Gauchos and Pupurichu

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Pupurichu (Pipirichu? Pupirichi?) fixed me with a stare that said, ¨I will eat you for breakfast, gringa.¨ This giant cocoa-colored horse was to be my trusty steed for the evening, and I was terrified. The remaining horses could have been small dwarves in Disneyland. I secretly gave them the following monikers: ¨Sleepy,¨ ¨Sir-Old-as-Hell¨and ¨Grumptitude Stiltskin.¨ I was granted the pleasure and privelege of riding Pipiruchito (??) because when asked if I had experience with horses, I answered that I had a tiny bit. ¨Ay, que bueno!¨ Javier the resident guacho answered jubilantly. Slingshoting me into the saddle Javier continued, ¨Pupurachinolio (??) is a little nervous sometimes. He likes to go fast.¨ Grrreeaaatt.

We rode for two hours behind our awesome guide Mari, who had moved here two months ago from France to meet her Argentine father and siblings for the first time. She lived, she told us, with her new brother (the aforementioned gaucho) on this tiny ranch about 30 minutes outside of Mendoza so that she could perfect her Spanish and get to know her other country. Riding behind her on my new bff Pipipipilo (??), I took in the glorious scenery. To my left were the pre-Cordillera, stark and snowy. All around me were cacti, ancient river-washed stones and birds flap flap flapping away. I felt gallant and strong riding along in this desert. Ha ha! I had conquered yet another landscape! ¨Is this how the guachos feel,¨ I thought, ¨riding around on large horses, slaying animals and women alike?¨ Just about that time, my bestie lifted his manliest of tails and did his business right in Becca´s lame horse´s face. ¨Well done, Pip!¨ I patted my his neck and we trotted happily along.

If the horse ride was fun and lovely, then the asado dinner afterward was the real gift. The seven of us (other tourists joined the ride and dinner) sat around in Javier and Mari´s one-room ranch house and were served a wonderful Argentine asado... chicken for me. A sad sigh escaped my lips when I only saw one bottle of Malbec floating along, but by Harry Potter-esque magic it kept filling up as the sun set lower (there was a huge tank of malbec under the sink, come to find out. What?!) meaning that there was plenty to drink for everyone. This also meant that Mari got a little tipsy and started mixing up her languages, to the hilarity of all involved.

It was a joy to have Becca along for the ride (literally and figuritavely) these past 10 days. She left early this morning and I spent the day wandering the city and running errands in preparation to start work on the vineyard next week. As we hadn´t visited it yet, I walked to Plaza España to have a sit-down and take in the beautiful tile work. Glancing up, I spied a trio of women knitting, laughing and drinking mate... a bookend to a great visit.

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