I must admit that after this latest supercamminata to have more calves in the mountains of Rumenigge of the golden days ... in fact I'm ready for the Camino de Santiago) commits the fatal error: the bus I must return to Humahuaca, I sit right behind the driver.
Thus, for a better look.
But in life there are things that it is better not to know, and the truth about what's going to drive these buses is one of them.
Never, never, never do: it is better to sit back, stay in your blissful ignorance, enjoy the scenery without wondering how does the bus to stay on track.
First of all, behind the driver means left, and then I saw every time he looked down at how far (or rather how much non-distance) the wheel went over the edge: half a meter on average, but less often dangerously, and beyond without any kind of protection, a drop of tens meters.
Then, in turns, the driver expands so much that it seems that the left front of the bus is floating in the void ...
Then, the driver: he distracts often than not, watch the time on the phone, take the candy that has continuously near the door, but of course want every time and then choose the color and taste ... It then turns to look at the landscape, as if they knew him. Sometimes the guy who monitors and tickets are on and they talk animatedly, and I think 'nonlodistrarrenonlodistrarrenonlodistrarretipregotipregotiprego ... "
And then, the worst thing: the competitor, the Pan-American, has a single bus 15 minutes after my party. But obviously the bus is new or empty, because after a half hour journey, the driver looks nervously back and sees him, and I too with him, we Panamericana bus yellow heels, and earn street . My crazy driver begins to take the curves without slowing down, sometimes it does not enter the second and he got angry, constantly looking back, but there's nothing to do, the Pan-American is getting closer.
There's only one thing to our advantage, which is probably what saved our lives: the Pan-American will never overtake on this pseudostrada.
But the driver does not want to fool the cap of the situation, he feels as a Formula 1 car with a low but on a circuit where there is no possibility to pass, that's where the bus does snorting beyond their means mechanical and gravitational.
Va, as people sometimes go down in areas where there is absolutely nothing on the horizon, perhaps still need to make a few kilometers on foot, uphill, and on the other hand, there is something that impedes the view of the mountains to see.
But there is something that outperforms all plans to win the driver today is Friday and from incredible offshore school out here for all the students go home on weekends, after sleeping in the school Monday. Enter scores children, and one of these stops, fortunately after my pace and then at the least bad of the road, trumpeting Panamericano surpasses us to scorn.
We were beaten, but at least now we have nothing to lose. In the only proper that we stop, a terminal of a country halfway, the Pan-American has already arrived and the drivers are accomplices exchanging jokes and friendly. obviously for them it is a game.
For me it was not, I almost look for a religion, any one, just to ask a favor. Luckily I have not had time to pick any ... In fact, sorry, but no pictures, I was too busy to stay alive.
short, if you happen, stay happy and sit back and unconscious, between the neutral bus Iruya and Humahuaca.
And anyway, it's amazing how this small town remains stubbornly clinging to the outside world through this one street when it rains it is not feasible, and certainly in the winter when the rivers are in flood, as the road passes through them several times.
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