Mardel and Cordoba--the beginnings of more traveling
Yes, oh yes, I am back on the road again quite officially. Mardel was a welcome relief from the fast pace of Buenos Aires. My first day at the beach? I was sitting out in the sun, thoroughly enjoying myself, the beach and the sun, and this strange older vagabondish man sat down about 7 feet away from me, which was strange since the beach was fairly empty. I ignored him while still keeping a cautious eye on him, and about two minutes later I heard a bunch of yelling and three guys started running towards this man. They started shouting at him to get away, calling him crazy, saying they’d told him to stay away from here and to go away right now. Needless to say, I was quite startled! One of the guys came over to me to explain that he was sort of a local crazy that targets pretty girls on the beaches and I sort of zoned out as he explained why he targets the girls on the beaches, but it seemed that they were doing me a favor by scaring this man away. A little scary, but I felt as though these Argentinean stranger boys were protecting me. They left as quickly as they came, but it certainly left me a bit unsettled! My second day at Mardel was spent walking all down the coast in the city, and I ended up at the fisherman’s wharf where there was a group of sea lions sunning themselves on the dock. That was pretty fun to see, and as I was kneeling down to take some pictures of a group down on the dock level below, I looked to my left and realized I was standing right next to a big ol’ sleeping sea lion! I backed slowly away…
The third day I was still in a bit of the funk I picked up in BA as I sat down at the beach in the morning, even though the day was absolutely beautiful and I was even able to lay on the beach in my bikini! As I stretched out on the beach trying to lose myself in the pages of my book (Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil), a pair of Argentineans walked by and made kissing noises at me. I glanced up, gave them a little bit of sassy (the name of my left eyebrow—I swear she has a personality of her own, it just happens to be very similar to mine) and then I got right back to my book. A short while later, one of the guys came over to me an asked if he could leave his things next to me while he was out in the water body boarding, because his friend was leaving. I said yes, trying to tell myself that I was being a good person even though he was a stupid piropo caller. He came back maybe 45 minutes later and we sort of chit chatted, then stopped talking and both got lost in looking out to sea. He asked me if I was meditating (random question to ask a stranger) and I replied that no, I wasn’t meditating and that I’m not particularly good at meditating. This got us started on a 5-hour on-and-off conversation, time broken up by reading and staring out to sea. We talked about western thought versus eastern thought, zen principles, and a lot about energy and religion. We were very much on the same page on these subjects and it was just a crazy kind of a conversation to have with a perfect stranger…in Spanish. There were a few things that came up in the conversation that were exactly what I needed to hear, and I’m fairly certain he couldn’t have had any idea how welcome the conversation was. We talked about how people set so many goals for themselves, but are they really happy after they achieve them? People focus a lot on trying to make themselves happy (often with material things) and they think, “After I achieve/acquire this, I’ll be happy.” But how often does that really happen? Because then our focus changes and we always begin to focus on something else that we want instead of being content with what we have. Now on the one hand, I believe that’s part of human nature, to accomplish our goals and then set new goals—it’s part of growing, learning, and adapting to life. Do we ever really give ourselves a good pat on the back, though? Do we really recognize what we’ve accomplished and the difficulties we’ve had to go through in order to achieve those goals? Our society says that we must be humble, that pride is not a favorable quality. We have to walk the fine line between humility and pride, which is confidence. Having confidence is easier said than done, but it is possible.
The conversation was a very welcome one, and it made me remember that I need to focus on channeling my energy more towards the positive instead of letting myself get lost in the negative energy that is often to be found when we don’t remember to let ourselves appreciate every moment. So during our on and off conversations, we would each sit in our own space on the beach and get lost in our own thoughts, our own energy, in the waves of the ocean, in the sun shining down, feeding more positive energy, in the breeze bringing a peacefulness and calm. And of course a good test was brought about when he asked me over to his apartment so he could cook me dinner (I just shut down when guys hit on me!) and instead suggested we go out for coffee or meet up for dinner. I gave him my cell number, we finally introduced ourselves (because in this world I am in right now, names just aren’t as important as they normally are), then as I walked away I began wishing that he wouldn’t call. I wanted, rather, to appreciate the random encounter as the stranger that walked in and out of my life in a matter of hours, bringing about this reminder, that the world is what we make of it. And surely enough, I never did hear from him. Perfection.
I left Mardel the next day, still a bit conflicted as usual (for no particular reason other than I hate transit and schlepping my stuff all over the place and feeling like a giant target with my giant bags, as if to scream, “Hi, I’m a tourist! Rob me!!!” But I got on the bus, continued my crocheting from the previous night, and as the bus rolled out of the station I sat, cross-legged in my seat, closed my eyes, and focused on changing my energy to one of happiness, security, and peace. That energy focus has been a constant theme in my mind every night before I go to sleep and every time I feel myself getting anxious while in transit. It helps.
My next test of the positive energy focus? I went to Colonia in Uruguay a few days later to renew my Argentinean visa and it was a cloudy day with a few sun breaks. I planned on being outside all day, so I took myself back to the days of childhood, when mom would take us to the beach on the Oregon coast (where the weather is notoriously bad) and she would tell us to think sunny thoughts. And sure enough, if we were all focused on sunny thoughts, the beach would be sunny by the time we arrived. It truly was amazing, and I remembered this being a theme. Now, I’m not one to think I’m a magician and have powers to change the weather. I’m a skeptic, but I also believe in positive energy. So as I sat on that ferry crossing the Rio Plata, I focused on sun, on thoughts of the clouds parting and letting the sun through. The sun probably came out for 50% of the time I was in Colonia, which was pretty good since the sky was full of clouds! I walked through the beautiful streets of Colonia that day, appreciating the picture-perfectness of it all and keeping the song, “Mr. Sun, sun, Mr. Golden sun, please shine down on me…” I don’t know how many people actually know that song, but it recycled through my head all day, and the sun would show its beautiful face and warm up the otherwise cold me. It was a good exercise in energy focus, I’ll certainly say that. But you want to know the craziest part? When I got back onto the ferry to head back to the Argentinean side of the river, I looked out on the sky from my lovely window seat and in the sky absolutely full of clouds, there was a small circle of orangey clarity located directly under the sun—no clouds, just rays of sunshine coming from that one small circle. Just in that one, small part of the sky, the sun came through and it was incredible. I have never seen anything like it in my life. I took some pictures, but unfortunately, that’s another story and I no longer have the pictures (or my new camera for that matter). But I’d like to think that I had some small part in that sunny occurrence, amidst a sky full of darkness, a small circle of sunny goodness.
My lovely friend Alethea let me stay with her during my last few days in BA, and the two of us spent my last day in BA running errands and having lunch in a cute little café (there will never be a shortage of those in BA, especially in Recoleta) and we talked and talked, about boys, about families, and I ended up in tears at the end of our conversation about family…which set me off on tears for basically the rest of the day. I walked back to my old hostel in BA one last time to pick up a few forgotten items (including the scarf I’d made in BA that was the same color as Oscar the Grouch, which I thought was appropriate for my mood while making the scarf!). My good friend Carlos was there, as well as two other hostel friends. I said goodbye to them, gave Carlos a hug goodbye and then made a quick exit before the tears began running down my face. I stopped in the hallway before walking out the door and let myself cry a little bit, and let some of the bubbling emotion to let itself out before facing the outside world again. I walked through Palermo down Thames street, my main street in BA, the street I had walked down so many times before, in a haze. My eyes remained half-filled with tears, though few managed to find their way out. My body’s way of preparing itself for the next transition.
That night, I took the night bus from BA to Cordoba and with my backpack zippers padlocked and resting safely in my lap under my blanket, I made it safely to Cordoba. Not a lot of people talk much about Cordoba or how exciting it is, but I actually loved my time there. I stayed at this place called Baluch backpackers, and I have no idea where that name comes from or why they have sheep painted all over the place…but I met some good people there and it felt very comfortable. My first morning, I interneted for a while, took a shower, and got ready for my day. While I was sitting in the common area, a guy sitting next to me said he’d seen me before. I pulled a total blank, but then he asked about my Spanish school in BA and then we realized that we had had one short conversation about Havaianas one day in the kitchen at BASP. Random…and thus is how I met my second favorite Australian, Ben.
I went and wandered the streets by myself for a few hours, locating the grocery store (very important business, and most exciting, I found these great little pizza breads for like one peso!), stopping by a dietetica (because I saw dried starfruit in the window and was so stunned that I couldn’t stand to pass it up), and bought some yarn (a store recommended by one of the very nice girls in the dietetica, and a place where I also felt very at home surrounded by grandmas such as myself, though they actually were of grandmother age…I also had a very long discussion about yarns and which yarns you can use with what size of crochet hooks and knitting needles, and apparently you use less yarn when you knit…strange…). Anyway, I had quite a wonderful little morning, talking to people in the shops and making my little purchases. I walked along the streets, seeing the sights and kind of getting lost. I’m not sure why, but my navigating wasn’t quite fantastic in Cordoba, though I was never lost. I took some pictures, I saw what is probably my favorite church, a gothic-style church that has gargoyles and which is made up of all different colors. You want to know the best part of Cordoba was? I didn’t get stared at. I mean, people didn’t stare at me all the time like a tourist, and the guys didn’t make comments. Did you get that??? The guys didn’t make comments! I walked the streets by myself for hours and didn’t get any piropos! I walked by a few construction workers and was bracing myself for the oncoming comments—but they never came. I made that really awesome arm side-clench with a little whispered, “Yes!” afterwards. Oh yeah.
I made my way back to the hostel and let myself get lost in whatever random movie was playing at the time. Then Ben and I ran into each other again and he said he was really craving a beer. I said I was really craving cookies. Surprise? Of course not. So we made cookies that night, which was entirely wonderful, and he was pleasantly surprised to discover that they were better than Subway cookies. I also got to introduce him to the wonders of “The Princess Bride” which he had never watched before. He still doesn’t believe me that it’s a classic, but I think if he watched it a few more times, he would love it. Ha! Just you wait, there is more time for conversion…J AND, Ben confessed to me that he had a banana phobia, but that he thought maybe it was time to cure it. Like me, just the smell of a banana, the sight of a banana peel or the accidental touch of a banana string was enough to give him the heebie jeebies. But, also like me, he determined that it was time to get over the fear. He had already taken the necessary prerequisite steps to banana-eating:
Eating banana-flavored items (such as cake, on his part).
Drinking a banana licuado.
Actually eating pieces of banana in a fruit salad and not freaking out.
We went to the grocery store and picked out a few ripe-looking, not brown-speckled specimens and brought them back to the hostel with us. We went to the rooftop terrace along with a large bottle of Quilmes (just in case) and for the first time in his life (unlike me), Ben peeled a banana and ate it—all of it! Halfway through, he was like, “It’s sweet. I think I actually like it. I mean, I think I really like it!” And thus was born another banana fan.
The next day Ben and I set off to Carlos Paz, a little resort city outside of Cordoba. The lady at the tourist office informed us that for this particular holiday (a sort of equivalent to Veteran’s Day) there was a special dish being served, called locro. So Ben and I set off to find us some locro. The place the information lady directed us to was a neighborhood center—literally in the middle of a neighborhood, totally not near any other stores. We wandered into the gym, and into the kitchen where we encountered families filling up their personal pots and pans with locro. We were a little intimidated, and the sign said to bring your own recipient, so we thought we’d go back to this little sandwich shop we’d passed along the way that said it had locro. But alas, the sandwicheria was closed! Eventually we decided to go eat the leftover pizza breads and cookies from the day before next to the river. We each brought out our cameras and snapped a few pictures. Then we decided to do some more wandering and go see the pride and joy of Carlos Paz—it’s giant cuckoo clock. We were both expecting a truly gigantic clock, you know, the kind of multi-story clock you find in the center of towns. Well, when we actually got to “the pride and joy”, we discovered that it was more like a child’s playhouse than a giant clock. So much for the pride and joy. I reached into my backpack to take a picture of the “grandness” of it all, and as I rifled through my bag I realized that my camera wasn’t there. Um, where’s my camera? Not there! There are a few possibilities of what could have happened, but I’d still like to say that it disappeared into thin air. I mean, I put the cookies and everything else I’d taken out of my bag back in my bag before we left our little grassy knoll. At least I thought I did. And there weren’t a lot of other people around us that day, no crowds, no weird people stalking around too close to us, so I don’t think anyone could have taken it out of my bag, although people can be quite tricksy. We power walked back to our grassy knoll, only to find…nothing. We checked in the river bank and at the restaurants close by to see if anyone had turned in a missing camera, all to no avail. Shit. Camera number three, gone, gone, gone. I was pretty dang disappointed, but I didn’t let it get to me very much. I kept cheery through the ordeal because as usual, it could have been a lot worse. But I take it that the universe is trying to tell me something—apparently I’m not supposed to have a digital camera right now, so I have continued my travels camera-less. Annoying, but at the same time it allows me to stay right in the moment when I’m there instead of taking pictures so I’ll appreciate it later or so other people can appreciate it later. I guess it makes my experience a bit more personal, you know? At least that’s what I’m telling myself, trying to stay optimistic. I may eventually get a few disposable cameras, but they cost about $10 here, and although it doesn’t seem like much, it’s not cheap, either. Oh well for now. We recommenced our search for locro and went from closed restaurant to just closing restaurant to restaurant that wasn’t even open for the day. Locro was evading us! We finally realized that there were likely no more restaurants open, so we headed back to the bus terminal and left Carlos Paz feeling a little defeated. We walked out of the bus terminal and lo and behold, at the shady, 24 hour café right across the street stood a sign promoting their locro! We sat down, ordered our locro and submarinos (the combination of which freaked out the waitress a little bit, so we went ahead had them separately). And when she came out with our plates of locro we…were a bit surprised. The information lady in CP made locro sound quite delicious, but the bowls sitting in front of us were less than appetizing. They were filled with beans and meat in a stew-looking dish with nice little pools of red grease sitting on top. Mmm, scrumptious! The meat was top-quality, too, proved by Ben’s encounter with a ventricle and my encounter with things that looked like potatoes but turned out to be a big squishy mess of fat in my mouth. Ugh. Nasty! So much for locro, but hey, we were cultural for a day! :)
The next day Ben and I went to Alta Gracia, one of the hometowns of Che Guevara, and we visited the Che museum (interesting, but it was definitely full of artifacts rather than story-filled, which I thought would have been pretty great, and it also skipped telling us much about his death…I’m still needing to read more) and ran into yet another Australian named Mark…randomness. We took ourselves a little nature walk outside the city for a few hours then Ben and I went back to check out the Jesuit estancia museum which was very quaint, though not particularly noteworthy. My fourth day in Cordoba, we took it easy and made scones, watched movies, and played on the internet all day. We had an asado at Baluch that night and then I caught the night bus to my next destination—Mendoza.
The third day I was still in a bit of the funk I picked up in BA as I sat down at the beach in the morning, even though the day was absolutely beautiful and I was even able to lay on the beach in my bikini! As I stretched out on the beach trying to lose myself in the pages of my book (Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil), a pair of Argentineans walked by and made kissing noises at me. I glanced up, gave them a little bit of sassy (the name of my left eyebrow—I swear she has a personality of her own, it just happens to be very similar to mine) and then I got right back to my book. A short while later, one of the guys came over to me an asked if he could leave his things next to me while he was out in the water body boarding, because his friend was leaving. I said yes, trying to tell myself that I was being a good person even though he was a stupid piropo caller. He came back maybe 45 minutes later and we sort of chit chatted, then stopped talking and both got lost in looking out to sea. He asked me if I was meditating (random question to ask a stranger) and I replied that no, I wasn’t meditating and that I’m not particularly good at meditating. This got us started on a 5-hour on-and-off conversation, time broken up by reading and staring out to sea. We talked about western thought versus eastern thought, zen principles, and a lot about energy and religion. We were very much on the same page on these subjects and it was just a crazy kind of a conversation to have with a perfect stranger…in Spanish. There were a few things that came up in the conversation that were exactly what I needed to hear, and I’m fairly certain he couldn’t have had any idea how welcome the conversation was. We talked about how people set so many goals for themselves, but are they really happy after they achieve them? People focus a lot on trying to make themselves happy (often with material things) and they think, “After I achieve/acquire this, I’ll be happy.” But how often does that really happen? Because then our focus changes and we always begin to focus on something else that we want instead of being content with what we have. Now on the one hand, I believe that’s part of human nature, to accomplish our goals and then set new goals—it’s part of growing, learning, and adapting to life. Do we ever really give ourselves a good pat on the back, though? Do we really recognize what we’ve accomplished and the difficulties we’ve had to go through in order to achieve those goals? Our society says that we must be humble, that pride is not a favorable quality. We have to walk the fine line between humility and pride, which is confidence. Having confidence is easier said than done, but it is possible.
The conversation was a very welcome one, and it made me remember that I need to focus on channeling my energy more towards the positive instead of letting myself get lost in the negative energy that is often to be found when we don’t remember to let ourselves appreciate every moment. So during our on and off conversations, we would each sit in our own space on the beach and get lost in our own thoughts, our own energy, in the waves of the ocean, in the sun shining down, feeding more positive energy, in the breeze bringing a peacefulness and calm. And of course a good test was brought about when he asked me over to his apartment so he could cook me dinner (I just shut down when guys hit on me!) and instead suggested we go out for coffee or meet up for dinner. I gave him my cell number, we finally introduced ourselves (because in this world I am in right now, names just aren’t as important as they normally are), then as I walked away I began wishing that he wouldn’t call. I wanted, rather, to appreciate the random encounter as the stranger that walked in and out of my life in a matter of hours, bringing about this reminder, that the world is what we make of it. And surely enough, I never did hear from him. Perfection.
I left Mardel the next day, still a bit conflicted as usual (for no particular reason other than I hate transit and schlepping my stuff all over the place and feeling like a giant target with my giant bags, as if to scream, “Hi, I’m a tourist! Rob me!!!” But I got on the bus, continued my crocheting from the previous night, and as the bus rolled out of the station I sat, cross-legged in my seat, closed my eyes, and focused on changing my energy to one of happiness, security, and peace. That energy focus has been a constant theme in my mind every night before I go to sleep and every time I feel myself getting anxious while in transit. It helps.
My next test of the positive energy focus? I went to Colonia in Uruguay a few days later to renew my Argentinean visa and it was a cloudy day with a few sun breaks. I planned on being outside all day, so I took myself back to the days of childhood, when mom would take us to the beach on the Oregon coast (where the weather is notoriously bad) and she would tell us to think sunny thoughts. And sure enough, if we were all focused on sunny thoughts, the beach would be sunny by the time we arrived. It truly was amazing, and I remembered this being a theme. Now, I’m not one to think I’m a magician and have powers to change the weather. I’m a skeptic, but I also believe in positive energy. So as I sat on that ferry crossing the Rio Plata, I focused on sun, on thoughts of the clouds parting and letting the sun through. The sun probably came out for 50% of the time I was in Colonia, which was pretty good since the sky was full of clouds! I walked through the beautiful streets of Colonia that day, appreciating the picture-perfectness of it all and keeping the song, “Mr. Sun, sun, Mr. Golden sun, please shine down on me…” I don’t know how many people actually know that song, but it recycled through my head all day, and the sun would show its beautiful face and warm up the otherwise cold me. It was a good exercise in energy focus, I’ll certainly say that. But you want to know the craziest part? When I got back onto the ferry to head back to the Argentinean side of the river, I looked out on the sky from my lovely window seat and in the sky absolutely full of clouds, there was a small circle of orangey clarity located directly under the sun—no clouds, just rays of sunshine coming from that one small circle. Just in that one, small part of the sky, the sun came through and it was incredible. I have never seen anything like it in my life. I took some pictures, but unfortunately, that’s another story and I no longer have the pictures (or my new camera for that matter). But I’d like to think that I had some small part in that sunny occurrence, amidst a sky full of darkness, a small circle of sunny goodness.
My lovely friend Alethea let me stay with her during my last few days in BA, and the two of us spent my last day in BA running errands and having lunch in a cute little café (there will never be a shortage of those in BA, especially in Recoleta) and we talked and talked, about boys, about families, and I ended up in tears at the end of our conversation about family…which set me off on tears for basically the rest of the day. I walked back to my old hostel in BA one last time to pick up a few forgotten items (including the scarf I’d made in BA that was the same color as Oscar the Grouch, which I thought was appropriate for my mood while making the scarf!). My good friend Carlos was there, as well as two other hostel friends. I said goodbye to them, gave Carlos a hug goodbye and then made a quick exit before the tears began running down my face. I stopped in the hallway before walking out the door and let myself cry a little bit, and let some of the bubbling emotion to let itself out before facing the outside world again. I walked through Palermo down Thames street, my main street in BA, the street I had walked down so many times before, in a haze. My eyes remained half-filled with tears, though few managed to find their way out. My body’s way of preparing itself for the next transition.
That night, I took the night bus from BA to Cordoba and with my backpack zippers padlocked and resting safely in my lap under my blanket, I made it safely to Cordoba. Not a lot of people talk much about Cordoba or how exciting it is, but I actually loved my time there. I stayed at this place called Baluch backpackers, and I have no idea where that name comes from or why they have sheep painted all over the place…but I met some good people there and it felt very comfortable. My first morning, I interneted for a while, took a shower, and got ready for my day. While I was sitting in the common area, a guy sitting next to me said he’d seen me before. I pulled a total blank, but then he asked about my Spanish school in BA and then we realized that we had had one short conversation about Havaianas one day in the kitchen at BASP. Random…and thus is how I met my second favorite Australian, Ben.
I went and wandered the streets by myself for a few hours, locating the grocery store (very important business, and most exciting, I found these great little pizza breads for like one peso!), stopping by a dietetica (because I saw dried starfruit in the window and was so stunned that I couldn’t stand to pass it up), and bought some yarn (a store recommended by one of the very nice girls in the dietetica, and a place where I also felt very at home surrounded by grandmas such as myself, though they actually were of grandmother age…I also had a very long discussion about yarns and which yarns you can use with what size of crochet hooks and knitting needles, and apparently you use less yarn when you knit…strange…). Anyway, I had quite a wonderful little morning, talking to people in the shops and making my little purchases. I walked along the streets, seeing the sights and kind of getting lost. I’m not sure why, but my navigating wasn’t quite fantastic in Cordoba, though I was never lost. I took some pictures, I saw what is probably my favorite church, a gothic-style church that has gargoyles and which is made up of all different colors. You want to know the best part of Cordoba was? I didn’t get stared at. I mean, people didn’t stare at me all the time like a tourist, and the guys didn’t make comments. Did you get that??? The guys didn’t make comments! I walked the streets by myself for hours and didn’t get any piropos! I walked by a few construction workers and was bracing myself for the oncoming comments—but they never came. I made that really awesome arm side-clench with a little whispered, “Yes!” afterwards. Oh yeah.
I made my way back to the hostel and let myself get lost in whatever random movie was playing at the time. Then Ben and I ran into each other again and he said he was really craving a beer. I said I was really craving cookies. Surprise? Of course not. So we made cookies that night, which was entirely wonderful, and he was pleasantly surprised to discover that they were better than Subway cookies. I also got to introduce him to the wonders of “The Princess Bride” which he had never watched before. He still doesn’t believe me that it’s a classic, but I think if he watched it a few more times, he would love it. Ha! Just you wait, there is more time for conversion…J AND, Ben confessed to me that he had a banana phobia, but that he thought maybe it was time to cure it. Like me, just the smell of a banana, the sight of a banana peel or the accidental touch of a banana string was enough to give him the heebie jeebies. But, also like me, he determined that it was time to get over the fear. He had already taken the necessary prerequisite steps to banana-eating:
Eating banana-flavored items (such as cake, on his part).
Drinking a banana licuado.
Actually eating pieces of banana in a fruit salad and not freaking out.
We went to the grocery store and picked out a few ripe-looking, not brown-speckled specimens and brought them back to the hostel with us. We went to the rooftop terrace along with a large bottle of Quilmes (just in case) and for the first time in his life (unlike me), Ben peeled a banana and ate it—all of it! Halfway through, he was like, “It’s sweet. I think I actually like it. I mean, I think I really like it!” And thus was born another banana fan.
The next day Ben and I set off to Carlos Paz, a little resort city outside of Cordoba. The lady at the tourist office informed us that for this particular holiday (a sort of equivalent to Veteran’s Day) there was a special dish being served, called locro. So Ben and I set off to find us some locro. The place the information lady directed us to was a neighborhood center—literally in the middle of a neighborhood, totally not near any other stores. We wandered into the gym, and into the kitchen where we encountered families filling up their personal pots and pans with locro. We were a little intimidated, and the sign said to bring your own recipient, so we thought we’d go back to this little sandwich shop we’d passed along the way that said it had locro. But alas, the sandwicheria was closed! Eventually we decided to go eat the leftover pizza breads and cookies from the day before next to the river. We each brought out our cameras and snapped a few pictures. Then we decided to do some more wandering and go see the pride and joy of Carlos Paz—it’s giant cuckoo clock. We were both expecting a truly gigantic clock, you know, the kind of multi-story clock you find in the center of towns. Well, when we actually got to “the pride and joy”, we discovered that it was more like a child’s playhouse than a giant clock. So much for the pride and joy. I reached into my backpack to take a picture of the “grandness” of it all, and as I rifled through my bag I realized that my camera wasn’t there. Um, where’s my camera? Not there! There are a few possibilities of what could have happened, but I’d still like to say that it disappeared into thin air. I mean, I put the cookies and everything else I’d taken out of my bag back in my bag before we left our little grassy knoll. At least I thought I did. And there weren’t a lot of other people around us that day, no crowds, no weird people stalking around too close to us, so I don’t think anyone could have taken it out of my bag, although people can be quite tricksy. We power walked back to our grassy knoll, only to find…nothing. We checked in the river bank and at the restaurants close by to see if anyone had turned in a missing camera, all to no avail. Shit. Camera number three, gone, gone, gone. I was pretty dang disappointed, but I didn’t let it get to me very much. I kept cheery through the ordeal because as usual, it could have been a lot worse. But I take it that the universe is trying to tell me something—apparently I’m not supposed to have a digital camera right now, so I have continued my travels camera-less. Annoying, but at the same time it allows me to stay right in the moment when I’m there instead of taking pictures so I’ll appreciate it later or so other people can appreciate it later. I guess it makes my experience a bit more personal, you know? At least that’s what I’m telling myself, trying to stay optimistic. I may eventually get a few disposable cameras, but they cost about $10 here, and although it doesn’t seem like much, it’s not cheap, either. Oh well for now. We recommenced our search for locro and went from closed restaurant to just closing restaurant to restaurant that wasn’t even open for the day. Locro was evading us! We finally realized that there were likely no more restaurants open, so we headed back to the bus terminal and left Carlos Paz feeling a little defeated. We walked out of the bus terminal and lo and behold, at the shady, 24 hour café right across the street stood a sign promoting their locro! We sat down, ordered our locro and submarinos (the combination of which freaked out the waitress a little bit, so we went ahead had them separately). And when she came out with our plates of locro we…were a bit surprised. The information lady in CP made locro sound quite delicious, but the bowls sitting in front of us were less than appetizing. They were filled with beans and meat in a stew-looking dish with nice little pools of red grease sitting on top. Mmm, scrumptious! The meat was top-quality, too, proved by Ben’s encounter with a ventricle and my encounter with things that looked like potatoes but turned out to be a big squishy mess of fat in my mouth. Ugh. Nasty! So much for locro, but hey, we were cultural for a day! :)
The next day Ben and I went to Alta Gracia, one of the hometowns of Che Guevara, and we visited the Che museum (interesting, but it was definitely full of artifacts rather than story-filled, which I thought would have been pretty great, and it also skipped telling us much about his death…I’m still needing to read more) and ran into yet another Australian named Mark…randomness. We took ourselves a little nature walk outside the city for a few hours then Ben and I went back to check out the Jesuit estancia museum which was very quaint, though not particularly noteworthy. My fourth day in Cordoba, we took it easy and made scones, watched movies, and played on the internet all day. We had an asado at Baluch that night and then I caught the night bus to my next destination—Mendoza.
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