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Published: October 26th 2014
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Oh, sweet mountain towns! I love following the meandering streams that cut through their centers and walking to their edges for hikes in nature. While I was in big city Cordoba for its sizzling, September spring, I interspersed my time with retreats to cool, little mountain towns that were so small, they're not even listed on the map above.
Villa General Belgrano and a Hostel in Paradise
Villa General Belgrano is a somewhat popular mountain town set in a lush, green valley, and named after the creator of the beautiful Argentina flag, General Manuel Belgrano. The town was originally settled by Germans in 1930, and the Bavarian architecture, trolls and elves around town reflect this heritage. Tourists go there for the microbreweries, beer gardens, German food, and the third most famous Oktoberfest in the world. I went for the peace.
A two-hour bus ride from Cordoba brought me to the tiny terminal in Villa Gral. Belgrano where I was directed to walk up a dirt road. After about a kilometer or so, I came to a lovely dry-stone fence with horses grazing and then the beautiful, stone and wood, 2-story hostel built by its Dutch
owners; there I was given the last bed in the full dorm.
Much to my delight, there was a conference of midwives there, and they allowed me to join their rituals that began each mornings' and afternoons' sessions. Here, we sang in Spanish, women's circle songs that I knew from my full moon women's circles in Santa Barbara. How moving to know that the same songs honoring the earth, the mother, are sung by women all over the world.
Leaving the midwives to their workshops, I explored the extensive grounds, found a swimming pool, the first in forever, and swam lovely laps and floated the rest of the afternoon. Sitting by the pool, reading, I was approached for petting by the occasional horse--paradise! Sometimes, it was hard to pull myself from the resort-like hostel to explore the town. Yet like all these mountain towns, there was a fabulous mid-town stream with little waterfalls, wild boulders and bridges which I explored daily.
While Villa Gral Belgrano is famous for strudel and schnitzel, I found instead, a little Turkish deli/restaurant where I went mad daily, buying my favorite aubergine and humus takeout and
picnicing by the river. I got to know the whole family, and the story of their emigration from Turkey. To complement this, I discovered wild mulberries along the river which I'd only had in Turkey. A perfect, yummy circle.
Not being a fan of big festivals or beer, I timed my visit for after the Oktoberfest However, one evening from the Oktoberfest grounds, I heard chanting and the clanging of pots and pans. It was a
cacerolazos (casseroles)--a demonstration in which protesters, originally homemakers, bang pans. This time, it was right-wing protesters filling the streets objecting to the social welfare policies of the wonderful President Cristina Fernandez-Kirshner. While I love joining protests, this was one on which I'd pass.
La Cumbrecita, the Highest, Smallest, Sweetest of All
One drizzly day in Villa Gral Belgrano, I caught a little local bus that wound up for a couple of hours through the scenic Sierra Grandes (Big Mountains) and past lakes with pleasure boats to arrive at my favorite town of all, La Cumbrecita, a tiny hamlet of 200, snuggled among pine and spruce at 1450 mts/4757 ft, also founded by Germans. Villa Gral Belgrano had been
founded in a valley for its agricultural potential, but La Cumbrecita was too high for this, and had been founded in 1934 solely for tourism and pleasure purposes--perfect!
The bus stopped at a river where we disembarked, walked over a bridge, and up a somewhat muddy, dirt road with a sign saying, "Pedestrians Only"--OMG, I'd gone to heaven! What can be better than sauntering in the middle of streets with no fear of being mowed down by cars?
The herd off the bus headed down the main street, so I took another, steeper road. As the poet Robert Frost did, I took "the road less traveled," and it made all the difference. For the rest of the drizzly day, I followed wonderful streets and trails around town and up and down in the surrounding mountains with waterfalls, bridges, and charming old world houses. I'd heard that there was a hostel in town, but I never found it. Too bad--I would have liked to stay for a long, long time.
Lemons to Lemonade
I'd arrived a day after an horrendous storm with fierce winds had washed away the cemetery and knocked down
500 trees. All around, there was evidence of the destruction with huge, upended root systems thrust into the air and trails closed by fallen trees. Yet, clearly the German-descended locals had been busy, and everywhere, there were neat, winter-ready stacks of cut wood. Best of all, when I hiked up a mountain and down to a popular waterfall and summer swimming hole, woodcutters had created picnic tables and chairs out of the fallen trees. In the future, locals sitting there, will long remember the night of the big storm and the resourcefulness of their woodcutters.
Capilla del Monte
Capilla del Monte (Chapel of the Mountains) was another tiny town, this one full of New Age people and hippies drawn by the cosmic energy of the sacred mountain, Cerro Uritorco, the highest peak in the Sierras Chicas (Little Mountains) to the north of Cordoba. UFOs had been seen on the mountain, and there were supposedly huge burn marks where they had landed.
Thus, the dorm in my funky, colorful hostel had a lotus painted on the wall, and the town had Buddhist and Hindu temples, yoga centers, and New Age everything--the Shangri-La restaurant and an
organic store where I got some excellent hand-made soap. One day, I saw an open gate, walked into the property (as is my habit), and met an older German woman, Semiramis, who had bought land and was establishing a center. I could stay for free, in return for work, and attend her classes on growing wings and being Present. Rather tempting since I love to fly, but this time, I passed.
I'd hoped to climb the sacred mountain at 1979 mts/6493 ft, but unfortunately, there was a rather steep charge for the hike. Instead, I had sweet walks up the canyon of the Rio Calabalumba with rock hopping, swaying wooden-plank foot bridges and little waterfalls. All around the town there were great day hikes through fabulous rock formations, past very idiosyncratic buildings and to mountain reservoirs.
I visited all of the towns in the sierras of Cordoba with hostels with dorms. For those who could afford more upscale accommodations, there were many more lovely towns, but unfortunately they weren't in my price range. Oh well, I'd had great hikes and peaceful retreats. Between these mountain forays, I stayed in Cordoba with my friend Lali,
whom I'd met in a snowy hostel in the highest mountain crossing in the Andes. Next up--beautiful, colonial Cordoba.
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D MJ Binkley
Dave and Merry Jo Binkley
Mountain towns
Always good to follow you on the slow road around South America. Love towns and villages that most people don't write about. Be careful of those steps cut in rock on wet days. We don't want you taking a tumble.