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Argentina, noisy, colorful, passionate, and perfect. This was my experience the year I spent living with a host family in the capital of Buenos Aires. Color defined not only the landscapes and buildings, but the people as well. While Buenos Aires will always feel like home to me, some of the best people and places I discovered in the country were trips I took to less populated areas such as the northwest region of the country known as Jujuy. This is true “gaucho” country filled with pueblos, cacti, ranches, salt plains, and alpacas (much friendlier and cuter than their llama cousin). While in the north, I saw all of the above mentioned sights and more, but what really left me with a sense of wonder and belonging to this foreign land was the colorful mountains and people. The mountains can be found outside of the small town called Pumamarca. They are known as the Hills of Seven Colors, and are filled with deep plum, gentle oranges, red rusts, and flush rosy hues that mark the earth with their linear beauty. They are a glimpse into a past through both the landscape, and the surrounding town. The people in the town are natives. They have been there with a history since before the Spanish. They speak the native language of Quechua as well as Spanish. They are a close-knit group of people who are welcoming and festive. During my visit, I started out being very frustrated everyone could spot my “gringa” accent when I spoke Spanish with them, but the longer I was there the more I realized it was a blessing to be recognized as a foreigner because the people all wanted to impart a little piece of their wisdom and culture when we spoke. These connections are a large part of the reason my experience in Jujuy was so meaningful. They showed me an experience I could never have had otherwise. One of the best connections I made was with a local shopkeeper in Pumamarca. I went in to buy a homemade “mate” cup, and he recognized I was not an official Argentine immediately. Instead of being annoyed, I decided to chat a little and learn about his life as well. This excited him and we began to chat about how I was from Florida, and how I was having an excellent time in his pueblo. He could have treated me like an outsider, but instead he told me there was a local fiesta that night in the town square outside the cathedral. Fiestas in this part of Argentina usually mean locally produced food, music, and Chacarera, a traditional Argentine folk dance. I told him I was very grateful for the information and hoped to see him there. That night my host brothers and sister were wondering what we should do, I told them about the party I heard about. They thought it was absurd that their gringo sister knew where all the local parties were and they didn’t, but were delighted to go. I had only heard about these kinds of outdoor Argentine fiestas up to this point, and was so excited to discover another layer of the culture in the region. We went down to the square and danced the night away. We bought the local specialty, choripan con chimichurri, which is a sausage and bun with a parsley and garlic sauce cooked on an open flame. The food was delicious and the music and dancing were lively. What I realized was that while the dance and the food are a big part of the culture. It is more about the people who participate in this culture to keep it alive in the modern world. The people I met were willing to explain the dances to me, and tell me the history of why people began these dances. Connecting to the people was the way to connect to the culture and shows how colorful travel can be when approached with a friendly outlook no matter where you come from or who you meet. Travel is in its essence, the relationships that connect you to the culture discovered along the way.