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I was so excited to board a swift two hour flight from Buenos Aires to Tucuman, the home of Argentinian independence. And yet, I did not stay long. With a bursting, escapist desire to move away from reality, as I knew it, I took a rental car and made an efficient but inspiring route through luscious forests and hills up to Tapi Valle. Once there, despite the rain and the wind, I scoured the local shop for something edible and absorbed the views. I settled for some regional salami and some coca sweets to help with the impending altitude. The weather was cold and blustery; reminiscent of Wales in autumn and I started to worry I had packed for the wrong trip. But packed in my suitcase was a large dose of trust, so I carried on up to Amaicha del Valle. I stopped here, spurred on by hunger and stumbled across two warm-hearted ladies running the local restaurant. They took pity on a lonesome traveller and poured the few dishes of beef and ravioli they had ready on my plate. As I ate, I admired the simple housing, the picturesque square and a tourist information point, which was no more than three old men sat outside in deck chairs. I continued on the route 40, the immensely long road marking the length of the country, towards Cafayate. There I checked into the local cheap hotel and tucked into a bowl of Locro containing Vicuna but I was too hungry to notice. The next morning, after paying the few hundred pesos for the room, I began the long journey to Antofagasta. It was obvious from the road conditions that this was not a road well travelled and with the bumpy climb to the Andean plateau ahead, I was struck by the sheer immensity, vastness and solitude of the incomparable surroundings. It was a sight for sore eyes, made sorer by the dust on the roads and a growing tiredness. As the road turned into old tracks along mountainous and volcanic earth, I became a little concerned for the cheap car I had rented but perhaps this was the point; the car had to suffer this pure nature in the same way I did as we all merged with the layers of prehistoric earth. On arrival in Antofagasta, I headed straight for the pre-booked sole b and b, Incahuasi. Much to my horror, the place was dark and locked and, whether due to altitude or sheer fear of having to sleep out in the cold, my breath became short. After asking the neighbours, I managed to locate the supervisor of the small hotel in her small, clay home preparing dinner for her large family. She told me that sometimes the Wi-Fi went down in these remote areas and the booking probably did not go through. However, she managed to source a very traditional looking room with vintage ornaments and a couple of in-house cockroaches to keep me company. At this point, I was grateful for anywhere indoors. Before slumber, the locals flooded my mind with ideas for excursions and visits and I fell asleep with a deep sense of wonder at never having expected these special worlds. My breakfast of French toast and marmalade fuelled me for my hike to the volcano the next morning. It was gentle and I had no need to climb it. All I wanted was to be a part of it all; the emptiness and space that surrounded me seemed to open up the corners of my limited urban mind as I wandered alongside llamas, vicunas and flamingos. On return to the village, I made myself some simple lunch with some products from the local supermarket. It stocked very little due to transportation issues so high up and I was reminded of the simplicity and remoteness of where I was. Products we Londoners take for granted like olive oil, common fruits and vegetables, are simply non-existent here. I settled for some tuna salad, some Zapolla, a type of fried courgette and some white rice. This basic meal followed by some Aguila, or Argentina’s very own Cadbury, almost put me to sleep like a resident lizard, overlooking the clay-cordillera and the main square. I was finally at peace after months of city dwelling and the humdrum of porteno life. Finally, I had reached solitude.