Labor Day. Meaning that no one is actually doing any labor. Non-labor-doing is something that Argentines take very seriously.
The town looked dead. We had booked some days at a place called Córdoba Backpackers. After much walking, and very little signage, we arrived at our chosen crashpad only to be met with some confused resistance. As it was labor day, the attendant did not want to check us in early, and informed us that we would have to come back later. No Problem, we decided, but wanted to use the wi-fi in the meantime. it was then we were informed just how non-labor-doing this particular hostel was.
No internet. No Breakfast. No coffee. Not dealbreakers, but for the price the hostel was asking these sort of things are generally included. In fact, the website said all these were included; still not a dealbreaker.
Up Next: Dealbreaker.
Initially, we were shown one price sheet containing the price we agreed to when we pre-paid for the first night in Córdoba
through the hostel in Mendoza. Then after a few moments, our attendant put that price sheet away and pulled out a new sheet with higher prices and informed us this was the “new pricing” effective that morning. Dealbreaker.
Joe and I grabbed our bags from the luggage storage where we had placed them upon arrival and went to take on the city. After much walking and growling of stomachs, we found a cafe with open doors. The owner, who lived there with his family, happily obliged our aching stomachs and weary legs with chairs, coffee, and the saltiest omelets the planet has ever seen; it was a King’s breakfast. We left renewed and refreshed in our quest.
We found another hostel soon, as recommended in the Lonely Planet book, but it was dirty, smokey, and smelled so bad, we didn’t even consider it despite the tempting price tag. Some time later we happened upon our lovely new home away from home, the Córdoba Hostel. This place was ready with a decent bed at night and coffee every morning. Wi-fi was dependable and it had a great courtyard out back with a completely unusable foosball table.
We immediately met a girl from Sweden upstairs in the computer lounge outside our door. I can’t recall her name, but she was perhaps the chattiest thing I have ever met, and in need of company. She was constantly inviting us to come travel with her or go to a certain place to see a certain thing during our stay. She had been in South America learning Spanish for some time; looking for acceptance more than a language.
There was another dark chocolate haired Israeli girl staying there that neither Joe or I ever dared to talk to. She was all thick curves, ink, and piercings; daunting to say the least.
It was around this time that I decided to go for a hike back to our initial hosteling attempt because I, in my post-all-nighter funk had left both bottles of Russian Death in the luggage locker room. Irresponsible of me, to say the least. I managed to recover them, and Joe and I successfully unlocked his phone and were now able to communicate with the outside world.
Now, on to the real reason we wound up in Córdoba: Pato.
Patricia and I first met in Cusco at the Loki hostel. We established contact again upon the arrival of Team Awesome in Córdoba and immediately started making plans. True to her word to show us the city, Pato was at our side almost every evening after she had finished with work and studies. We never would have made it without her.
Truly, Argentina was a journey of discovery for everyone involved. There were some rough spots for sure. And then there were the highlights. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you… the Lomito.
The Lomito is a conglomeration of foods that Joe almost never eats. Pork, Steak, Fried Eggs, Bacon, and a few other accessories. This sandwich was GREAT! Joe and I vowed to recreate this back in the USA, but we never really got it right. Woe unto us. We first stopped at a Lomito place a few blocks from our hostel one night when we asked Pato to introduce us to some local cuisine. It was a hit.
Pato was our guide for all manner of adventures in Córdoba. Dinner was always an adventure. Like the “All you can eat Meat” restaurant; including cow throat (not that bad, and blood sausage. Joe didn’t really like that one.
Neither did Pato.
The Lomito was just the first of many successful forays into food. Pato was kind enough to bring us Mate. Mate, a special cup filled with Yerba and hot water, is something of an Argentine staple. On nearly every bench or patch of grass, one can observe locals sipping away on fantastic bombillas, straws, placed in all manner of cups, generally a special kind of wood sometimes wrapped in leather or metal. This stuff is pretty great. It goes well with breakfast, lunch, dinner, or late night snacking. Mate is a sort of fuel for the masses.
“Red Death” is rocket fuel for the Brave.
As Pato introduced us to mate, we thought it only fair to introduce her to the Russian Death. This stuff is spicy. Spicy like a time bomb. When it first hits the mouth, it is quite a lot to deal with. Most people equate it with jalapeños. Then in about 10 seconds, ones entire mouth simply explodes. I’m not sure what it is, but it reduced many people to tears and elicited a curse from more than one hapless experimental subject.
It was more than Pato could take. so, we decided to cut it with copious amounts of Red Bull. This is when things got interesting. The ensuing drink was dubbed, “Red Death.”
Results on test subjects are still pending, but the Red Death appears to be a total crazymaker; like batshit-hooliganism-helmetwearing-bonkers crazymaker.
We didn’t know this when we set off to dinner. Neither did the restaurant that allowed us in. We tried to find acceptable food in numerous locations.
We managed to find the only salad bar in Argentina. Then, we managed to turn it into a freakshow.
Argentine Spanish is unique in the world. They have words no other Spanish speaking country does and they have unique pronunciations for ‘y’ and ‘ll’ that them sound something like a cross between ‘j’ and ‘sh.’ This creates some interesting sounds, especially when pronouncing words like yo, meaning I. At this point Joe had been subjected to simply torrents of Spanish with only osmosis to really assist in interpreting. In the middle of a discussion between Pato and I over dinner, Joe sticks his hand out over the table and says, “Disculpe. Joe?”
We all laughed so loud and hard it was difficult to breathe for minutes. You really had to be there, but it may have been the funniest joke ever spoken aloud in multiple languages ever attempted by a human. I still laugh everytime I think about it.
Joe asks in retrospect, “How were we not kicked out? Or better yet, how did we not start an international incident?”
As previously noted several times, Joe had rarely a moment’s peace. he had been barraged by Spanish and ceaseless activity almost every waking minute of his trip; around two weeks. Patricia took us out to meet some of her friends and see the square where all the important speeches and New Years parties go down. We were all set to go out to the club when Joe finally lost his momentum and simply had to be put to bed.
Luckily for me, I found some Speed!
Patricia and her fantaaaastic friends took me out to a great, crowded club and we danced and joked all night. It was exactly what I needed. I was rolling in around 7 a.m. and was awoken a few hours later by light and noise to find Joe refreshed and ready.
After we had been in town for a couple of days and not gotten ourselves killed, Pato decided we should come hang out in her home town and kick it with her family. She gave us pretty explicit directions and we set off on the collectivo bus between Córdoba and her home town, “Onion River.”
A couple of stops before we were supposed to get off the bus, a somewhat soaked Patricia jumped onto the bus out of the rain that had just started up outside. Our aim for the day was to go see a cool lake near the Onion river. Unfortunately, inclement weather had added fog and enough rain to really dampen the experience. After we had climbed up to the dam, the rain bailed out and we actually got some cool views.
We spent the rest of the day playing with Pato’s sister, neice, and nephew. As soon as we showed the kids some photos from the racetrack Joe and I were instant heroes. We walked all around their town, sampled membrillo jam, took some great pictures, and saw two trees that had actually grown and fused into a single unit in the branches. I loved it!
Unfortunately, Pato couldn’t be with us every day, so we took the Fono Bus off to a city called Carlos Paz in the mountains. Neither of us really were struck by the city, but it was nice to get out and about, chill by the lake, go shopping at the Disco Supermarket and hang out with an old fighter jet they plunked next to main street for some reason. It was a lazy day and we both needed it.
The magic that Patricia brought to everything was evident, as we constantly had strange people from the hostel trying to follow us around and hang out. Sometimes it was welcomed; sometimes not. There was some awkward British kid hanging around us for a couple days looking for attention. I think Joe eventually scared him off.
It was with a heavy heart that we three convened on the morning of our last day together in Córdoba. We all took off for a walk to the nearby park and drank mate and goofed off.
We decided to have lomitos for a last meal of our Córdoba trio. The waitress really disliked Joe and after we explained that onions would kill him, she brought him a lomito filled with onion, so he and I had to switch. In honor of the homicidal waitress, we made a sauce with Danica Patrick mustard, salsa golf, and every other terrible ingredient we could find and dared one another to try it until a dog walked up begging for food. We got the dog to try it and he was instantly terrified of us and we were all quite glad none of us had tried it first.
On the trip back to the bus station, we all thought we would be late for the bus, but ultimately it was the bus that was super late, and we even had enough time to go buy some mate cups, bombillas, and Yerba to take with us. Patricia was simply fantastic, seeing us off on the bus and keeping in contact with us for the duration of the trip to make sure we didn’t gringo ourselves into any trouble.
One more super freaking long bus ride and we were bound for Iguazú and la garganta del Diablo!