After wonderful Mendoza, the next stop on our meanderings would be Córdova, although it's not really on the way to our final South American stop, Buenos Aires. It's just that it sounded like one of those places you shouldn't miss if you're in the area. To get to Córdova, you travel south of the Central Sierras – a range of low mountains unrelated to the Andes – and then go north. We decided to break up the ten-hour bus trip by stopping over in San Luis, a small city along the way. Six hours on the bus (the distance from San Luis to Córdova) is pretty much the limit for my bony butt, if I have a choice. Sometimes you don't really have many choices in the matter because there may not be an acceptable layover spot along the way. But this time we did, and we decided to take it.
Most descriptions of San Luis highlight it as the jumping-off point for various nearby attractions, such as Las Quijadas desert park (for dinosaur bones and footprints) and various spas. None seemed to gush over the town itself. They were right. But being easily amused, we found enough to keep us there for two days. On our first night, we walked off toward the Plaza Pringles area in search of dinner. The Plaza was named for a war hero who (I guess) braved enemy fire to bring potato chips to the troops. I don't know, and it's really hard to keep all the different war heroes straight when you travel through various countries. As the well-known philosopher, Rodney King once said, "Can't we all just get along?" Personally, I'd rather concentrate on the wine and dinner.
So we wander around the Plaza, trying to avoid the massive flocks of birds bombing everybody below, and settle on the Morrison Restaurant, with its dark-wood, pub-like atmosphere. We assume it's named for some English pub. I look over the entrees while Carolyn scans the salads. She finds that her choices include the Jim Morrison, the Fab Four, and the Jimi Hendrix. We look up and see posters for the Rolling Stones, The Who, and other 60s rock bands on the walls. Looks like we're gonna have a rock-n-roll salad tonight! You never know where you'll see odd juxtapositions on your travels. Back in the 1970s, I needed to buy a shirt in the sleepy Mexican town of Aguascalientes. I opened the door to the dressing room and there was a poster of Frank Zappa sitting on the john. The caption: Phi Zappa Krappa. I remember those irreverent days with great fondness.
Dinner, and the salad, and this time an Argentine beer, turned out to be quite good. Then we wandered off in search of ice cream. That's when Carolyn discovered Grido Helados, and her new favorite flavor in the whole wide world: Tramontana. It's vanilla with swirls of caramel, and laced with little chocolate bombs. It's a flavor to remember. I couldn't resist the one called Quinotos de Whisky, and I was not disappointed.
We spent the next day wandering the dusty streets of San Luis and remarking how much it reminded us of towns in northern Mexico. The church had one of the more impressive painted ceilings I've seen. And at lunch, we ended up with a typically massive, cheese-covered sandwich, with an egg on top. We'd learned in Mendoza that it must be considered a kind of Argentine sin to not overfeed your customers, so we'd only ordered one sandwich to share. But even that was too much. We took a big hunk of it back to eat on the bus the next day. But of course, we forgot it in our morning rush to the station.
Central Argentina is farming country. It's why the nation remains one of the major 'bread baskets to the world.' For the rest of our trip, we'd pass through vast areas of croplands –corn, soy, sunflowers – especially after we left Córdova and got closer to the Río Paraná and the coast. A quick glance down the main street of most small towns, with farm machine dealerships and grain silos in the background, might convince you it was somewhere in the US heartland. One difference would be the occasional horse-drawn cart. On the way to Córdova, we passed through a small city of high-rise buildings, called Río Quarto (Fourth River), that guidebooks didn't even bother to mention. Soon we crossed the Río Tercero, then the Río Segundo, and Río Primero. For a people and a language so filled with passion, I was surprised at such prosaic names.
I was underwhelmed, maybe even a bit disappointed, when I first saw Córdova. The name and guidebook descriptions as "Argentina's most colonial city" led me to believe that it's a city laden with antiquity. In 2006, it was awarded the title of Cultural Capital of the Americas. That conjured up images of old adobe and chiseled-stone buildings, and cobblestone streets. I might have even expected to see horse-drawn carts around the main square. But my first view, out the windows of a taxi coming from the bus station, revealed a forest of sleek modern high-rise apartment and condo buildings, wide streets, and traffic. Lots of traffic.
We found accommodations in an uncharming, but clean and serviceable hotel. After a short nap (one of the pleasures of retirement), we stepped out to see if we could find the heart of the city that inspires such lofty praise.
About two blocks away, we sat down to a fine dinner at "La Niña e La Pancha," on the upstairs balcony overlooking the street below. Dinner begins with (what else?) a bottle of very good Los Arboles Malbec from Godoy Cruz, Mendoza, and a basket of home made bread. As we wait for our order to arrive, we note the difference in sound between the diesel buses passing below (loud) and the electric ones (almost silent). We're in an area with lots of universities, and we see students walking below from streetlight to streetlight. One even rides by on a unicycle (!).
Carolyn asks me to pass the camera: there's an old man dressed in grey across the street who's standing at a door fishing for (we guess) his key in his pocket. Then he starts looking at the ground around him, as if he's dropped it. He stoops over and it appears that he's getting down on his knees to look for it, but then he just lays on the ground in front of the door and goes to sleep. Maybe he came home drunk and the whole key business just got to be too much effort, so he decided to rest up and try again later. We don't know, and we didn't wake him up to ask.
After dinner, we wander the streets a bit and find we're in a very artsy section of town, with lots of antique shops. We don't even dare to look much past the window glass since there's no way we can carry anything else with us. Also we're on kind of a budget to make this whole trip happen. But what we see in the windows sure is tempting.
The next day we find that Córdova has an extensive walking-friendly area of streets converted into pedestrian-ways around the Plaza San Martín – there's a Plaza San Martín, or Bolivar, in almost every South American town and city. This district also includes the main historic buildings. There are richly decorated churches and galleries to explore, plenty of sidewalk cafes to enjoy, and a hopping nightlife – if we can stay up that late. And on the map we see a very large park designed by French Architect Charles Thays, who did the one in Mendoza. Things suddenly start to look more interesting.
Córdova is rich in the arts and has some large museums that are well worth seeing. The classical Palacio Ferreyra is one not to miss. Part of the interior was recently remodeled with a modernist theme that's a bit hit-or-miss, but its extensive permanent collection and rotating exhibits of major Argentine artists reward the visitor. And the also-modernist Museo Emilio Caraffa (MEC) contains more of the excellent works that have made the Córdova area famous as Argentina's art center – including the massive piece by Luis Felipe Noé, that was chosen to represent Argentina at the 2009 Venice Bieniale. Unlike most US museums, the Argentines don't object to pictures being taken inside their museums, as long as no flash is used.
As elsewhere in Argentina, there are many reminders of a cowardly military that murdered thousands of opponents during the 1970s. There's a Museo de la Memoria in a space formerly used for torture. The military kidnapped people, murdered them, and gave their children away to others. The entire country is still trying to deal with the excessive horror and madness of those years, and public remembrances are common.
Soon we discover there's much more to Córdova than just the city. The nearby Sierra Central contain numerous sights, including Alta Gracia (one of Che Guevara's boyhood homes), Villa General Belgrano (home to survivors of the sunken WWII German battleship Graf Spee), and numerous arty retreat towns where Córdovans enjoy spending weekends. There's also the Parque Nacional Quebrada del Condorito, a small canyon that's home to many condors. We didn't bother with the many small and charming hill towns, but went straight for the condors.
We signed on with a small tour operator, and met up one morning at 8:30 ready for a long day of hiking. There were five of us, including Martín, our very knowledgeable guide, in his red Renault Kangoo wagon as we headed out of town toward the green hills beyond. When we saw a hawk or other interesting critter along the way, Martín would identify it and pull over for pictures. He also pointed out one of the more popular "love hotels" at the edge of town where couples pull their car into a numbered garage, close the door behind them, and step into the adjacent well-equipped room for 4 hours of fun. But that's a different tour.
We arrive at the park's Visitor Center and begin our trek to the canyon where the condors soar. Besides Martín, our guide, and Carolyn and I, who do very little useful work these days, there was Teresa, who works at the marriage registry in Córdova, and Isabel, a young French agronomist from Brittany who recently split up with her German boyfriend. Martín teaches literature and runs two tours per week. I ask Isabel if she's noticed all the handsome Argentine guys around, and she smiles coyly. Our little tour group was shaping up to be very interesting.
The sendero (path or trail) is a 2 1/2 hour hike over rocky-grassy pampas for about 7 kilometers before dropping to the edge of the quebrada (gorge) that channels the winds needed for the condors to soar. Along the way, Martín points out trails of leaf-cutter ants carrying veggies back to the hive. They maintain a "trash area" where they pile the sticks and other debris to slowly compost back into topsoil. And there's a whole little trail network that they keep clean to transport things to the hive. It makes an interesting lace-like pattern across the pampas. Altogether, it's a pretty good system they worked out a long time ago.
We, tired and hungry, arrive at our vantage point to settle in for lunch and some serious big-bird watching. Across the gorge from us there's a favorite condor hangout area, almost inaccessible to anything other than condors and vultures. We could make out, with some difficulty, a few of the great birds resting on rock perches in shaded areas below the cliffs. And Martín pointed out a small spring-fed pool area high in the rocks, where the birds go to wash off.
Condors have considerable white areas across their backs, and are not easy to see against a mottled background. But then, one would spread its wings, lift into the air and soar down the canyon on the building afternoon breeze. Usually we saw the shadow first, sweeping over the rocky canyonland below, and then we caught the condor in flight as it worked its way upward into the sky far above us, where it was easy to lose again, a black speck against the deep azure blue. With luck, it would soar past distant growing cumulus clouds that promised an afternoon shower.
I asked Martín if the Park Rangers put out dead animals for the condors, and he said there was no need, because, with all the nearby cattle ranches, there was always a dead cow or two out there to clean up. Also, the park recently initiated a guanaco reintroduction program to replace the original herd that had been hunted out during the 1930s. But that effort hadn't worked out too well so far, because the local hungry puma population had eaten most of them. Well, I guess it probably helped keep the pumas away from the cattle. Right now, they're reevaluating what to do about the guanaco program.
As the lazy afternoon wore on, we sat on our rocky perch feeding the local small sparrow-like birds that come to pester the hikers, and marveling at the condors overhead. Flocks of small beautiful butterflies drifted by on the breeze. Groups of Argentine tourists, mostly young professionals from Buenos Aires, shared our spot, and it was interesting to hear their distinctive Italianate 'porteño' Spanish. Martín, ever observant, pointed out a pair of small colorful eagles in a cave on a nearby rocky face. They'd take turns soaring out to look for lunch. Pairs of vultures would land on the rocky peak just above them.
After lazing about for awhile, it was time to begin our trek back to the car. We paused at various viewpoints along the way, saw a small toad hop across our path, and a small garter snake disappear into the tall grass. We stopped to rinse off at a small, cold, spring-fed stream. Martín pointed out the water puddles left in rocky depressions during the rainy season. The water, warmed by the sun, is home to various small creatures that spend their time eating and breeding, to then provide an important food source for migrating birds – maybe even those long-ranging robins and other birds that come to brighten the Northern Hemisphere every Spring.
During the car ride back to Córdova somebody (probably me) brought up the subject of politics, and soon Martín and Teresa were in a rapid-fire discussion in the front that none of us sitting in the back seat could follow. So I turned to ask Isabel if everything is going well in France these days, and she answers, "Oh, non! Ah do not lack Sarkozy. Ah half thee paper to pruuv ah deed not vote for heem!" Ah, politics! There's no better way in the world to start a spirited discussion!
Back in town, we attend the opening of a sculpture exhibit at the new and modern Paseo del Buen Pastor, along with many of the city's truly 'beautiful people.' I am standing on one side of a particularly challenging piece of work and there's a lady studying it from the other side. After a bit, she looks at me, raises one eyebrow and grimaces as if to say, "Whatever…." I smile, also unable to fully comprehend the artist's intention. But there are other pieces of sculpture – many others – of varying quality, that I'd happily have around the house. The arts scene in and around Córdova is truly impressive.
Outside, an ad-hoc kind of band begins marching around the reflecting pool/fountain and playing "Yellow Submarine" on an odd variety of instruments. The fountain roars in time with another piece of majestic music. The cacophony is wonderfully indescribable. A small girl sits at the edge of the water mesmerized by the spectacle of color and light. Nearby, a young couple is having their wedding photos taken with the fountain as a backdrop. They look like movie stars together. Old ladies seated nearby study her beautiful dress and remember those days long ago, back when they were young. Many guys (maybe even me) wonder if the groom is gonna toss her into the pool.
The night has just begun – it's only about 10:00 p.m. – so we find a sidewalk cafe to enjoy our last night in Córdova. We start off with another bottle of good red wine (cost: about US$8) and linger over dinner, watching people come and go, with a beautifully-lit über-gothic church as a backdrop. It's nice to relax, feeling all elegant, because in the morning we'll shoulder our backpacks and drag our suitcases onto another bus, like a couple of drudges, for the leg into Rosario.
In the end, we recognize there's much more to Córdova than our initial reaction would suggest. It's a modern city that appears reasonably prosperous. There's a strong arts scene, and there are many attractive small town getaways in the nearby Sierras. We wish we had more time to spend in the area, and some day we may do that, but for now we need to move on.
Why Rosario? Again, to break up another 10-hour trip. This time, to Buenos Aires. And, who knows?, maybe we'd find something interesting to see there – like the broad Rio Paraná, one of the great rivers of the world.
It turns out that Rosario's offerings are somewhat limited. There's the Monument to the Flag – which is, uh, monumental. There's the long riverfront park, a beginning arts scene, river trips and visits to nearby islands, and pizza with beer. It's also the birthplace of Che Guevara, and current fútbol star Lionel Messi, who's now playing for Barcelona.
The truth is, we were more than a little sidetracked by our proximity to Buenos Aires, and probably didn't give Rosario enough time. We didn't even stop at the museums. Our plan was to rent an apartment for a month in Buenos Aires, and we really needed to move on since we needed to get a handle on the city before we'd know where to rent. We were anxious to move on. On the morning of our departure, we walked just a few blocks from our hotel and got pictures of Che's family home. Then it was time to leave for the big city.
In politics, the British recently gave Argentina's Presidenta, Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner, the opportunity for some major saber rattling. And like any good politician, she grabbed it. You may recall that Argentina and the Brits had a disagreement in 1982 when the failing and inept dictatorship decided to distract people's attention by invading the Falkland Islands. The British quickly defeated them, and the Argentinians still feel the sting to this day.
So when the Brits recently announced they would be exploring the area for oil, Argentina's politicians made lots of noise about it – even bringing it up at the UN, and at the recent conference of Latin American and Caribbean states held in Cancún. In a sense, it's all play-acting. The Falklands/Malvinas are a sore spot for both nations just waiting to be agitated. There's really no way any Argentinian politician could have done otherwise.
Fortunately, according to a recent article in the newspaper, Argentina spends the least on its armed forces, per capita, of any South American nation – less than a fourth of what Ecuador spends. This reluctance to fund an irresponsible military may help prevent any real hostilities, and probable humiliations, from developing.
But the Malvinas thing may have come at a good time for La Presidenta, since she's been embroiled in a controversy over use of the country's currency reserves, and needed a handy diversion for public amusement. She wanted to use the reserves to pay down foreign debt, but she had a major blowup with the country's previous Treasurer over the issue and she forced him to resign. There's been tremendous opposition from various sectors who want to use the money to pay teachers, and to repair hospitals damaged in recent downpours and flooding. She was also blocked by a deeply divided Congress. Then, to everyone's surprise, she simply issued an executive order to have it done. But that was blocked by legal challenges, and the party continues.
The question remains, why, with all the problems Argentina has, is she so insistent on paying those debts now? She says it's to stabilize the currency and maintain Argentina's credit rating with the world, which would lead to lower borrowing costs and a strengthening of the economy. After she made her move, the Buenos Aires stock market went up.
But inflation remains a big problem, and nobody really believes the official annual estimates of 9% – the real rate is probably double that (or even more). Beef prices have risen to such high levels recently (up 40% since December) that the Secretary of Commerce worked with the Customs Service to slow down exports in order to pressure the beef industry for price reductions. The price of beef is a big concern in Argentina where per capita consumption is among the world's highest. But as world beef consumption rises, we may be watching the beginning of a major cultural paradigm shift here as people look for more-affordable sources of protein. Like chicken and pork. And maybe they'll even eat a few more vegetables – something of a rarity on most local menus.
Meanwhile, the government reports that "illegal labor" remained constant in the fourth quarter of 2009 and stood at 36.1% of total jobs (!). There was almost no variation from previous figures despite efforts to register more workers.
As always, there is a photo album with many more images of San Luis, Córdova, and Rosario.