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Published: February 12th 2007
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Alpine Argentina
No Photoshop or other digital enhancements were employed to make it look like we are somewhere in the Alps. HOW DID WE DO IT? Answer at the end of the show. I've noticed that a lot of eateries in Argentina don't necessarily have everything that's listed on the menu. This is, of course, if you are given a menu at all, and if that menu contains anything more than pizza, pasta or steak. DO NOT MISUNDERSTAND: I love Argentina and its cuisine; the pizza, pasta and steak in Argentina are all top-notch. But really, a person (or country) can perfect
anything when it's all they ever do, ever.
We spent a day-long connection on Tuesday in Tucumán, northwestern Argentina's largest city, which is also a giant bus station. Perhaps there's more there than that, but after Monday's 17-hour commute, we felt entitled to convalesce a bit. Terminal del Tucumán is a self-contained consumer's paradise, boasting 30,000 square metres of restaurants, clothing boutiques, electronics outlets, internet cafes, currency exchanges, grocery stores, hospitals, Hummer dealerships, Karate schools, orphanages and the entire US state of New Hampshire via wormhole technology. For the first time in weeks, we were finally able to repose on our own terms (versus at the hands of heat stroke), despite having to order our dinner sixteen times before they stopped telling us they were out of what we wanted. Mmm,
The Fabled Giant Barrel of Belgrano
This is a giant barrel. It is propped up in the center of town to attract giant St Bernards. I am very brave to go near it. steak!
A subsequent all-night bus ride (and subtitled presention of
Hitch) later, we arrived in Córdoba, Argentina's second-largest city that is
not also a giant bus station.
The Rough Guide to Argentina in hand, we checked into Córdoba Hostel and ate vegetarian buffet at Verde Siempre Verde -- which turned out to be two of the only things the book had
right about Córdoba. Here's what I mean: Museo Histórico Provincial Marqués de Sobremonte, a museum which allegedly had an exhibit celebrating turn-of-the-20th-century laxatives, closed five hours earlier than we'd been informed. Cripta Jesuitica, an underground crypt rediscovered in 1989 when the city decided to dig up some old phone lines, had also been closed for the day. Al Salam, a belly dancer hooka bar that promised a much-needed falafel break from pizza and steak, had been closed for several
years prior to our arrival. It was now just a regular bar, also closed for the day.
By nightfall, we found a place that was open: L'América, a "fancy-pants" restaurant which, thanks to a 3-to-1 peso-to-dollar exchange ratio, was totally affordable. And, they had fish!
Naturally, with a name like "L'América," it was inevitable that we run
Variety!
Still only one menu for the both of us, but alas, behold, stand back, it's cabbage. into Americans. 50ish Cindy and her husband Steve had dined two tables away and, on their way out, asked us how we were liking Argentina. "It's beautiful," I told her. "The mountains up in Salta were stunning."
"You want to see mountains," she advised, "you go to Arizona."
Arizona.
It came as no surprise to learn she's a travel agent there.
Now it's today. Given our guidebook's track record, we were a tad dubious regarding the existence of a small German town 90 minutes outside the city. That we were able to purchase bus tickets we took as a good sign, and sure enough, we found ourselves in Villa General Belgrano by early afternoon. It was real.
As the story goes, Villa General Belgrano was founded in the 1930 by two German speculators attracted by its Alpine-like terrain and agricultural potential. In 1940, British seaman sunk a German battleship off the coast of Montevideo, Uruguay, and 130 of its surviving crew members moved to the village. They proceeded to build a replica of their homeland: red-roofed, wood-frame homes, micro breweries and chocolate shops. But, more importantly, they serve goulash, sausage and sauerkraut.
O, heavenly sauerkraut.
Despite keeping up German traditions with which even Germany doesn't bother anymore, they also manage to find time for Argentina's apparently mandatory
siesta. Siesta is like the "nap time" most Americans experienced in kindergarten. But while we grew out of it by the age of 6, in Argentina it is rigidly enforced by adults and children alike. Part of me is jealous; I'd love it if my American work day could be broken up by a countrywide snooze. On the other hand, we were stuck in a German town in the middle of Argentina today with not much to do. A modicum of tranquil creeks and walking trails helped us while away the time until dinner and the bus ride back to Córdoba, where we stopped at an ice cream shop and chose from a variety of exotic flavors.
...none of which were "steak," and all of which were inconceivably available. Mmm, eggnog Irish creme!
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