Spring Moon of the Southern Cross
Buenos Aires, second night
We were up and out early today, headed for the famed Argentine pampas and watching gauchos gaucho. Boy, what a let down. Turns out the pampas looks just like rural Minnesota, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa and so on. By just like I mean they grow beans (soybeans) and corn, raise cattle and do all this on fenced, flat land—the pampas.
In my mind the pampas have open lands, filled with gently swaying grass, gauchos with sort of flat hats twirling their boleros and bringing down cattle for branding and other matters necessary for rearing livestock.
Instead, the gauchos wear plump hats, scarves and a belt with coins. The more coins, the more gaucho. They also have ponchos. (I did see ponchos in my pampas.) Turns out gaucho means a mestizo, a blend of native South American and Spanish, who lives on the pampas. A country guy as opposed to an urban guy. The gaucho knows how to work the land and ended up managing the estancia’s for the European landowners or serving as ranch hands.
They also take small silver implements about the size of a large fountain pen, ride their horse very fast and insert the implement through a ring hanging from a piece of leather by a cotter pin. The ring is slightly larger than a finger ring so this is a feat of dexterity and good horsemanship. I don’t know what part of cattle rearing it relates to however.
It does relate to the gaucho coming over to the crowd, handing the ring to a lady and taking a kiss in return. Kate was the first woman chosen for a ring and a kiss. She was happy.
A dog, a very happy, tail in the air, prancing dog helped the head gaucho herd his group of ten geldings. This dog worked hard, running, nipping, barking and occasionally jumping up to bite a horse on the nose. He kept them in line.
After the horse wrangling, the ring spearing (penning?) and the women kissing, Kate took the opportunity to ride on a horse. She’s trained in dressage so this was a return to an old love. She looked great heading out to the large riding area. A good seat.
My back, still very painful from yesterday’s tweaking, made jumping into the saddle unappealing.
I took the time to take photographs of the barbecue. This was some barbecue. Low grills were on two foot high legs and extended over some 40 feet long and about three to four feet wide. On them were row after row of chorizo, dead, splayed chickens and several tenderloins of beef, by several I mean thirty or forty. We’re not talking briquets but burning logs. I have pictures.
Lunch involved, as you might imagine, the meat, potatoes, boiled beets, onions and carrots. Very good. All of it. Plus, for the bulk who drank, a lot of vino tinto and vino blanco. As for me, aqua sin gas.
A fokloric show followed. I’ll not tell you my opinion of this because Kate will read this entry.
Oh, ok. I’ll tell. I don’t like these deals where people barter their culture for money in a cheap, sensationalist and mostly bad way. This was one of those in my opinion. So there.
We got back and Kate took a nap. I turned around and went into Buenos Aires on the shuttle, which took me to Florida Street, a pedestrian only shopping area near a large city park.
My purpose in going back was to see the city for a bit at least (I barely left the room yesterday) and to buy some yerba matte. Matte is the national drink of Argentina, a blend of herbs that has a smoky tea-like flavor. I bought a small matte recepeinte, a cup of sorts and a straw. I’ll post a picture when I get b back.
While I waited for the shuttle back to the terminal, I took the yerba out and read (tried to read) the ingredients and directions. The shuttle driver smiled and reaching into the van pulled out a leather pouch with two cup holders. In the main body of the leather pouch he had a hot water bottle and a plastic container of yerba. In the cup holders he had a recepiente and a straw.
He didn’t speak English and I speak very little Spanish, but we looked at each other’s kit and smiled. It was one of those moments.
