Llama hooves steadily kick up dust along the loose trail and a breeze gives us a temporary respite from the unrelenting sun. As we slowly gain elevation, the magnitude of the landscape expands and offers even more impressive views of Tilcara and the surrounding Quebrada Humahuaca. These colorful mountains were once traversed by Incas, also with llamas in tow. Aside from our cameras, cell phones, and modern clothing, our group is similar to one that might have roamed the area hundreds of years ago—and that’s the point.

Llamas have always been an integral part of life in northwest Argentina. Locals create clothing out of llama wool, and llama meat is a regular feature of the region’s cuisine. However, as horses and burros became more commonplace, people relied increasingly less on llamas to carry heavy loads. Our jovial and thoughtful guide, Santos Manfredi, gives us this history lesson mid-hike, which really puts our trip into context.

Over a decade ago, Santos took it upon himself to revitalize the cultural practice of trekking with llamas. He believes this experience gives special insight into the region—something riding horses or driving a car doesn’t do.

“[Each llama has] a different personality,” Santos explains. “They are animals that you can connect with. Also, there’s the fact that llamas walk slowly, which helps you connect with nature. I think it’s unique.”

And Santos is right. At this pace, we appreciate the 600-year old cacti and exposed, rocky terrain of the Argentinian altiplano. As for the llamas, they entertain us with drawn-out moans and unforgettable loogies, plus they’re experts at silly looks and mouth breathing. We’re always laughing at their antics.

I can only imagine the Incas found them equally entertaining.

All at once, we swarm Marta for a big group hug. After an amazing few days, emotions are running high. Our homestay has come to an end, but no one is eager to leave. Pulling back, we notice Marta is tearing up.

Just a week ago, our hosts Soledad, Marta, and Antonio were strangers exchanging emails with us from the other side of the world. But after a few days of living, eating, and laughing with them at their farms in Corralito, we are good friends. Although saying goodbye is painful, we are all grateful to have crossed paths, to have shared a true connection. In this moment, it is clear to us that people are the most beautiful part of traveling.

Soledad helped to start the rural community tourism cooperative, Red de Turismo Campesino, with the goal of incorporating tourism into her farming community as a means to generate revenue, preserve its culture, and empower women to be financially independent. From the onset, she wanted to promote tourism the right way. This meant only hosting small groups and emphasizing the importance of respectful and open-minded cultural exchange.

“Having this experience of cultural exchange, we can share how we live and [visitors] can also share their life experiences with us,” Soledad explains. “I think one part of being a traveler is that you have to feel like you’re part of it in order to be able to really enjoy a country or a place.”

This region’s musical tradition does not discriminate. All sounds are welcome, and all people are too. Here, it is normal for prehispanic flutes to accompany Christmas songs. Likewise, the European acoustic guitar is strummed alongside the Andean charango. Over the course of our trip, we tried our hands at the quena, zampona, bandoneon, and caja.

Despite their differences, all the region’s musical styles are united in their ability to bring people together, to celebrate life, and to help people connect with their environment.

“It’s a special part of this place, that almost anyone, it doesn’t matter their age or profession, knows how to play a traditional instrument of some kind,” Lucas Gordillo, a musician from Tilcara, explains to his audience midway through a performance. “And that in turn makes people here aware of the importance of our music and our culture.”

During our travels through northwest Argentina, one musical style in particular challenged our preconceived notions of what music can be.

Just outside the town of San Carlos, Hernàn Perata welcomes us to his outdoor workshop where he handcrafts instruments using local materials. It is here that he and his wife, Julieta Yañez, perform a copla for us. A style of music native to the area, coplas combine singing with the caja drum for the purpose of connecting people to the land, celebrating the human experience, and performing rituals. There are coplas for everything ranging from love to philosophy to sorrow, but all are performed with the intention of unifying people and connecting to Pachamama, the Andean word for Mother Earth. As Hernàn explains it, singing along to the beat of the caja drum is the earth singing.

Hernàn and Julieta’s daughter, Catalina, visits us in the workshop and performs a copla for us. Her beautiful voice emanates throughout the property. Shyly, she hands her parents the caja and heads off to school.

“When I see my children and I singing together, it makes me feel a sense of unity because that’s what music does,” Hernàn says. “I also feel that seeing my children sing is the seed planted so that this cultural platform can continue.”

After saying our goodbyes, we reflect on the integral role coplas play in the area. Catalina, for example, has grown up with the understanding that music is more than just entertainment: it is an integral part of everyday life and spirituality. Witnessing this firsthand makes us ponder the role music plays in our lives back home. How do we experience music differently? Do we focus too much on critiquing it, rather than on enjoying it for what it is? Can we take what we’ve learned here in Argentina and apply it to our own musical practices back home?

We don’t have immediate answers, but it’s fun to think about. After all, what is the point of traveling if it doesn’t challenge your own perspective and worldview?