Lost and found

Dear future me,

As our fellowship of the Dutchies in Uruguay came to an end, I said goodbye to Josée and Erwin in Montevideo. After crying for hours in my single bedroom, I got myself together and started to explore this capital city. Half of the citizens of Uruguay live here, including a trillion old motorcycles in the antique workshop of Willie, a former cross champion. However, despite the grand size, the city feels pleasantly manageable to explore by foot. Helped by Jeff, an extravagant host of a coffee bar, I got these great leads to follow up: gasping at old mansions of rich people, visiting a tango concert with 3 men (I got very confused, since I thought they would dance…. but they turned out to be an instrumental trio), visiting the Museum of the Belles Artes and eating a true Uruguayan Chivito, which is a steak dressed up as a sandwich. I also went to the Museum of the Andes, which sounds like it’s an exhibition about the mountains in the west of South America.  But is in fact a remarkable memorial of the Uruguayan rugby team which airplane crashed on the border of Argentina and Uruguay in 1974. I’ve seen this story as a movie and as a documentary, but this true dedication, run by a Norwegian guy, tops it all. It shows all the people involved in the crash and tells the whole story that led to 16 survivors, who organized their own rescue after 70+ days in the freezing cold up the snowy mountains. They used a pair of lost shoes as their mascot to bring them luck in their expeditions trying to find a way back to civilization.

Impressed by their extraordinary survivor skills, I started to seek out my own adventure again. Safely on the ground, I hit the road to re-enter Argentina. Finely back to my own old-fashioned human navigation skills, no Garmin of Erwin to follow into the wrong direction. I always feel we are chasing a purple crocodile when I’m riding with other people who use artificial navigation (for non-Dutch people: browse the internet for the meaning of a purple crocodile). When it is obvious to turn left because a real sign says so, the computer (navigation) usually says no and turns right. There must be some small trolls in those navigation nightmares who love to make fun of people. Anyway, they don’t bother me, so I found my way back to Dolores, a town near the border of Argentina. I met some Uruguay bikers who enjoyed the start of Tourist Week, a vacation in Uruguay to celebrate the (non-existence of) tourists. I thought it was funny, but my smile changed into a grin when I found out that it also means that every single Uruguayan goes to spend their free time in Argentina. It took me 3,5 hours to cross the border, but I must admit I did enjoy being part of one big traffic family while waiting.

Argentina spread out it arms again to welcome me back and showered me with sun beams and rising temperatures. I was looking forward to my hotel with swimming pool in Victoria after this long day of waiting and riding, so I even booked an extra day. Only to enjoy every corner of my bed for the whole day as suddenly autumn settled in and rain showers started to sprinkle the beautiful garden of my hotel and iced the water of the swimming pool. No worries, I will encounter other places that have swimming pools. Meanwhile I started to enjoy this river country I just entered, with canals leading to the big Rio Paraña. I loved this scenery so much; I couldn’t help myself seeing the scenery thrice. Once, to get to the river. Twice to return to Victoria (60 kilometers) to fetch my scarf and thrice to finally cross the river with the scarf. Before, while I was on my way to the river, I found that I felt naked, soon to realize that I left my lucky travel scarf in the wardrobe in Victoria. There are a lot a stuff people can do without, but this Nennie can’t travel without her buddy from Tanzania. I was thrilled to find it where I left it and didn’t mind the 120 km extra ride. Crossing the river and passing the apparently dangerous city Rosario, I continued in the area that they should call The Netherlands but the Argentineans misspelled this name into ‘Entre Rios’. It is perfect flat land for agriculture, so I’ve been spending miles and miles in between campo’s (fields) of corn, soja and wheat. My deep knowledge of different crops is clear, but I must admit a friend of mine whispered this into my ear. Rodolfo, who I met on Chiloë Island in Chile and by chance another time at a petrol station in Perito Moreno, lives here, in this cute little village named Maria Susana. He not only welcomed me to his house, but also spoiled me to death with a lot of great food: asado’s (spareribs and other meats) and alfajores (sweet stuff). He has this trait from his mum, who surpassed the spoiling with more sweet stuff and shopping for snacks, while listening patiently to my travel stories in Spanish.

I rolled out of Maria Susana to let my tires bring me to an absolute pearl in Argentina. Córdoba. It is the second biggest city of Argentina, but it feels like a village. A very cultural village. Where Indian Summer seems to be everlasting while enjoying the illumination of the many churches, cathedrals and squares full of people drinking mate. Where fountains dance on the music of Pirates of the Caribbean. Where the number of musea and galleries exceed the number of days you can legally spend here as a tourist, forcing you to make firm decisions what to see or else, when to immigrate to this place. And the vibe is fantastic, take the Argentinean friendliness and multiply that with a 1000 and you get this place that feels very safe and laidback. It is also the place where Che Guevara spend his childhood and you can visit his family house in Alta Gracia. Córdoba is the portal to the province which entails gorgeous hills, small winding roads, panoramas on lakes and…. a lot of Germans. Not actual Germans, but somehow wherever Germans find a country that looks like, ehmm, Switzerland, they leave their footprint; by founding these idyllic villages with beer gardens, frankfurter sausages, a lot of goblins and a main square dressed up as an Oktoberfest ground. Thankfully I found a little trace of my own country when I was walking to the waterfall in La Cumbrecita. Therefore, I left this fairy country while feasting on a ‘stroopwafel’ and headed for the big wall of mountains leading to the west. Still aiming for Mendoza, I’m wondering if I will make it in time before Indian Summer turns into Estivo-autumnal (fancy English word for early chill after the warmth) ….

See ya later,

Annemieke

And yes….my photos will follow soon.