Charlie and Steve's Excellent Adventure

February 2, 2015

While you were working – Masterchef Argentina, La Constancia, Argentina

Today is the day, we finally get a crack at cooking. Argentina is loaded with massive open fire parrillas, pizza ovens and all manner of old fashioned cooking stations that belong to a time gone by yet inspire any modern cook to salivating excitement. At La Constancia there is yet another display of offensive cooking magnitude in a setting that simply couldn’t be beaten. The setup is outdoors under large shade trees, we have mountains rearing up in front and commanding views over the plains behind, the sound of the adjacent stream just finishes the picture, awesome. The whole cooking station is nearly ten metres wide, a massive home made pizza oven leads into a sea of hot coals under a huge array of grills, pots, iron discs and god knows whatever else. This is rustic cooking made glamorous; or is it glamour made into a cooking station?

Sadly though we only don the proverbial aprons at midday, first up it’s time for fly fishing, passing time in a manner that many people travel specifically to do. Life is indeed tough. Barnaby snares the biggest trout to date and we both also catch one, our catches are the lucky ones and they are set free to be caught another day. We wander up and down the stream dropping the fly into pools as we go, the line between fishing and simply enjoying the scenery becomes decidedly blurred. Thoroughly satisfied with finally snagging a catch each we wander back through this thoroughly uplifting environment back to cooking mecca.

Lumped together with a great Argentinian family we spark up a hilarious staccato conversation that rumbles along surprisingly well; liberal splashes of wine don’t hurt the mood either. Barnaby is set to buttering up and stuffing the trout with herbs and lemon, three good catches in all. Charlie is rolling out the bread dough that will be baked right here in the massive pizza oven. This leaves me to the ocean of apparatus crowning over the hot coals to rule as my domain while Laf sips wine and feigns to look pretty, contributing sweet little other than comedy as is usual. To be fair Danny the cook is driving most of the show so we’re not inventing the cooking today. Instead we’re simply launched into an experience we’ve been eyeing off since being in Argentina not unlike the huge lumps of pork launched into the iron disc. A mountain of onion slowly caramelises as we throw in plums and dark beer. When Danny isn’t looking I sneak in some anchovies and thyme, no chance of keeping me out of the creative process.

The conversation rolls along better than the language barrier would suggest is possible, Laf giggles, the bread is in the oven and the trout are grilling; the team is into gear and we’re literally cooking. Except for Laf of course, he’s taking social duties. First up we open our foil parcels of trout goodness and taste the most juicy delicious trout flesh ever, only hours from being caught. It’s possibly the setting and the atmosphere contributing but the fish are worthy of the setting, a huge statement. It’s a sensory race to lap up the sights, sounds, atmosphere, wine and food simultaneously, too much to take in at once so we’re all pigs at the trough of gorgeousness. Fittingly all the little piggies tuck into the pork, the anchovies and thyme definitely did the trick and Danny is still none the wiser.

After the lunch that has been this whole trip in the making Charlie and I sneak off for an hours little siesta, the glutton-athon is soon to be followed by a trip down the hill to a local winery for a wine tasting. A glutton-athon-anon it seems. As is the norm in Argentina we’re back on the wine quick sticks after our siesta and heading down the hill. First impressions of this winery: this part of Argentina does glamorous country living exceptionally well. This place is all tasteful rustic dream escape, not a scrap of building or surrounds belongs in the last 50 years, and it’s not at all kitsch. Walking among the vines and through the guesthouse it’s impossible not to be swept away in a little bit of ‘if I lived here’ fantasy. Charlie pinches himself struggling to believe that this is where we are, it’s all a little too perfect.

Around a small table we go through the official four bottles for tasting to the setting sun before buying another two; and then three more to take up the hill for dinner. If lunchtime was our own version of Masterchef then the cooks are enjoying a drop after a tough service. The winemaker Nico produces just 16,000 bottles of wine, a seriously boutique operation with hopes of escalating to the still boutique mark of 20,000. He nervously pours his shiraz to the Australian audience apologising only for it to be quite decent; very young but not a badly made wine at all. For all money we’re nine friends around a small table in a setting to die for, the idea of being a tourist seems crass and misplaced here, hospitality remains a strong Argentinian trait thus far and we rush to the welcoming embrace.

Hospitality does come at a cost though, we farewell Nico and stumble back to the cars in anything but straight lines. Not surprisingly after ten hours of measured but consistent wine drinking we’re all in fine fettle. Charlie and I are in the car with our new Argentinian mates watching Laf dance in the back of the ute in front of us like a drag queen in Mardi Gras. Learning how to call Laf a bitch in Spanish we hurl good unatured abuse to receive a bare bum in return; alcohol is to blame. Upon arrival our friends have also learnt some English, ‘Laf, you’re the queen of La Constancia’ in perfectly accented english is the cry. Alcohol is still to blame.

The three bottles we brought up the hill don’t last particularly long among six and it’s Anglo-Spanish charades in the sitting room to finish off the evening. On a journey that started with civilised fishing and soon kicked into a culinary bonanza we set off to bed with twelve hours of drinking up both wine and lifestyle. At lunchtime we were Masterchefs in the popular sense but in truth this whole day has been a masterful concoction. For an hour or two we created food but for much longer we balanced the elements of friends, laughs, culture, romance, new experiences and gluttony. In this more complete sense I can declare without ego that we indeed are Masterchefs. Our creation of an Argentinian delicacy has the critics raving and shan’t be forgotten anytime soon. Salud.

February 1, 2015

While you were working – Indulgence of a kind, La Estancia, Argentina

With our few days at La Constancia planned out to take in as much as we could of what was on offer, one item on the menu was always going to be climbing Champaqui, pronounced chum-pa-kee. The relatively small range of mountains of Cordoba is where we are situated and Champaqui is the highest point in the whole province of Cordoba, not all that far from here. With the opportunity to climb to the highest point of anywhere it seems like it would be a sin to not give it a shot, and today is the day, we’re going to the top with Laf and Barns. Although the total altitude isn’t all that much to crow about (2884m) the hike from La Constancia is, we need to climb 1400m in altitude and back again in one day, a fair slog in anyone’s book.

Although it’s not a technical climb it’s insisted that we take a guide, Saulo, another of the kung-fu crew from nearby, the masters disciple as it were. With an early breakfast down the hatch we’re off and commencing our stretches with the guide that look more like 80’s aerobics moves but who’s looking, we get into it. And we’re off, the climbs bolts right up more or less from the start, this is going to be a long day. Apparently we’re going into puma territory and although sightings are rare we’re hopeful.

Early on in the trek we don’t quite see a puma but we do see another snake. As calm as can be, Saulo wanders back, traps the snake under his staff and flings it off down the mountain, casually waving goodbye to the flying reptile to display that we are now safe. That was pretty cool. The path we’re on winds up the spine of a ridge giving us commanding views to the west, north and south. In the shade of the mountain for the early hours we look upward to a blanket of cloud overflowing the higher ridge like a flowing, rolling blanket, these mountains looking more and more grand as we ascend.

On and on, this path made for horses is consistent, unrelenting and ever upward. Regularly glancing back we see the cluster of buildings that make up La Constancia transforming from homestead to speckle in the distance as the hours roll on. And ever onward we climb, the mental tricks of any good mountain start to play on us, is this ever going to end? Every time we reach a peak we are greeted by yet another ascent before us in place of where we hoped to see clear sky.

After nearly three hours of trying to keep up with our kung-fu machine our path slowly loses some of it’s biting upward slope, flattening into a passage between two peaks. Finally a respite and granted wishes of clear sky ahead. We make our way across a small glen before stopping for a rest. Saulo decides to show off and stalks a horsefly, the slow motion shadowing ends on a flash of his hand and the fly caught alive first go, this guy is a beast. He also pulls up a few handfuls of a plant under the lee side of a huge boulder, apparently an aphrodisiac; good to know. Barnaby is keen for the fly so he can use it fishing and duly kills another before realising that Saulo didn’t kill the fly in line with his buddhist beliefs, oops.

And on we trudge, our oasis of blue sky was but a temporary reprieve, we tack left with most of the altitude gained already, dare we say home stretch? On a road for a short time we plod along feeling simultaneously like we’ve nailed the worst of the climb yet with plenty still to go. It’s pretty tough going here but would we have it any other way? Of course not. Gazing downward from a high peak knowing that you have climbed that whole way is pure gratification. From the base of the slope these mountains seem to lack some of the enormity of grander areas but from above the effect couldn’t be more opposite; sheer, imposing and grand. This never gets boring.

On flagging legs we clamber up the final rocky pinnacle of Champaqui, turning back was never an option. If we’d left here without making it to the top we’d have felt like we didn’t really see all that we could see. And we can see a lot. Gazing eastward now we have an unobstructed view to the world beyond, clearly seeing the range we drove over when driving from Cordoba city. The range smoothly rises from the plains to its peak and retreats again, an image akin to a grainy photo of the Loch Ness monster. We even get the sight of eagles soaring on the thermal winds and this time they’re below us, this perspective is always disorienting and awe inspiring, this relatively small mountain playing a lot bigger than its altitude suggests.

We pose for a few photos on a small platform at the highest point, Saulo showing off with an awesome kung-fu pose perched on the precipitous stage. Our legs know little difference in the work but now the path turns downward. On and on. About nine hours after setting off we literally limp back across our familiar wooden bridge back to home, a day of exploration marked with soreness and fatigue. I wonder who will be the first to suggest gin?

It is with no great surprise that we all feel thoroughly satisfied with our efforts, Champaqui has been scaled, no puma sighting doesn’t dampen the sense of achievement at all. We’re in a hot spot of luxury and indulgence yet we put ourselves through pain to get to the highest point. Why is it that we do this? It blissfully remains an unknown mystery of the human condition; higher, faster, stronger a constant desire. We have done nothing out of the box in terms of human capability, we’ve just walked up a hill yet the feeling of need to do it is an unavoidable instinctive urge. In a way we are indulging I guess, indulging in a need that is not commonly associated with indulgence, going further, bigger and higher. How nice it is to be able to climb to the peak of a mountain and call it indulgence, a perspective that only travel can grant and one we’re happy to indulge in.

January 31, 2015

While you were working – A perfect day, La Constancia, Argentina

The soundtrack to this morning is that iconic Lou Reed song, perfect day, an old classic that never gets tired, with no tricks, bells or whistles, it’s timeless because it’s simply good. Jumping into this Argentinian ranch stay concept we’re flooded with a similar approach to our days; no tricks or games, just loaded with all that has made humans smile since we were able to smile. For sheer unclouded simplicity we are blessed with a perfect deviation from our everyday that is comfortingly not all that unfamiliar. We have jumped into what we are always happy to tout as the ideals for a happy life but all too often we deny ourselves or are distracted away from. In short we’re walking the talk and not needing to talk anywhere near as much.

Ticking box number one we wake up when the slowly rising sun and the songs of birds decide, not to the call of an abrasive alarm clock. Even on this trip we often need to keep to a timeline, sometimes even more so than usual, but not today, today is for doing things the way we always dream of doing them. Strangely enough this doesn’t equate to sleeping in very much, we’re up and about to the rhythm of the world around us, more aware of whats outside the doors and less concerned about fitting into fabricated structure. Not to sound like a completely crazy hippie, but I will, the world around us and our own bodies are telling us plenty, on days like this we are able to hear it a bit more clearly.

Box number two is up, Laf and Barnaby are off fly fishing for trout while we adopt the simple approach of enjoying our surrounds and reading books. As we sit in the grounds we can’t help but take a minute to think of just how perfect this is, what a start to a day. With Laf and Barns coming back triumphantly having caught a second trout for our Thursday lunch we call an end to the morning of laziness to head off to lunch. How many times have we all said in the midst of a busy stressful day that we’d like to just sit and read a book? Allow me to confirm that it is indeed all it’s cracked up to be.

Post lunch we wander a little down the road to jump on horseback to head off for a little ride and explore some more area of the ranch. Apart from as a very small boy this is Laf’s first time on a horse so he’s a little nervously excited but gets into the swing of it pretty quickly. We clop down the road for a bit before jaunting off into the rolling hills. We are seriously going off road here as the horses have to negotiate a path that is anything but smooth. Jumping down deep steps and launching up rough inclines the horses are sweating up a storm and we’re definitely getting our moneys worth. Stopping to taste some wild walnuts straight from the tree we hear a distinct sound, yes, that’s the sound of box number three being ticked.

All a little excited we return to the ranch and we get straight into ticking box number four; what ‘perfect day’ would be complete without a massage? The bizarrely awesome feature of this massage is that it’s done by a shaolin monk kung fu master. No, I’m not joking. In a small house just one ridge north an Argentinian kung fu master who has studied in China for five years lives in these mountains with two disciples. This juxtaposition of cultures is bewildering and perfect, were in an Argentinian ranch soaking up all the culture that it offers; and more. This is a feature that five star resorts would struggle to add, here though it’s just what happens to be occurring locally; amazing.

Floating out of the massage room we return to the amazing surrounds for wine and gin; life really is fantastic at times. We wile away the afternoon ticking box number five as slowly as possible to the setting sun. On lawn chairs crowded into a small circle we catch up on everything and nothing, the world around us bursting with life of all forms taking in a commanding view of the blazing skies farewell to a day that few could script but all want to live. Box number five isn’t so much ticked as smashed, when it comes to a perfect setting to relax and float back to earth we’ve nailed it.

Soon enough it’s dinner time and time for box number six to step up. Over a couple more bottles of wine we soak up time with close friends to the tune of laughs, hearty conjecture and when Barnaby is involved, bitchy wit. Yes box number six is truly the best for last, when asking just about any sane free thinking person what’s most important to them you’d expect to find family and friends pretty high on the list. Any perfect day wouldn’t be complete without our family in each other and friends like these. If we set our imaginations to describe a perfect day, the boxes would have been set, and now they’ve been ticked well and truly. As the song goes, ‘it’s such a perfect day, I’m glad I spent it with you’: It is and we did.

January 30, 2015

While you were working – Lords of the manor, La Constancia, Argentina

A funny phenomenon can develop in the minds of travellers, a sort of limitation in the midst of a journey that is so much about removing bounds and barriers. With a limited amount of funds diligently scraped together over years of planning the world becomes ones oyster, we can go anywhere, see anything, experience all that is unavailable to a rigid existence. Yet this mentality of open space and limitless opportunity has one very distinct and clear limitation; cash. It’s irony in its purest form, the escape from all things commercial remains shrouded and undermined by the epitome of what we’re getting away from. Of course the journey is an education as much as an escape, training ourselves to learn to value and be fuelled by things that don’t need as much of that boa constrictor named money. What is so often distant though is a dose of simple luxury.

Of course it’s not truly the luxury that is distant, we could stay at a five star hotel tomorrow if we truly wanted. But that isn’t what we want, the acceptance of it is what remains distant. We drop ourselves into crappy hostels, sleep on overnight busses and pass up attractions in favour of living the life; compromise on all but food, never the food. The reason behind this equally odd and obvious behaviour is vague in the extreme, that intangible desire to scrape the barnacles off ones hull, those things that we’ve become dependant on but somehow feel we don’t need. Is it that the barnacles are just unnecessary or are they actually slowing the ship down? Case in point; I’m typing this on my iPad holding blue-tooth keyboard and will soon find some WIFI to sent it to the world. So where do the barnacles of technology finish and the fundamentally human need for communication and expression begin? A grey gap between corrosive and restorative that is not always as easy to define as we might think.

It is in this gulf of grey space for the grey matter that much of the crux of this journey resides, philosophical ponderings that would be far less if an answer was ever refined. The ever present lefty, pinko hippie within both of us has no intention of adopting a protest lifestyle; body odour, tie dyed clothing and veganism aren’t, nor ever have been on the agenda. What is firmly on the agenda is navigating with a more open mind the broader range of choices available to us, services and trappings are often the same thing. As much as we’ve always been conscious of maintaining a hand on the tiller of the simple life we have definitely in the past fallen into the trap of giving far too much to the the trappings that remove so much. Acquiescence to these trappings were indeed the catalyst for this journey.

So with this conscious thought on balance and appreciation for our human condition we plunge into our version of luxury. In truth it’s pretty much luxury in anyones books but blissfully short on unnecessary trappings. In place of marble foyers, pools with a bar attached and in-ceiling sound systems we find gardens, charming old buildings and a natural orchestra of birds, running water and wind in the trees. There’s beautiful antique furnishings and trimmings, comfy beds and great food making this just the perfect type of luxury. As with Sayta ranch we’re finding that La Constancia is not as far from the budget as we would have thought, showing us that what we thought was our limited range of affordability is not so limited after all. The difference here is that we just need to look and explore a little, not lazily fork out for the first and most convenient option spoon fed to us.

Our first full day calls for a bit of a walk. We trundle up the small but powerful stream that runs right beside the hacienda. Over rocks and waterfalls we weave our way up through the small forest planted by the hacienda owners family in years past to the more open spaces of the mountains above. The walk is all beautiful views, imposing mountains and pure water. Charlie and I do step right over a snake on the path that is quite poisonous, oops; and our guide kills another on the path further up, it seems these mountains are quite alive. Followed by the house dog bounding up the hill and loving every minute of it we walk for only a few hours to arrive at a great waterfall and swimming hole. This is the life. A short swim, lunch and we’re happy little campers living the type of luxury that we’re learning to appreciate more and more.

A short stop for another swim on the way down and a final dip in the hacienda pool upon return signals nap time to soak up this place. We emotionally sink into the luxury and allow the memories of stale smells and crappy beds to fade into insignificance. At La Constancia we are thrown into a conflict of luxury that we’ve shied away from that encompasses all the elements that we have been chasing. It’s a trip into the mode of a time gone by granting all the trimmings we could want with a distinct lack of those faux luxuries that do little to improve our lives. It begs the question, is it just a condition of our time or is it just that many of us aren’t savvy enough to avoid the traps? For now we’re lords of the manor and completely un-conflicted about it.

January 29, 2015

While you were working – Road Trippin’, Cordoba Province, Argentina

It’s a summer thing really, a road trip; windows down, crammed into a car that is always a little too small trying to make the chocolate last and throwing far too many voices into the navigation pot. We’re off to somewhere in Cordoba province to stay at a ranch, exactly where in Cordoba we haven’t quite nailed down just yet. That sort of detail is not required till the last possible minute of course, today we venture off into the wild and in some way it’s nice not to know exactly where.

First of all though it’s necessary to get out of our hostel and to the airport to pick up the hire car. The hangovers from the big night have faded faster than the memories will so it’s farewell Cordoba city, welcome countryside. We pick up the car and get into the routine of mundane tick-boxing before we’re off. Laf and I are squished in the back and in charge of music, Barnaby is at the helm and Charlie is co-pilot, the A-team is into gear. In the tangle of getting out of town it’s on for young and old with Laf and Charlie toggling between a map, written directions and GPS, it’s a recipe for disaster. we manage somehow to get out of town with only a few small detours and U-turns, how we manage this so smoothly no one can work out but Charlie will take credit I’m sure. Victory in anyones books, go team. We joked that four intelligent adults should surely be able to read a map. At this stage our confidence is still there but not anywhere near as brazen as it had been.

Getting out of town unsurprisingly reveals a landscape that is as expansive as it is rugged. Distant open plains are intermittently spoiled by jagged rock mountains, the small range here rising up to form a sort of plateau of rock, rock and more rock. Although the altitude here is nowhere near enough to be above the tree-line we see precious few trees of any height at all, the plant-life here is high alpine in appearance transported into a realm it doesn’t belong. This openness gives our drive an unspoiled view of the forever on, the open expanse stops for no one out here and plays the perfect backdrop for this voyage into anywhere.

We do eventually reach the mountains and start our ascent upwards on the winding ribbon revealing great views at every turn as the world drops off the side of the road. The mountains here aren’t particularly huge, nor are they trifling, a great sense of grandeur that doesn’t at all impose on the sense of freedom and getaway that a road trip engenders. We even manage to get a condor sighting from the car which is a huge bonus, the giant aeroplane/ bird soaring close enough above to see the iconic wing shape and markings clearly.

And of course, we need to stop for lunch, empanadas goes the call from the hungry gallery. We stop in a small town in the middle of god knows where to tackle that road tripping pastime of finding food however you can. Of course this is Argentina and the place that sells empanadas doesn’t have any empanadas left, this country is really good at this. We do settle for a local salami which we take a few slices of in the car, it’s fatty as hell and delicious. We eventually scoff down some pasta and burgers at a small rest stop bar attached to a petrol station, glamorous of course. On two fronts this is not only essential but apt, it is Argentina and if something, anything is open then you take the chance and a road trip would not be right without a dodgy meal along the way.

Sadly all good things come to an end and we make it to San Javier, yes it turns out that’s where we were going all along to ascend up the mountain to La Estancia. The dirt road seems to have stopped being a dirt road sometime in the 80’s and now 4km of this heavily eroded track is all that stands between us and declaring victory. Our poor little 1.6L Renault doesn’t cope so well, scraping, struggling, spinning tyres and stalling a few times. All passengers have to get out and walk a few times even need to put in a joint effort push to get it up the hill. We’re not sure if the little yet-to-be-named car is going to make it at all. This was not in the brochure.

We eventually do make it and we arrive to a picture of heaven in the middle of nowhere. Partway up the side of the bare rocky mountain is a forested outcropping that surrounds our hacienda called, La Constancia. This is a working ranch of 1,000 acres, similar in many ways to Sayta where we stayed just last week, we could get used to this ranch stay type of thing. Where Sayta was all horses, rustic charm, gaucho lifestyle and punishing hospitality, La Constancia is definitely a more upper crust approach. Manicured lawns, gracious gardens, and elegant buildings surround more spaces to relax and read books on vintage furniture than you could poke a stick at. This dash of unapologetic luxury a vast extraction from our usual travelling mode and shamelessly well received. I’ll even look past the profusion of Agapanthas, Crocosmia and Hydrangeas; weeds in my book only saved by the grand trees, figs, peaches and flowering Dahlias everywhere. We’re on the other side of the world and plunged into a garden of all the plants we know.

The road trip is declared a winner and we finish off the afternoon with a well earned beer and an attempt at fly fishing. We’ve all never done this before and it’s great fun, Laf the only lucky one to snare a trout despite plenty of bites. Fly fishing proves to be a definite art but it all ends in shambles as Laf bumps the delicate rod onto a rock and it snaps, that’s the end of that. Alongside friends from home in a garden setting that is all too familiar we sink into a piece of rural luxury that mocks the city life. With the road trip officially over the jury has returned: Argentinian country is declared the winner, the road trip is a success and we are all found guilty of the sin of indulgence. The defendants are all completely unrepentant.

January 28, 2015

While you were working – Welcome intruders, Cordoba, Argentina

After being completely spent yesterday we crashed early, unable to stay awake for the long awaited catch up with our mates from home, Laf and Barnaby. We do however have a morning rendezvous that we’re chomping to get to. Oddly we have a notable degree of excitement unusual for a meeting with such long time and close friends. This journey of detachment from our real lives is ready for some ghosts from the world we have temporarily left behind.

Over coffee that Laf and Barnaby have described as dirty water from a mans armpit, very apt sadly, we catch up on all things the other side of the Pacific. In truth we’re all a little excited and the conversation holds the excited tinge of kids in a playground, it’s so good to see friends from home. First stop after armpit water is the Mercado (market), obligatory in any new city. Fresh produce abounds in this all too indicative site of local culture. The Mercado is nothing to really write home about, it’s small-ish for a city this size and contains a fairly limited array of food options. We do however find our souvenirs to send back, knives. A carving set and two of our very own gaucho style steak knives are the real Argentinian deal and we can’t resist. We’ve essentially bought nothing from this trip as we can’t afford any more weight but a necessary sending home of camping gear in a couple of months means we are sending something anyway.

Over arabic food the school-yard excitement returns to the conversation to pass away the early afternoon. After lunch we get into our first blue dollar exchange, the black market currency that is everywhere here. With the Argentinian peso so unstable, locals pay up to 40% more for hard US currency for their savings rather than putting it into banks. So with three in a small boarded up room and me standing guard outside we substantially grow our wealth as easy as that. This surely can’t end well for the Argentinian economy but we’re not complaining now, just need to get our hands on as much US currency as possible.

The Argentinian phenomenon of closing down forces siesta as the city grinds to a halt. This phenomenon is really quite amazing, this surely can’t be an efficient way to run any business. It seems though that there’s a huge portion of the Argentinian economy that is simply happy to do it the way it was always done rather than pushing for improvement. We hear anecdotal stories all over the place and two weeks in to this country I’m finally starting to permit myself to say that commercially Argentina could do with trading in some bureaucracy for simple efficiency. I guess in relation to it’s neighbour Chile, it falls behind in terms of being organised and progressive. On the flip-side our time in Argentina has been culturally more lively so I guess it’s not a closed debate. What is a closed debate is the indisputably annoying habit of closing shops when you most need them. Even a restaurants own opening times can’t be trusted, astounding doesn’t begin to describe it. Cafes closed early morning and mid afternoon and wine bars closing at 10pm on a Saturday night is just baffling.

A fantastic time catching up with mates of course must continue on, we have our first go at local timing. What this means is drinks at eight, dinner at ten, a few more drinks at midnight and go out at two. This is seriously the normal thing, siesta through the afternoon pushes everything back, I guess there’s no point just doing a days work in one go now is there? It’s on this point that we’re tending to get out of the towns and cities in Argentina. Cordoba shows glimpses of entering a new progressive world, and it partially has, but the strings of the past haven’t been cut just yet.

When in Rome though, we have a crack at our second gay bar of the trip. Unsurprisingly it is completely in line with a gay bar anywhere else. On merits it’s a terrible bar, barely a redeeming feature; except for the show. Imagine two elderly men, add copious amounts of cosmetic surgery, stretch them in alligator skin and get them to dance like they’re in an 80’s film clip wearing small tight dresses. Comical value that is, as Barnaby calls it, on another level. It borders the embarrassing, glances by the shameful and lands entirely into the hilarious. Now sober it’s hard to articulate what about this environment was fun, but an undoubtedly great time was had by all. 5:30am, disgracefully drunk, box ticked. The most welcome of intruders have made a nice visit to a new town something far more than it otherwise would have been, strangely it’s taken inspiration from home to throw us into the timeline of Argentina, welcome intruders indeed.

January 27, 2015

While you were working – Another capital? Cordoba, Argentina

It’s 24 hours later, an overnight bus done and we’re still not hungry. We’re still probably not sober yet either but that’s an implicit characteristic of visiting Sayta ranch. Somewhat annoyingly our tenth overnight bus thus far warranted a splurge on the ‘cama’ seats, the South American bus version of aircraft business class; and we’re not able to truly get into it. Yes the bigger seats make for a nicer sleep but the alcohol and food on offer all gets turned down, we have bodies that have launched into eating disorders but with minds that cruelly lack the supportive dysfunction. For now we’re beached whales and little more. The ritual ensues: information desk, map, bad coffee, toilet and we’re delivered as is the new day into a new town and a new part of our journey. Cordoba, come at us.

The bubbling excitement of being in a new town lasts for as long as the night bus fatigue remains distant, which is to say about one block of walking. This time we’re not too drained but there’s absolutely no bouncing out of an overnight bus, ever; maintaining coherent thought above a gentle haze of fatigue is considered an unquestionable win. Or is this just what it is to be a functioning alcoholic?

On first impressions Cordoba bustles with a little more life than Salta, not a surprise from Argentinas second largest city. Our short walk into town sees a bit of the South American phenomenon that Argentina embraces in full flight when it comes to urban areas, near enough is often good enough. There seems to be a distinct division between spaces and buildings that have public attention and those that don’t, not a shade between. The often pristine maintenance and presentation of historical buildings and plazas of note give way to a sprawl that seriously needs a good lick of paint. This pervasive pre-decay aesthetic so effectively eradicates feelings of pride, innovation and welcome. In it’s place arrives a gritty latin lack of narcissism and superficial restriction, an unspoken battle between opposing intangibles on a tipping point that no one seems able to really refine. So which is Cordoba; vibrant and pulsing in the vein of Havana or Valparaiso; or similar to Lima, stagnant and declining?

As usual we have a few hours to kill so it’s the Plaza San Martin, a gracious large square flanked by numerous beautiful buildings to host the bustling population. This description of a gorgeous urban space really does become a copy/paste situation in South America, a relic of Spanish colonialism that thankfully lasts and thrives. The concept of the central square in South America is a positive one and I can’t help but consider the social spin offs, these squares are always central, well used and busy. At home we have public spaces but totally without the congregational social weight that squares and plazas have here. Social gathering and interaction is not limited to homes, clubs and bars, all indoor and privately owned spaces but thrust into a realm of universal accessibility, diversity and community. A societal conscience that abandons secrecy and exclusion as a mode, a warm nicety in anyones language.

What cannot be called a nicety is the coffee; water water everywhere yet not a drop to drink, as the saying goes. We see the ocean before us in the shape of more cafes than the proverbial stick can poke at but the now ritual post-bus caffeine gathering is reaping rewards of little but cats-bum faces and haughty tut-tutting. Tea in Cordoba it seems. After a few train smashes enough is enough and it’s time to go see if we can check in early before heading back out. A small venture into town reveals some beautiful buildings, great public spaces and most inspiringly some new developments, an ever welcome sign of a society wanting to progress, wanting to be better tomorrow than they are today.

We have two of our best friends arriving in Cordoba tonight, Laf and Barnaby, the first visitors from home we’ve had this whole time and we can’t wait. Before heading out to the mountains we have a few days in town to see if Cordoba can break what is developing as an Argentinian urban truism. We’ve encountered relatively bland and bureaucratic towns surrounded by regions that epitomise everything that lives big in Argentinian life. This juxtaposition is interesting and contrary to the notion of cities and towns as capitals. If a city is not a beacon of what makes a region what it is then is it culturally bereft of relevance? We look forward to seeing Cordoba break the shackles or does it slip into regressive pathos.

January 26, 2015

What you’d rather be seeing – Sayta, Salta, Argentina

Sayta Ranch, near Salta, Argentina

Steve and I spent four wonderful days on a Ranch in North west Argentina, riding horses and enjoying the hospitality of Laura, Enrique and Nicho.

Below are some of our favourite pictures from our stay.

January 25, 2015

While you were working – No apology necessary, Sayta, Argentina

Such a strange arrangement of circumstances, when similarity repeated refuses to become tedious, instead becomes all the more enthralling. Welcome to Sayta where days and nights roll together in a barely perceptible tidal ebb and flow, the hypnotic rhythm predictable and all the more entrancing for being so. There is asado for lunch every day so far yet, we look forward to our lunchtime binge at the hands of the unobjectionably invasive hospitality. Horse riding is the pastime rolling on a every high tide so welcomely; far from a tempestuous ocean this captured lake gently rolls with history granting little in the way of surprises.

We have learnt a great deal about the subtlety of the life here from our short visit; so much more we don’t know a welcome distance from a yearning for information. We’ll take what we know as a treat and fret little of what we miss. Maybe we’re learning more than we know.

One such theme here is the gaucho, the horsemen. Or so we thought. Gaucho it seems is more of a cultural segment of society, similar to how we might term farmers, a demographic that denotes an all encompassing lifestyle from birth onwards. The gauchos here are exponents of the simple life, the masters of the art we so fleetingly glimpse. Ever so polite, a gaucho finds it distasteful to touch a woman even to help her on her horse, old fashioned propriety instilled in a culture of ever such over-brazen machismo. So what’s the central theme to the gaucho lifestyle? The horse of course. They rustle cattle and sheep but everything is done form horseback, if you don’t ride it’s hard to call yourself a gaucho, actually basically impossible. Mostly applied to men it is however universal, the total community is gaucho, one does not become a gaucho.

This ideal slips into the frame of what we see here, traditions are simple, firmly held and nurtured with no small slant of romanticism. Evidenced by the endless work done with the horses; what might seem like playing and trickery forms part of being a gaucho, an expression of prowess akin to a university degree or a sporting ability. Not just riding but being skilled in all matters of horsemanship is a well of pride and identity, even to the casual observer this becomes obvious. The tilted beret, the fine cotton shirt, baggy trousers and the delicate small slippers seem to be the uniform, all suave cowboy dash hiding a calm, confident shyness that belies the latin stereotype.

From all I can tell whether you’re a gaucho or not it’s the gaucho lifestyle that creeps it’s way into quite a bit around here. The open fire cooking reeks of everything outdoors and rural, the dress is functional with little acquiescence to fashion and all flavours in between. Today we even sit down to lunch at the table with three settings sporting an ornate knife similar to that we’ve seen tucked into the gauchos belts. It turns out that the locals here cut their meat with their own knife, beautiful and powerful stamps of identity utilised in the ritual that seems so central to life here, eating meat. I jokingly place Laura’s knife at my setting to tease, in good humour it is immediately moved; one does not use another’s knife. As a rare treat we’re offered to use one of Enrique’s (the father of the house) personal knives from his collection, can you guess the response? We gleefully eat our meat with beautiful dagger like knives dripping with history as much as the asado juices. This is a real treat, one was a gift to Enrique for his 60th birthday and the other was crafted by a friend as a gift many years ago. There’s not a single genetic marker of gaucho in us but for this lunch we feel a little slice of gaucho and we’re lucky for it.

Not surprisingly as is the rhythm here we go for a short ride after lunch. It’s a similar route to g our first ride but who really cares, when in Rome as they say. The large group that has been staying here all left before we even got up so the peace and quiet seems fitting, just right. We’ve gotten to know the guys working here now so it feels more like hanging out with mates, not that they ever felt like ‘staff’ at all. We hang about and chat, or not chat, as the will takes; the rhythm of the lifestyle here is the only signpost anyone needs. Life’s propriety needs no etiquette books or social rules, it seems like it takes you on a ride and guides you gleefully to all that nourishes, if you realise it or not.

Who could have imagined a little nap after riding followed by wine before dinner? I swear I never saw that one coming: OK, I lie, we knew exactly what was coming and we buzzed gleefully towards it as moths to a flame. So what are the words an outsider might put to being a gaucho? I start with the term adrenaline junkie; our lives so often crammed by the pursuit for disturbance of the norm as a lift, an elevation. Be it an adrenaline junkie or otherwise we all seek these welcome disturbances, the new highs to disrupt the mundane. Winston Churchill famously said: ‘the best thing about being right is that you never have to apologise’. From the fleeting observer it seems like the gaucho lifestyle soundly boasts the luxury of being right, life is not at all tedious, therefore needs no disturbance. Famous words from a giant of history, from a culture so opposed, laid perfectly upon those who need not make any apology. Salud!

January 24, 2015

While you were working – Back in the saddle, Sayta, Argentina

The far too brief handover from dinner to breakfast takes place over the typically pithy sweet bread and tea; this new day starting barely distinct from the previous. Nursing a healthy dose of withdrawals from our continuous alcohol lifestyle we are bizarrely not offered wine for breakfast from the punishing hospitality at Sayta. More wine than we need and not nearly as much as they want is served. Today though we dive deeper into the embracing sentiment that is the intangible of lifestyle here, it’s a full day on horses into the mountains that dominate the views here. Safe to say I’m very excited about getting into the mountains while my back side is terrified of the saddle abuse to come. The mountains win, yesterdays little ride proves good preparation for a bigger jaunt we can’t wait for.

We’re lumped in with a much bigger group so there ends up being about 30 or so in the equine convoy heading for the hills. Circuiting beautiful fields and tobacco plantations our hodge podge group takes in the vistas in the only manner that seems appropriate here, by horse. The big bonus for me today is that Odin, my horse, is far more gentle than the raging hormonal bitch that I had yesterday. He’s a little slow at times but he distinctly lacks the attitude that makes this very inexperienced rider’s day far from the enjoyable time it should be. The big banishment of uncertainty comes after a short pee stop. The group goes off quite a way ahead and it seems that these horses are pretty well trained to go together. The second I get back on he bolts up the now empty road at a full gallop with no gaucho in sight, holy shit. Passing the initial shock I get about 150m of good gallop and by the end of it I just want to let it fly; any sense of trepidation thoroughly washed aside by a notably racing pulse. Arriving back to the group a gaucho looks a little concerned and asks me if I’m ok. Couldn’t be better seńor.

Winding our way to the mountains the roads eventually close in around us and the climb begins. We usually do this type of thing on foot so this is a real bonus, what have we been doing all these years. In no time at all we arrive at our stop, a rustic patched together couple of buildings border a small grass field, even this simple structure seems hugely developed for this place. There’s a small stream running either side of the lawn and the horses are all tied up to the intoxicating smell of Argentinian barbecue. That’s right, there’s a heavy smell of charring meat on a grill, the team from Sayta have made it up to the mountains to prepare our lunch. Could this be any better? No, I thought not.

In this mountain escape we make our way into an iron roofed structure with only two walls to find a banquet table set up and huge piles of meat sizzling away on the old brick barbecue. It really deserves a double take, this location, this food: outrageous. We wanted to jump deep into this Argentinian rural lifestyle and although we’re seeing the upsides without the down it feels so authentic, our usually sharp radars for plastic tourist crap are oddly quiet. And we gorge on salad, potatoes, meat and of course wine; being sober is undoubtedly bad for ones morals so it’s comforting to elevate ones propriety. As yesterday we’re catching a moment of magic and trying to hold it for as long as we can, the ingredients here coalesce into perfection with a little lay down by a stream; can it last forever?

Just to throw more layers of culture onto the cake here the gauchos show off with a bunch of horse tricks. It’s like the perfect setting for a real life version of the old school ‘El Coballo Blanco’ show. It just keeps getting better.

Our journey back winds further up the mountain welcomely over far rougher tracks. It’s a bit more of a challenging ride and after saying goodby to equine uncertainty it’s genuinely fun. Still floating from the amazing lunch we’ve just had the ass isn’t sore, the views are fantastic and this journey into another lifestyle just continues unchecked. Charlie goes for a good little gallop taking on all the sexy man-from-snowy-river persona available looking like quite a pro. That’s my one ladies, back off. And I’m only partially flippant, Laura at the ranch even calls me a bitch for telling her she can try her hardest to consummate her love for Charlie.

After seven hours in the saddle we don’t so much ride back, we float back on a high from all things Argentina. It’s not a great surprise that we are forced to have tea upon our return, followed by wine; it seems some things don’t change and thankfully so. Again this wheel turns, the Argentinian day rolls along on a rhythm refined by generations past and enjoyed by generations present. Swimming in a soup of simplicity we forget the constant companions of WiFi, Facebook, email and music; we’re living the populist philosophy of ‘does technology make us happy’? On first impressions I’m ready to throw the iPad in the river.