Reserva natural

I arrive at the farm by car in the early evening. It's not far from the town of Jujuy, but on that windy trail made of sand, mud and rocks, the trip lasts almost two hours. The car rocks and sways on the uneven road so that often I'm worried about it falling on one side. We cross many streams and little rivers by simply driving through them. Ever so often we stop to open a gate and then to close it behind us; they are for all the cattle and horses that roam free here.

The farm is small and surrounded by wooded hills. Not just surrounded: the farm itself is on a sloping hillside. There are two huts for the volunteers to sleep in; one that serves as a kitchen and a common space; and a house where the family lives themselves. There are no neighbours to be seen, no other houses anywhere on any of the hills as far as the eye can see.

I meet the other volunteers, a handful of young people from different corners of the world, who tell me of a river just down the hill. One of the farm dogs follows me to the river, and the cool water feels lovely after the warm day - but already halfway back up the steep hill, it's just as hot again.

The sun has already set behind the hills when I get back. Now it's time for dinner: we all gather around a long wooden table in the common room. After a delightful meal, the father of the family steps behind his DJ table, turns on the generator power and puts on some music. Saturday is their electricity day and therefore a party day. Outside the hills and the forests are dark and quiet, and in the middle of it is our cosy little hut, a festive atmosphere and happy voices shouting over the music.

But when I step outside, I am taken by surprise. It is not entirely dark. First I see one tiny light, then another, and then I realise they are all around: little sparkles in the bushes around me, above the grass, in the trees. They take turns in shining their light, and so the whole hillside glistens forming the most mesmerising backdrop. Thousands of them, millions of them. "Luciérnagas", the father tells me, "fireflies. This is their season." I stand spellbound, unwilling to go back in.

This is going to be my home for a week.