Memories of Che

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This university city is bang in the centre of Argentina and with a collection of Argentina’s best preserved colonial architecture, it made a convenient place to stop for a couple of nights. However, when I woke after a long, sticky night in a backpackers hostel, the thought of walking around the second largest city in temperatures of 35 degrees, made my skin prickle and I asked at the tourist office if there was any other option. She suggested a city bus tour and already feeling tired and sweaty after the three block walk from the hotel, it sounded like an excellent idea and I joined thirty or so Argentineans and Brazilians on the top of an red London bus (sponsored by Macdonalds).

The tour showed off Cordoba’s colonial centre, Jesuit block and crypt and the beautiful Sacred Heart church with its missing steeple, (officially left out to symbolize man’s imperfections in the eyes of God but which, as our guide pointed out, was possibly due to lack of funds to complete the project). I found it an extremely entertaining way of seeing the city, partly because of the hilarious way the guide would suddenly scream at us to “get down” as the open topped bus was clipped by over-hanging branches. The elderly woman in front of me, possible a little hard of hearing, had her hat swept away by swinging foliage while the rest of us cowered until the guide gave us permission to sit up again. I’m not sure how much history I learned about the city as the guide microphone had the tendency to cut out at vital moments but the buildings were beautiful and the branch dodging almost as exhilarating as the rafting the day before.

The next day, I had hoped to strap myself to a burly Argentinean and throw myself off a launch spot, high above the Sierras. However, due to the “wrong kind of wind”, the paragliding was cancelled and I instead took a minibus to Alta Gracia, which is a small town 35km from Cordoba where a famous Cuban revolutionary hero spent his childhood and adolescence. Villa Beatriz, the unassuming house on Avellaneda, has now been turned into the Che Guevara museum and allows visitors to wander around the rooms where the young Ernesto grew up. The museum was only opened 5 years ago, and is a cosy, friendly place will a small cover charge and a refreshing lack of notices and warnings telling visitors not to touch, sit or use their cameras in any way. You are left instead to look at the framed letters and photographs on the wall and read through the free guide which give descriptions of all of Che’s family and explains the influences which shaped him as he grew up in the small town.

Although, I had been disappointed by the paragliding, I was happy to have had the chance to see such a well maintained part of Latin American history and left the town thinking over the words Che had written to his eldest daughted, shortly before his death in Bolivia.

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Photos

The young Ernesto Guevara with his brother and sisters
Apparently they would sometimes throw water on him to provoke his astma