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Published: July 10th 2014
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Cordoba, or as I now like to call it, the land of unfulfilled promises. We all promised Spencer that we would wake up at half 7 for a trek up a mountain, most of us failed to do so. I promised Spencer I would wake up and teach english to the dean of Cordoba university, I failed to do so. I promised Tricky that horses are safe and that he wouldn't fall off... well, I´ll get to that later. This story starts, like most good stories, at the beginning.
Touchdown in Cordoba was just like in any other major city you may come across, except for the group of bus workers jamming outside the station on their break. A short walk later and we reach our hostel, a vibrant but welcoming place called che salguero. Upon entering, we were ushered to the communal area as our rooms weren't quite ready. We were later greeted by Spencer, the hostels tourist advisor, a guy from Trinidad with a broad American accent. Other than giving Tommy P the nickname ´Dangerous Tom´, due to the scorn present on his face as a result of an intermittent nights sleep, he told us about the things
to do around Cordoba and that he could arrange different excursions if we were interested. The first of these excursions was a mountain trek which he had planned, currently with only one recruit keen to go (and the trip being cancelled if they couldn't get at least 5) we nobly agreed to go, saving the day for the one trekker we hadn't even met yet. That was day two planned, now for day one. With the Argentina-Iran game in the afternoon we played it simply, walked around the local park and markets, taking in our surroundings. We then tried to find a bar. I say try because for a nation that loves football it was distinctly hard to find a place that both served beer and showed the football. After an hour or so of wandering around the streets, we gave up and waited for some similarly aged looking people to ask if they were going to watch the football in a bar. Luckily for us the solution came in the shape of 4 girls all wearing Argentina tops. Unluckily for us only one of these girls spoke any English, so once again we relied on Luke and his Spanglish
to get the job done. But get it done he did, and in time for the kick off we were in an Argentine bar with blacked out windows as if we had come across some sort of illegal underground nightclub. The atmosphere throughout the game was average with the game being nil nil until the last minute; the most interesting moment being Tommy p trying to find out the Spanish words for ´fly´ and ´spider man´ using charades. After a few drinks and a few more back at the hotel whilst eating Asado (Argentinian BBQ) we ventured on our first night out in Cordoba. The rest of this night is relatively vague in my memory, the only highlights being given a free shot of rum, tequila, gin and vodka as long as the owner could take a photo of us, and trying to order a drink of anything other than beer only to be given beer.
The next say wasn’t particularly eventful, as the trek supposedly starting at 8 got put off by me, Luke and Tommy P who despite Spencer’s best efforts to wake us decided we needed a few more than 2 hours sleep. Meanwhile Tricky, who
had been moved to the managers room due to a mix up with bookings was woken up, and due to what I can only imagine being the guilt of the trek being cancelled because of him bailing, ended up doing 10 hours of walking, swimming in waterfalls and more walking. But at least he could look forward to the delicious feast that was waiting for him on his return. With it being a Sunday and the majority of shops being closed (not to mention the hangover the three remaining boys were nursing) a scrumptious meal of chopped up hot dogs, made of what I can only assume to be rubber, with pasta and chicken/fish nuggets was on the menu. For dessert was a long overdue if not deserved early night.
Day 3 proved to be much more eventful and I am sure it will live long in the memory for all 4 us. First on the agenda was Horseback Riding, an activity not so keenly taken on by Tricky and Luke due to their ´wariness´ of horses. However, wary was probably the best course, in Tricky’s case anyway. The first sign of what would come came when we were
meeting the owner of the ranch who within 5 minutes asked Tricky ´quanto kilos?´ which roughly translates to ´your a lot larger than the average bear, I´ll prep the bigger horse´. This didn’t help. After a quiet 2 hours and 40 minutes on horseback, trotting through the Argentine wilderness taking in some breathtaking scenery, Tricky’s horse had enough. With the open road in front of him, the horse swiftly sped up, knowing that the inexperienced jockey holding on for dear life on his back would soon be on his arse at the side of the road. And right he was. As elegant as he is large, Tricky tucked and rolled like a pro. With a new found sense of freedom and the relief of removing a heavy load of his back, the horse galloped into the distance, followed closely by our guide chasing after at the fear of losing what must be his only larger horse. After 5 minutes of unsupervised riding, hoping we were going in the right direction, we were reunited with our guide, and Tricky with his horse. But the last 10 minutes of the journey were entertaining as Tricky’s horse, obviously frustrated that his attempt of
fleeing was scuppered by an overweight Argentine man on a donkey, no longer listened to Tricky; walking where it wanted when it wanted. Even the guide chuckled lightly to himself at the sight of tricky and his horse walking into the bushes rather than on the path.
In the grand scheme of things, this wasn’t even the biggest part of the day. As we arrived home, laughing about the events so far, things got serious. Our degree results had been published and suddenly the laughs turned to nervous tremors. These swiftly however turned to triumphant fist pumps as both me and tricky found we had got a first in our degree and the last four years had culminated in success. And what better way to celebrate than another Asado, several shots of rum and a night out. The result of which was me promising to teach English to the dean of Cordoba university as long as Spencer, who was meant to be the teacher, woke me up and put me on the right bus. Luckily for me, and the dean of the university who could’ve ended up with an unprecedented Spanish/Welsh English accent, Spencer didn’t wake up. So neither
did I. The day was spent recovering, watching football and saying goodbye to our latest friends, before all four gringos caught a bus to Buenos Aires in the evening with a lot of new memories and only a few bruises.
Asta luego,
Luke (Welshy)
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