Brokeback mountains of steak

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I moved on again from Buenos Aires as my ankles had become weak from excessive tangoing. Two weeks in country remained, and I decided to head to Mendoza at the expense of Cordoba on the promise of spectacular Andean scenery and adrenaline fueled antics (apologies to the good Burgers of Cordoba - I'm sure you have a wonderful city, and are very tasty).

Mendoza was a great little town, although its appearance belied a seven figure population and its share of big city problems. Confident that I had left behind the shadow of pick-pocketry in Peru and Bolivia, I decided to deposit my camera in my outside pocket while checking emails in an interent cafe. It was summarily stolen by a couple of professional thieves. The lovable rogues crept up to my machine, one bent down pretending to tie his shoelace while the other blocked the CCTV camera and hummed a tune from 'Oliver'. My pocket was unzipped, and a grubby hand extracted the camera that has escorted me around the world. It all happened in a couple of seconds, and I almost managed to catch them in the act. As they walked out of the door I followed, intending to confront them in the street. I briefly imagined them drawing weapons before being talked down hollywood-style ('The truth? You can't handle the truth!' etc). They were somewhat fleet of foot, and self-preservation stopped me chasing after them. I convinced myself that I hadn't really known that they were the culprits, but if I'm honest, I just didn't want to chase down two burly Argentino thieves for the sake of an insured camera. By 'insured' of course I mean that I had paid the premium, but naturally the small print of the policy will prevent me from claiming. Hell hath no fury like a man with a shit insurance policy. Had been an ombudsman to hand, I would almost certainly have written him a strongly worded memo.

In any case, the trip to the police station was entertaining. Squeezing myself onto the plastic back seat of a Mendozan panda wagon next to a similarly violated elder lady with large hair, I enjoyed the ride all the more for the stares of the locals as we passed through the streets and the fragrant smell of criminal urine. No doubt they assumed that another gringo recidivist had been brought to justice by the proud Argentinian constabulary. I gave a statement in my faltering spanglish to a gentleman in extremely tight trousers with a gun strapped ostentatiously to his belt. A Maverick who bends the rules but gets the job done, I rather imagine that he was the type to crack skulls behind closed cell doors and to shoot first, ask questions later (no doubt quite a few hours later, after a large raw steak, a lie down and a kick-about with a football).

Buying a camera was tiresome: your card doesn't work, we don't have the camera you want, we're closing, I'll have to get it sent from Buenos Aires, why is that bastard Sterling always flushing the Peso's head down the toilet?, I'm too busy fondling my mullet, I'm worth more than this poxy job, I could have been a footballer, why won't anyone take my poetry seriously? etc etc. Eventually I went to the local chain of electrical shops where I found the newer version of my camera and parted with sufficient money to buy a top-of-the-range fridge-freezer, with ice dispenser. Cameras are very, very expensive in Argentina.

Barring my brush with the underworld, Mendoza was spectacularly good fun. An hour or so from the town, the Andies start to shoot up from the scrubland like the teeth of a chap at school who fell off his bike in an unfortunate way. I took a day trip to see Aconcagua, South America's highest mountain, the surrounding mines and vistas, and to set foot in Chile again for a couple of minutes. I was accompanied by two Brazilian divorcees who spent most of the trip sitting behind me and declaring occasionally in Portuguese, 'I have never seen anything so big before'. Very unsettling, but surprisingly nourishing for the ego. The scenery eclipsed all that I had seen hitherto, but alas, with no camera I am unable to share the joy with you as you sit at your desks on a wet Tuesday absent-mindedly picking your ears with pencils.

The real fun, though, in Mendoza was to be found slightly closer to the city at any one of the multitude of adventure sports outfits. For starters I decided to do some trekking, rappelling (abseiling) and more of 'El Canopy', this time on cables suspended 400m across a river. The rappelling was something new for me. A group of us lowered ourselves backwards off a 30m cliff under the baking sun and surrounded by the Andean foothills. I explained to the group that real ninjas rappel face down with katanas drawn, but received concerned rather than admiring looks. El Canopy seems to be a craze that is sweeping across South America, and near Mendoza the cables were long, fast and rather higher above the ground than in Chile. Variations on the standard sedentary position for this activity included the 'Superman' pose and the 'suspended-upside-down' pose. The latter was especially invigorating and disorienting. It took all of my strength to right myself before the contents of my bowels and stomach reacquainted themselves with the earth upon which the source material fed. Another day and I rafted down the river and took a horseback ride - a near perfect day for me, filled with excitement, wonderful views and barbecued meats.

And so I left Mendoza tired, missing my favourite camera but having had a wonderful time and having met some great people. I hope that whoever stole my camera is so shocked by its contents that he has a seizure. This is a distinct possibility, as my ultimate blog was to be entitled 'toilets of the world', and aforementioned camera contains some images that should only be viewed by surgeons and coroners.

Eschewing an extremely long bus journey, I flitted up to Salta via Buenos Aires, clocking up another couple of flights and bringing my total to 36 for the trip so far. For a number of weeks I had been communicating with a contact in the capital to finish my stay in Argentina with the quintessential experience: riding with gauchos.

I met up wih my gaucho guide, Jose, after a short taxi ride from Salta. Now this part of my trip was organised on the hoof and was fairly expensive. When I met Jose I realised why: 3 horses were required for the two of us to make the three day journey to the environs of a sleepy town called Cachi, along with tents, drink, and of course steaks. My horse was called Medusa because of her steely gaze (and maybe because she had long hair) and was far more used to the discomfort of life on the trail than I was. We crossed bustling rivers and plodded through ravines and up and down hills. It is hard to describe just how blissful this trip was. As I lay in my tent on the first night having feasted on breaded chicken and sunk a bottle of cheap white, I was overcome with a joyful sense of adventure. All the effort, expense, anxiety and nausea paled - this was the feeling that I have been travelling for. Some of the highlights (in list form, no less):

- The sky: the brightest moon I have ever seen, like a giant torch, bright enough to read by and still visible for most of the daylight hours; watching stars, shooting stars and satellites twinkling over my tent.
- The idiosyncrasies of the horses: the way they cleared the ground of rocks with their hooves before wallowing in the dust; their psychology as they paced themselves throughout the arduous days - like long distance runners, they required extra impetus to reach the 'wall' and then would happily plough on at a pace; their apparent elation upon the riders dismounting every evening; their snuffling during the nights outside my tent as they chowed down on old corn husks; the stupendous erection that one sported whenever he saw a donkey.
- Washing every morning and evening in a nearby stream or water hole, gulping back mouthfuls of parasites but feeling oddly refreshed.
- Having a beer at lunch in the shadow of a giant cactus, miles from the nearest phone, road or flushing toilet.
- Being told for the first time in my life that 'you can crap wherever you want' by the gaucho, opening up a world of possibilities. Following this: crapping outside while watching 3 enormous condors soar above a 1000m rock face in front of me. Truly a unique experience that one cannot replicate in Central London.
- Having a traditional argentinian BBQ (parilla) with the gaucho and his cousin, cooked in an old wood burning stove in an abandoned ranch. The best steak and sausages I have ever tasted, accompanied by potatoes straight from the ground.
- Exploring unexcavated pre-incan villages, and climbing up to view petroglyphs cut into the towering rocks above, seldom seen by tourists.

Learning to control my horse was also fun, albeit challenging. My liberal attitudes to horse wrangling were dispelled on the second day when my tired horse decided to lie on top of me. I don't blame her for being somewhat upset at the prospect of continuing to carry around my corpulent carcass, but I suspect she didn't know just how unnerving her actions were. Her body collapsed on my left foot and momentarily I envisaged an enormous insurance claim, an orthopedic shoe for the rest of my life and dreary Christopher Reeve style benefit functions (albeit with tearful cheering ovations to honour my bravery at having been sat on). Luckily the sturdy metal stirrup prevented my foot from taking her full weight and also gave Medusa a nasty jab in the side, and she rolled the other way. After this disturbing event, and having twisted my other knee in the ensuing panicked hopscotch, I roused the Victorian gaucho within me (I feel we all have one inside of us), and was rather more forthcoming with the large leather whip to keep Medusa on her toes. Spare the rod, spoil the horse.

The final day proved to be the most spectacular yet, with an ascent and descent of some 1500 metres and the sight of snowcapped mountains and giant desert valleys spread out before us. Utterly magical.

I slowly made my way back to Buenos Aires, stopping to thank the kind lady who organised the ride, and briefly bumping into some former travelling companions from Bolivia. Argentina has been wonderful. It is staggeringly beautiful, with fantastic people and tremendous food. It also helps that the chicas in Argentina are decidedly easy on the eye, and find English sensibilities and mannerisms irrestistible (thus ruling me out). I still have Iguassu to come and have missed the Puerto Moreno Glacier and most of Patagonia and Antarctica altogether. Plenty of reason to return one day.

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Photos

Me and Jose after the ride
He's the one that can still stand up straight.

Very, very, very tired after day two on the trail.
I felt as if I had been beaten like a ginger stepchild.

Comments

[Oliver]

Mouthfulls of cojones
Looks like Jose put you through your paces, Ian. His cojones tended towards the gamey, I imagine.