It is an admission of perpetual homesickness. The fijo here becomes tragic. Because to be fixed in one’s identity while being physically adrift is to live in a state of productive suffering. The Salteño in exile clings to the fijo as a buoy in a sea of foreign custom. He will correct the way you pronounce “llama.” He will complain that the sun elsewhere lacks “force.” He will become, paradoxically, more Salteño than the Salteño who never left the valley.
To truly fix your appreciation of the phrase, it helps to understand what the poetry signifies. The traditional lyrics paint a picture of the harsh yet beautiful geography of Northern Argentina:
One cannot separate Salteñidad from its sensory anchors: the leaf and the smoke. The province is the heart of Argentina’s coca leaf culture, a pre-Columbian heritage of chewing the leaf (acullico) to combat altitude and fatigue. More famously, Salta is the cradle of the zamba and the chacarera —folkloric rhythms that are not merely listened to but lived. The carnaval in Salta, particularly in the towns of Vaqueros and La Caldera, is a ritual of ecstatic repetition. The same songs return year after year; the same dance steps, the same gestures of the handkerchief.