Adventures in La Cumbre, Part II

The next day, we decided to take a bike ride through the countryside. We rented bikes in town, and following the recommendation of the lady in the bike rental shop and some bikers in the hostel that morning, we set out on the over-the-hills adventure to el Rio Pinto. The path, rather than being a regular gravel road, was gravel over massive bumpy rocks, so avoiding skidding out was a constant battle and a very literal pain in my ass, confounded by the fact that my bike was too small for me and thus hard to sit down on. we stopped after a few kilometers at a restaurant where we met a rather massive Spaniard who lived nearby and worked as a hanggliding instructor, then continued on our trek.

After several more kilometers, we came to a fork in the road. to the right was a path up the mountain to a lookout/hanggliding ramp. Which ended up being about the most breathtaking view I've ever seen. 

There was a hanggliding launch ramp called "the ramp of despair", which launched off the side of the hill at about 45 degrees into about a 1000-foot drop onto rocks and trees. The wind was atrocious, so after about 20 minutes of pictures and awestruckness, we descended.

Then began the trouble. after a few kilometers of switchbacks down the mountain, cruising at top speed, Darios front wheel suddenly shot off from his bike and he went careening over his handlebars. After he recovered from the inital shock, we determined that the safety lock for the tire was completely gone and nowhere around. That meant that we couldn't repair his bike, which, in conjunction with his gravel-filled hand, meant that he couldn't continue the journey even if he wanted. Luckily, some nice French expats coming the other way offered him a lift to the clinic in a nearby town to ensure that Dario hadn't suffered any head trauma. Defeated, the rest of us began our 3-hour trek pushing our bikes back uphill towards La Cumbre.

When we returned to La Cumbre, Dario told us that he was fine--though a little shaken--and that we had nothing to worry about. All of us glad that things had not been worse (and they could have been much, much worse), it was, in reality, an unfortunate end to a marvelous adventure. 

Adventures in La Cumbre, part I

much has passed.

This past weekend, I went to Córdoba. its about a 9-12 hour busride (depending on traffic), which we rode in a cama bus overnight (which basically means that the seats recline almost the whole way, and they give you pillows and blankets. totally first-class) to a pueblito outside of Cordoba called "la cumbre" for a two-day escape from the city. We arrived at about 9am, found the hostel--which in reality was a massive hacienda-lookalike close to downtown, where we were about the only people staying there. We decided to go on a hike while we waited for the others to arrive, and the lady in the tourism office recommended a 7-km hike around the outside of town over some hills to a dam. all we had to do was follow the creek, which sounded easy enough, so we took off. 

After a while, once we had left the borders of the city,  the path began to wander a bit, with some places being fairly clear, and in other parts, absolutely nothing. we stumbled our way through a beautiful forest, occasionally retracing our steps when we ended up on a dead-end. fording the river was a constant trek, and our only guide in many parts was seeing if the piles of donkey shit were still evident. 

the trail began to get steeper as we entered the hilly areas, and the path became less clear. there were fields of wheat with no path through them and we had to turn back more and more often. finally, we reached a point where the only possible way to continue appeared to be to scale up the side of a giant cliff. At the top there appeared to be a path sticking out of the mountain, but there was no guarantee that it actually led anywhere. Eric scaled up the side to see if the path actually went anywhere, while Sonia and I waited at the bottom to see if we could see another way around. Then, upon stepping back to take a picture of eric on top of the cliff, I noticed another man chilling on the side of the path. between a combination of my arm-waving and eric's shouting, we established that the path, was in fact, the only way to the dam. 

once we reached the top, another man came along, and offered to guide us to the top. he was a lawyer from buenos aires on a catholic men's retreat nearby, and said he knew the area well since he had gone there since he was a kid. we set off towards the top, feeling victorious.

A few minutes later, further along the path, we encountered a man scaling the cliff in a shorter place with his dog. how odd.

once we reached the dam, we thanked our guide, and began on the next treacherous part of our journey. we were somehow about 7km out of the city, and there weren't any buses or taxis anywhere near (as the lady in the tourist office had said there would be). we asked the only other people at the dam, but they said they were going the opposite way. fucked as we were, we started hiking back. then, suddenly, the others from the dam came barreling down the road in our direction, and motioned for us to jump in the back!

adventure satisfied, we returned back to the hostel, weary and aching. our other friends had arrived, and all of us went out to an asian fusion place. it was the first restaurant we'd found in Argentina with spicy food, and all of us went bonanza for it, followed up with a smorgasbord of custard, flan, chocolate volcano and other ridiculous desserts.

and thus concluded the first day of our  Córdoba adventure.

fun out of the sun

Sure, Buenos Aires is in a different time zone; but really, it's in a different time. Everything is later here. Lunch is at 2pm, afternoon tea at like 5pm, and dinner around 9 or so. On schoolnights, bedtime is early, but when partying happens, the night doesn't begin until after midnight (so technically, morning). 

It's traditional, when going out on Saturday night for instance, to take a cat nap ("disco nap") before or after dinner, then watch a movie and get ready. One usually departs around 12-1am for an early arrival (happy hour is usually 10-12am), then party until the sun comes up. The more lame dive bars close around 4am, while the better ones (and clubs, of course) don't close until at the earliest 6am. And I know that there are afterparty locations for sunday morning boozefests after the sun come up, but I haven't had the opportunity as of yet to visit one.

Since basically all drinks (except Quilmes) are imports, they cost about the same as in the US (maybe a little cheaper, since value added and wages are lower on average): AR$10 for a shot or a beer, AR$20 for a mixed drink, cocktails for any variety of steep prices. 

Buenos Aires' bar scene is crawling with Americans and Europeans, in front of and behind the bar. One of the first nights we went to a place called El Alamo where the main bartender was from Boston, all the music was American or British, and basically the entire patronage were either American expats or from a variety of Latin American countries (also some Irish and Germans). This past Saturday we went to a place in Palermo called Sugar that was owned by a Brit. Paula, from Texas A&M, new one of the bartenders from home, and the DJs were French (if I recall). Most of the clientele were Argentine but I met several Brits and some Americans, plus of course the 20+ of us in our group alone.

The one hangout thus far we've discovered that's minority foreigners is around Chenaut, an area with some nice bars that unfortunately all close at 4am. However, I do intend to make some friends with locals, so I can cease being a stupid American who comes with only Americans in tow, and to better accommodate myself to their país.

On another note, I found a man who custom-hand-makes leather shoes, and I'm getting a pair of black leather high-tops, hecho a mano, for the same price as your run-of-the-mill Converse Chucks. Argentina rules.