We are sitting here on the verandah, the night before the 9 hour drive back to the big city. The crickets are singing, and we have spent our time here outdoors, as we are now. It’s like our own home, especially so now that Diana has left to tackle a problem of drought on one of her other estancias in the sierras of Northern Cordoba (500kms north). So we have the keys to the very grand front door, the run of the house and control of the maid’s “bell” and the 2 maids. Ant is eyeing up the beautiful Argentinian silver as we speak! We have had some real gaucho times – each day the riding improves, Ant’s cattle herding skills are coming along nicely, we have been introduced to the intricasies of the “mate rituals” – mate is the local non alcoholic brew of herbs and tepid water drunk from a communal gourd – a national obsession. We did this at the end of our 4x4 trip of the huge estancia and a lesson in modern agricultural crop rotation and animal husbandry, which was fascinating. It’s really brought home the complexities of food production and thinking about the quality and source of what we eat – corned beef is off the menu forever! However, what we have not thought about since being here is the sheer quantity. We have eaten our way through a breakfast, a 3 course lunch, full on afternoon teas, pre dinner cocktails and nibbles, then a 3 course dinner with copious quantities of Malbec Latitude 33 wine every day – and all this for £38 per night all inclusive (and no need to wear a horrible wristband). But at least we knew where it all came from. We also spent time with the gauchos and the local vet in la manga, spraying the cattle against insects, and also measuring their nether regions assessing their breeding potential. We also found ourselves riding shotgun on the back of a pick up in the pitch dark, clutching shotguns hunting vizcachas across acres of potholed ground with a searchlight. The gorgeous Diego, chief gaucho and local hunk, was our driver. His macho image and driving style was severely damaged by wedging the front end of the pickup in the huge vizchaca hole (1 metre across and the same deep), necessitating a rapid disembarkation, much revving and to-ing and fro-ing. We never did get to shoot the vizchacha – they had had their revenge on us after all!
Footnote to selves, check that travel insurance covers such activities!
Footnote to selves, check that travel insurance covers such activities!
