Pastries and Paragliding

Prep for cordoba

I needed clean clothes immediately. I am so used to having a pretty much unlimited stash of clothes with me that I hadn’t considered that my upcoming trip to Cordoba would require an advance of clean clothes. So, I got up early Thursday (my bus ticket booked for Thursday night), and took my clothes to the laundry place 3 blocks away. The guy recognized me as soon as I walked in as the hot mess that had gotten her laundry done their once before. Knowing that I can’t really communicate in Spanish, he clearly lowered his expectations of our conversation. I had a statement prepared. I tried to explain, in Spanish, that I needed these clothes today. He replied, that they would be done by 1pm. However, I have class on Thursdays from 11-1 & 4:30-7:30. Typically, I hang out and do homework in between classes. I asked if they were open until 8 or 8:30. He shrugged and was pretty noncommittal. Explaining that “tengo clase hasta? a las siete y media”. He kissed me on the cheek as all Argentines do and told me to have a good day at school.

As I was walking sans my dirty socks back to my house, I considered going back in and telling him that there was no oops-get-it-tomorrow. I was peacing out tonight. But, I figured it wasn’t worth the pocket dictionary making a trip out.

Too panicked to let my laundry sit in the shop all day, I ran home in between classes. (No worries, my total cost of public transportation all day was $1.20 USD.) Of course, that guy wasn’t there when I came to pick up my clothes, and only then I realized that he hadn’t given me a receipt like the last time. I guess he really does recognize me. Except he wasn’t there. So, I was trying to explain this to the woman, but it wasn’t working. We resorted to sifting through the bags to find it via recognition of the clothes.

Finally, I found it stowed under a counter. It was labeled, “Americana.”

Post Córdoba

My bus ride to the second largest city in Argentina was wonderful. I was excited to start the trip, well fed with both the dinner my host parents provided and the meal that the nice man on the bus placed on my lap tray. I, like the unknowing tourist that I am, loaded my carryon with crackers, cookies, bottles of water and mints thinking that just in case I get hungry, I’ll survive. I wasn’t hungry until noon the next day. That’s not to say I didn’t eat, though.

By noon the next day, we had check into our lodging, Hostel Tango. It was a quaint little place on a side street of the city and had a meager amount of rooms for travelers to sleep in. I shared quarters with my entire travel group, 4 other girls. We quickly had the entire room with its two bunks and an extra bed draped in clothes and other girly things. Off to explore the city we went. First stop, the bakery.

Two dulce de leche filled pastries later, we venture around plazas and through parks. Went into a cathedral or two, a museum of both modern and classical art, and walked through the pedestrian only streets. The shopping areas were surprisingly busy for a Friday afternoon. Deciding to skip lunch with the boys that were also in Córdoba from our program, we found a fancy Spanish restaurant. It was good, but not great.

We walked through a park that was full of large metal rings. Each ring represented one year in the life of the city and was inscribed with a significant event that occurred that year. It made for some fun pictures!

Then, nap time - and by nap time I mean down time at the hostel which I used to talk to a guy who was in his 5 or 6 month of traveling through South America. He definitely clued me into some good suggestions for where else to hit up in Argentina.

That night, everyone from our hostel feasted in the dining room at an asado, an excuse to eat and drink lots of salad, potatoes and meats, wine and beer. After hanging around with the lovely girls from south London and a couple of tall, but disappointingly un-cute Aussies, we went to a dancing club which has a partnership with the Hostel Tango. We entered free of charge after singing our hearts out on the way there in a taxi. The driver decided to blast oldies Argentine music so we made up words and sang along. Our lyrics included phrases such as, “dos empanadas, por favor”, “donde está el baño”, and “mi amor, Rosa”. I think the later might have actually been what the original rendition entailed.

The inside of the club reminded me of what one of my guidebooks to Argentina mentioned about Córdoba. Truly a “mix of old and new” this old theater welcomed us in a grand entry way with carved pillars and marble floors. It gave off a clear nightclub vibe, however, as it was illuminated with blue neon lights and young Argentines holding liter sized plastic cups of a liquid matching the color of the lights. Ready to dance, we hit the floor and shimmied, swayed, fist pumped, shopping carted and threw our hands up in the air (but just some of the time). We were about to crash when there was a break from the hip hop & Argentine mix when two Flamenco dancer seized the stage. Oh, that reminds me, at one point I was definitely dancing on that stage...

The show was awesome and the audience joined in and formed little squares of four all across the floor. Arms up in a relaxed Y shape, fingers snapping, they looked pretty spiffy.

The next day, we inevitably slept in a bit, but dragged ourselves to the bus station with the promise of hitting up the same bakery for more pastries. We hopped on a rickety little bus headed toward Belgrano, a small German village 2 hours drive south of Córdoba. After we left the city, the drive reminded me much of the drive to Camp TFS, a long windy road through the mountains. There weren’t many trees though, very unlike the Laurel Highlands. The road approached and finally hugged the side of mountain. As we rounded the corner, I saw the most beautiful river in the valley. Its reflection was so clear, I could in detail make out the images of the small town nestled in the watchful mountains. It was nice to watch the water as we wove further and further down to the level of the water. Crossing the dam, we then started an ascent up the other side. The portion of the trip devoted to getting around this place was sizable, but it allowed me to truly appreciate the beauty of the landscape for the first time in a while. I wasn’t rushed.

Downtown Belgrano is about 5 and a half blocks of shops selling Oktober Fest t-shirts and bottle openers. Thankfully, we explored the neighboring streets and found a small crafts fair where locals sell their homemade bowls, cups, jewelry and instruments. A guy from my program that we ran into there had just purchased a gourd guitar. It was long, awkward and very fragile. I haven’t a clue as to how he’s getting that back to the US.

It had been about 2.5 hours since we ate breakfast, so we figured we better eat again. After a lunch of pizza and empanadas from a very nondescript restaurant in the middle of a random shopping center, we walked all up and down the main street, taking our time. Noticing the alarming amount of small gnomes and gremlin looking creatures being touristically sold, we finally broke down and asked someone why they were everywhere. We were informed that each villa has a guardian that is believed to be a gnome-type creature. It’s quite cute actually. For the rest of the weekend, I would see shops all over the western edge of Argentina selling replicas of their area’s protector.

Two separate afternoon snacks later, we headed back to Córdoba for the night. When we arrive, somehow we had managed to work up an appetite. Dinner at midnight it was. With the help of a guidebook, we found a tiny little restaurant within walking distance from our hostel that served very fresh, very delicious Italian food. Not Argentine Italian food like the rest of what I’ve been eating, but good ole homemade creations. I, of course, ordered the gnocchi that was actually spelled ñochi on the menu. (I’m sort of getting use to being thrown for a loop with menus.) It was a trio of brothers that worked in the restaurant, they were all tall, dark and very handsome. If I ever go back to Córdoba, my first stop will be there.

Unfortunately, we packed up and left first thing in the morning to visit La Cumbre, a mountain town about two hours north of the city. It was in this town that with the help of the nice man who worked at the front table (it wasn’t a desk) of our hostel, my housemate, Jenixie and I met with our paragliding instructor, Carlos. Carlos loaded us in the back of his truck and we took off out of town, onto a dirt road, and eventually up a very large mountain.

Words cannot do justice the view I witnessed on the mountain. I encourage you to look at my photos on Picasa, but imagine yourself a panoramic view of endlessness, breeze blowing through your hair and the sunshine gently warming you. I was excited just to be there, but that I got to have an adventure while atop the Andes was the cherry on top.

After a brief speech of instructions, I was attached via harnesses to Jeje, my co-flyer. Yep, he did all the work and I tried not to mess things up for us. My takeoff was smoother than that of my housemates’. A too strong gust of wind took them up and in an uncontrolled moment, the two attached to the parachute, and the aide were all in a pile on the ground and then in the air. She scratched her knuckles, but all in all, it could have been much worse. My takeoff included me bruising the tops of my forearms from the tightness of the straps, but it worked out. The beauty of my surroundings made me forget that I was strapped to a piece of cloth holding me in the sky. Not once was I afraid of the height of the journey or of the seemingly thin straps of my harness. I was excited to be free and flying.

Later, we met up with the girls who didn’t go paragliding at the supermarket where we shopped for our dinner. For a twist, we rented a Cabaña for the night instead of staying in La Cumbre’s one Hostel. La Cumbre is about the size of a postage stamp. There is one taxi driver. His name is also Carlos, and once he’s off work at 8pm, you’re outta luck. Unfortunately, our cabaña was on the outskirt of town, so we had a bit of walking with our groceries. After a fulfilling dinner of scrambled eggs with veggies, garlic bread and what Argentina refers to as bacon, we snuggled up next to the wood burning heater and completed some of our homework due this week. I made a wood run with Jenixie to the side of our house where the small logs are kept. The pile was such that it was in a cut out of the building so I had to stick my hand into a pitch black hole and feel around for wood. Of course, the nearest light cast a shadow on the whole side of the cabaña. I’m mid reach after handing another round of wood back to Jenixie when I hear her gasp and run away. Scared out my mind, I grab a piece of wood and run for it. Apparently, a small dog was coming over to see what we were doing. Jenixie is not a fan of dogs.

Despite our best efforts, at 5am the fire went out and we all woke up and complained about how cold it was, but none of us actually got up to rebuild the fire. We just rolled over pulled the covers tighter and shivered back to sleep. The morning greeted me with no hot water for a shower and leftover garlic bread for breakfast. There are worse things.

We then decided to find Jesus Christ. We packed a couple of PB&J sandwiches and booked it from the cabaña, leaving our bags in reception, which was actually just this family’s home. The son was smoking hot. Kelsey was so taken, in fact, that she needed to remove a layer of pants because of the hot flash. The mama came out at that exact moment and said, “Oh! Su pantalones!” and proceeded to grab Kelsey’s discarded jeans and put them on our pile of bags.

It’s one of my goals in Argentina to never have the mother of a hot man comment on my lack of pants regardless of whether I am wearing leggings.

I guess I should explain the Jesus thing, no? Well, because La Cumbre is a definite Jesuit villa, it has a huge statue of a man with a beard and a robe. Some people may or may not identify with the belief that he is the savior. Regardless of religious affiliation, we wanted to hike, so we did.

On our way down a dirt road, we encountered a dog who ventured from its yard. This is by no means a strange occurrence; there are stray dogs on every street. But, this one followed us all the way to the path that we thought was right. Walked up with us and returned with us when we realized we weren’t headed to Christ, and restarted the correct path with us. It followed us up the entire mountain, pausing when we did to take picture and sat at the top with us for the hour we spent there. We offered it some PB&J once we knew it wasn’t going to leave us anyway, but it wasn’t interested. It did, however, accept an offering of herb infused goat cheese that we also happened to be snacking on. Expensive taste, that dog.

When we returned from the mountain and walked past its house again, it trotted home and didn’t look back.

Returning to Códoba is part of the trip I’d like to forget. We booked our tickets for the 2:50 bus so as to have plenty of time to catch our overnight bus back to BA. Apparently booking a ticket does not at all guarantee a seat and sort of doesn’t even guarantee entry onto the bus. Thankfully, I have learned enough to elbow my way to the front to stick with my group. We all made it on the bus, but none of us could sit for the first hour. I finally scored a sit at the stop in Carlos Paz (it wasn’t a direct bus) after an hour and a half of standing, gripping my bag to my torso and trying with all my might not to blow my chunks. The mixture of seemingly a hundred people in a relatively tiny space and swaying sideways for an extended period of time, was truly trying.

As for the mad dash to board the bus: people are generally very respectful of the lines for the city buses. You don’t mess with the lines. But, everywhere else in the country, it’s a free for all. People just shove to where they need to go.

We arrived at the bus station in Córdoba and were amazed that there were thousands of people waiting all along the terminal’s edge for buses. It was a Monday night, but Dia de San Martin, the most beloved General ever to live in South America. He lead the liberation efforts of most of South America, so we got off a day of classes to commemorate this ordeal.

The ride home wasn’t as fabulous as the way there. I was in the very last seat of the bus, next to the “kitchen”. We were served dinner, but I was more interested in sleeping. Seemingly every time I nodded off into iPod filled blissful sleep, the server would come to the back and bang around the kitchen, startling me to the point of panicking as I awoke.

Arriving at 6:20am allowed us the time to go back to our homes and tap a quick nap and real shower before our classes started for the day. My first on Tuesday is at 11am, so I was relatively well rested throughout my first class, but my feet began to drag before I even started my 6pm class. At dinner, my host father looked at me and told me I looked really tired. I took it as a sign to call it a night early, but that backfired the next day. Because I blew off my homework pretty much all weekend, I had a 2.5 hour block of time the next day to watch a movie for my film class and write a paper on it. Of course, it worked out and I managed to squeeze in a lunch run, but I need to stay on top of my game in my classes. Two of my classes only have 4 other students and the others have totals of 7 or 8. This isn’t 100 Thomas at Penn State, people. Having tiny classes is a huge adjustment for me, something that most other students here are already accustomed to. I know how to conduct myself in a 50 person class, but 5 people is less than an officer’s meeting of any of my clubs.

That’s a strange way to end this post. Let’s try again.

Códoba was a great city that is definitely not Buenos Aires. It’s calmer and relaxing to walk around. This trip was definitely worth every penny and hassle!