Cordoba

I returned to Cordoba recently to spend a long weekend with my friends Marcelo, Dave, and Nidia. Marcelo is originally from Cordoba but currently living and working as a screenwriter in LA. Dave is my long time friend and former professor of creative writing from Miami University, also now a screenwriter in LA. And Nidia is Marcelo's friend from Cordoba and the owner of a pair of great vegetarian restaurants.



It was a great trip and made me realize that I would have been much more comfortable had I chosen to live my year in Cordoba instead of BA. Cordoba is the 2nd largest city in Argentina, but much much smaller than BA. For me, the best things about Cordoba are that the people seem more kind, the pace of life is less frenetic, you can see the sierras (small mountains) from Downtown, and you can get out of the city to a great natural setting in 30 minutes to an hour by car.



Granted, I wouldn't have learned nearly as much by living in Cordoba. Being comfortable, in my experience, rarely equals learning. But I think I probably would have been more happy and more connected as opposed to a bit intimidated and overwhelmed. Buenos Aires is a place where you kind of always have to be on your game. That is, once you hit the streets, you start moving quickly and must cut through the noisy symphony of vehicles while simultaneously dodging people, taxis, buses, and cars. A lot of times, I don't leave my apartment because I don't want to or am not ready to deal with it all. I never really had that feeling in Cordoba, although downtown can be a little crazy around la hora peco.



My recent trip to Cordoba started with an overnight bus ride from Buenos Aires. The overnight bus experience is unique. I don't like it. But I respect the heck out of the idea of multi-tasking while you sleep. No time wasted. In Buenos Aires, it's a way of life to take overnight trips on comfortable, double decker, plush leather seat touring buses. The prices are extremely reasonable and for a small fee, you can upgrade to a service that includes a 3 or 4 course meal including after dinner drinks.



Once you're on the bus, it's great. You take your shoes off, put your earplugs in, turn the lights out, pull up your blanket, adjust your pillow against the window, and put your seat back all the way (sometimes they go all the way flat). Listo, you go to sleep and wake up at your destination. But before you're on the bus, especially if you're cheap like me, it takes a little more gumption. You leave your apartment in the middle of the night, catch the 152 bus on Santa Fe to Retiro, walk quickly through the 3rd worldish mess that is Retiro Station and then make your way to the Estacion del Omnibus. At that point, you must wait for your bus to pull into 1 of 13 or so parking places. So you're on your toes, walking back and forth from the different parking places as different buses pull in. And even if you think you have the right bus, you have to ask because the same company often makes multiple trips to the same location at the same time. You must also listen closely to the loudspeaker that announces the different buses pulling into the station. Once you find the right bus, you jump in line and try to get into the paradise of the interior as soon as possible because standing in the exhaust filled loading area is nothing if not nauseating.



The trip to Cordoba is about 9-10 hours by bus. I was going not to Cordoba but to a small town called La Cumbrecita a little further West that took about 12 hours total to get to and required a connection in a town called Villa General Belgrano. The trip was relatively comfortable and despite waking up periodically through the night, I was able to get a few hours of decent sleep.



In Villa General Belgrano, I made my connection just in time, as we arrived an hour later than schedule. My bus drivers took the liberty to take long smoke/mate' breaks at every stop along the twisting route. At one point, I asked the drivers of the bus to call ahead to have them hold my bus so that I could be sure to make my connection to La Cumbrecita. Luckily, soon after asking, the bus pulled into the station and I had just enough time to jump off, buy my ticket, and jump on another bus just as it was pulling out.



The bus to La Cumbrecita dropped me off not in La Cumbrecita but instead at the entrance to a Hotel called Hosteria La Demonda. When the driver pointed to my stop, I hesitated before getting off. I was in the middle of nowhere on a dusty road, not at the lobby of a comfortable hotel. The stop was at the sign for the estancia but the estancia was much further up its own stoney road. The area was barren and I hoped that Marcelo, Dave, and Nidia would be there soon to pick me up. If not, it was going to be a long day in the middle of nowhere after having spent 12 hours on buses through the night to get there.

Soon after getting off the bus, I got a call from Marcelo telling me that they were lost. I tried not to answer testily, or to show the tiredness in my voice. I told them that I'd be waiting at the sign to the estancia and that I would keep an eye out on the main road for them.



So I hopped onto the broken stone structure that once held the sign to the estancia. There, I wedged my back against some rocks and pulled out a book to read while I waited. 30-40 minutes passed when finally I heard a shout and then saw a small white VW Gol driving slowly up the path from the Estancia, the opposite direction from which I expected them. I was greeted with hugs all around and I quickly jumped in the car so that we could get on with our plans for the day. In any case, I hadn't seen these guys for years and it was pretty cool to be reuniting in the middle of Argentina.



We drove to a small almacen or general store to stock up on food. Our stop at the store must have been like winning a small lottery for the owner of the almacen. Every one of us on the trip is a foodie and we spent far more than necessary to assure that we didn't go without for the next few days.



On the trip back to our cabin, I saw why it took so long picking me up. The road back to our cabin was awful: steep, narrow, muddy in some parts, and dangerously stoney. There were 3 different points at which 3 of us had to get out of the car so that the car could go down a hill and not have its underbelly torn up by jagged rocks protruding from the road. The 1-2 mile trip took at least 30 minutes and required considerable energy to help our driver, Nidia, navigate the path.



Marcelo had picked out the cabin and I had no idea what to expect. When I arrived, I was astounded by the size of the place. It was more than a cabin, it was a big luxury house in the woods. There were three bedrooms, 3 large full bathrooms, stone and hardwood floors throughout, spa showers, a giant jacuzzi with a huge picture window, a large kitchen, a living room with vaulted ceilings and a huge fireplace, and a large deck with a beautiful grill and a huge wooden table and benches with a beautiful view to the surrounding mountains. The only really weird thing was that all of the furniture was made out of stretched cowhide and gnarly old tree branches. The furniture must have cost a fortune, but it was uncomfortable and unsettling, even for a guy who likes to eat cow as much as I do. Nevertheless, the place was great, in terms of its brute force in quality building materials, appliances, and luxuries. I honestly couldn't have imagined staying at a nicer place.



It turns out that Marcelo was trying to get us a cabin from an adjoining group of cabins but they wound up being too expensive and included meals in the price. We wanted to cook on our own and didn't want to pay that much. So, the owner of the adjoining cabins gave Marcelo the number to a family who had land nearby and an extra cabin on that land for rent. Jackpot. The price was right and the cabin was amazing and plenty spacious for the 4 of us.



It turns out that the couple who rented us the cabin is originally from Atlanta. The father had been raised in Argentina but become a heart surgeon in the states and the mother had been the CFO of a large hospital in Atlanta. They were both retired and had moved back to Cordoba and while they lived in the city during the week, they spent a few weekends a month on this patch of beautifully wooded land just outside of La Cumbrecita. On their land, they built an amazing house for themselves, a house for the father's sister to stay in (the house we had rented), a kids play house (Like a Hobbit hole), a chapel, a soccer field, and a caretakers house. All of the construction was top quality and it was obvious that someone had taken great care in the planning and upkeep of the place.



We were only the 2nd group to have rented the cabin meant for the father's sister who in the end rarely made it out to the house. So, the couple decided to rent it out when they could. They also used the home for music camps in the summer.



Our first night became extremely interesting when after a hike to a nearby stream we encountered the family walking our way with horses in tow. There were 3 fraternal twin boys, a 50 something heavy-set but jolly looking man, and a 50 something fit blond haired woman (an Atlanta native as it turns out). After the introductions, they showed us around the property and explained the aformentioned details. The kids seemed well behaved, mature, and fun. The parents seemed kind and eccentric. I kept trying to peg this family, to better understand them, but they were too complex for a simple explanation.



They lead us back to their own lavish cabin for a tour and snacks. Their weekend place is like something out of Mountain Living magazine or Architecture Digest of La Pampa: Top of the line appliances, flat panel TVs, amazing wooden countertops and tables, a packed wine cellar, and a covered deck with a huge grill as well as a special Chilean convection-type oven alongside it. Basically it was a rustic looking place with all of the most modern conveniences. The place was amazing and I suggested to them that they send pictures of their entire complex to a magazine in the states. They had clearly put a ton of thought and more money than I will likely see in my lifetime into their weekend getaway.



After the tour of the house and a more getting to know you, we were invited to a dinner of fresh lamb cooked in the special Chilean oven that the father wanted to show off. At first, Marcelo being polite and reasonable said 'no no'. I quickly countered with 'yes yes!'. A mistake.



What can I say? I am a lamb fanatic and these people seemed genuinely interesting and nice. And I love lamb and the idea of cooking it in this special oven truly excited me. We talked a bit more, reluctantly but excitedly accepted their dinner offer, and then headed back to our cabin to clean up and shower before dinner. On the way back up to our cabin in the dark, Dave and I talked about how complex and interesting the family was. We were cautiously optimistic that we had found truly cool people and were excited about getting to know them better at dinner. I even remarked to Dave that I thought it was about to be one of the best days of my life...staying at an awesome cabin in an amazing location and cooking up fresh lamb while meeting really cool new people. To me it doesn't get any better. I like pointing out when life is really good and then taking time to chew on it, savor it, and file the memory away for later.



While I cleaned up, Marcelo and Nidia went off to buy desert from the restaurant at the adjacent cabins. Marcelo, always the proper guest, didn't want to come to dinner empty handed and wound up spending a fortune on creme brule type custards as well as chocolate lava cakes with fresh fruit sauce.

We walked down to their cabin in the now pitch black and could smell the roasting lamb smoke pouring out of the cracks in the house. My mouth watered in anticipation and maybe clouded my better judgement or perception as we encountered the first odd happening of the night.

#1: As we walked in the door, the father and the boys were ready for us and greeted us by playing a piece of classical music. The father and two boys on violin and one boy playing piano. The boys were not bad, but the father was swaying intensely, barking out orders to the boys, and playing poorly. Dave looked at me in a way that through the years I have come to understand means a cross between alarm and humor. I didn't much notice. I was more interested in the coming lamb and thought that the recital was more of an eccentricity than something part of a larger odd whole.



As we sat down to dinner, I scouted out the perfect piece of lamb for myself and grabbed a bit of calabaza and salad to accompany. I liked my lips and waited until everyone sat down so that I could tear into my piece. I wound up getting the kidney and various other meaty pieces. The kidney of lamb is delicious and fatty, surely a cholesterol bomb, but one that makes you happy as it kills you. I ate it first and as my eyes rolled into the back of my head noticed that I was very cold. For some reason, the room we were in was so cold that I think I could see my breath. I hugged myself for warmth in between stuffing lamb and salad in my mouth.



The lamb was definitely good, but not the best I'd ever had. The best I've had was in Ushuaia, Tierra Del Fuego all you can eat lamb. Incredible stuff that I'm not sure will ever be matched unless I travel to New Zealand. In any case, I was satisfied enough and ready to concentrate on engaging conversation that luckily Marcelo, the proper guest, had maintained while the rest of us were concentrating on our food.



Weird happening #2:

Marcelo noticed that all the kids had left the table and gone upstairs. He asked what they were up to and the father said, 'They're watching Bill O'Reilly''.



Dave glanced over to me and I did not meet his glance because I knew that I'd bust out laughing if I had. First of all, why were 8 year old kids watching Bill O'Reilly? Second, who has Bill O'Reilly beamed in via Satellite in the middle of the Argentine countryside? Finally, why would anyone watch Bill O'Reilly to begin with??

We were 4 very progressive/liberal whatever you want to label us guests and we were at a dinner table with a family so conservative that the children had left the dinner table to go watch Bill O'Reilly who had been beamed in to their weekend cabin in BFE Argentina. Why weren't the kids watching Disney or heck, even Nickalodean or some type of Yugioh cartoon. Bill O'Reilly? At age 8?



More importantly, what had we gotten ourselves into? We had the rest of the Argentine evening (which can be very long) to talk to these people with whom we likely had very little/nothing in common. Suddenly, we had a structure for understanding them, an organization into which we could fit the pieces to make sense of it all.



After telling us that the kids were watching Bill O'Reilly, the father went on to talk about how he is a conservative Republican who voted for Bush in both elections and who votes his pocketbook, but who is upset that he lost a ton in the stock market during the financial crisis that took place during Bush's presidency.



As the father drank more and more wine, he talked more and more about his political beliefs which made less and less sense as he tried both to be diplomatic, but convicted at the same time which more than anything confused us and made us think that he was just trying to act moderate because he knew we were all lefties.



At one point, I was shivering so badly that I had to get up to stand at the other side of the room in front of the fireplace. The mother, while also conservative but sparingly sober and reasonable, followed me and we had a polite conversation about her kids' education in Cordoba. The rest of the group followed us and sat around the fireplace where the conversation continued.

We felt trapped. The father had become more or less drunk and was talking non-stop, a litany of nonsensical opinions, each one trailing off into a mumbling mess. We had become his captive audience, obligated to listen to him wax drunken about whatever subject came to mind. We had accepted dinner and hospitality and now had to listen to this guy for the rest of the night until we could find a segue to escape.



We wound up leaving as the fire burned down to embers and the conversation finally hit a slight lull. Marcelo, ever the savor, used it as an opportunity to move us towards the door and we cordially said our thank yous, goodnights, we'll stay in touchs, and out into the night to wash ourselves clean of it all.



Back at our cabin, we tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together to understand the family, to draw up a character sketch, to have group therapy before being haunted in our dreams by what had turned out to be an odd and uncomfortable experience.



Here's what we gathered. The father was a heart surgeon who was collecting disability and insurance for arthritis in his hands. He had taken out all kinds of expensive policies in case of this and was now collecting on it as arthritis had developed in his hands. The mother had retired from her job as a hospital administrator. The kids were the result of invitro fertilization and the father had built a chapel on their weekend property to 'some God' in thanks for the children. The family had a ridiculously expensive RV in the US as well as rental properties in Chile, a house in Miami, an apartment in Atlanta, and property in San Diego. They spent most of the year in their house in the most exclusive neighborhood in Cordoba, but travelled back and forth frequently to Atlanta to see the wife's side of the family. The parents, both now retired, were spending their days on eccentric projects like building up their weekend compound, organizing music camps, collecting and drinking wine, taking music lessons, cooking, surfing the internet, and watching Fox News. The father was drinking too much and lonely and in need of people to listen to him. He has poor social skills and invites people over for opulent dinners so that he can get comfortable, drink, and then say whatever he wants to his captive audience. The wife is smart, rational, and diplomatic. She probably doesn't have to stay with the husband as he slides downhill, but does so for the 3 kids and because of all of the projects the two of them are involved in. In any case, her husband seemed to make her feel uncomfortable and it was our sense that she could have done much better. The kids seemed kind, adult-like, mature, disciplined, and fun. It was a shame that they had been indoctrinated into loving O'Reilly to please their father.



In short, we gathered that the family was eccentric, wealthy, and conservative. Almost Libertarian, needing complete freedom, the ability to do anything and go anywhere whenever they wanted. The father had prodigious amounts of energy, money, time, and intelligence, but few social skills. He had projects going constantly and was restless, in need of new challenges and in the absence of his work, had created challenges where there were none. And now, because of his lack of structure had maybe started drinking and eating too much and because he was not interacting intelligently with many people had lost any sort of rhetorical edge he once possessed.



And we had unwittingly fallen into this situation, the guests of a lonely Libertarian/eccentric family that didn't quite know what they were doing in Argentina and despite their homes all over the world weren't ready to settle anywhere, even though they had spent millions of dollars and years in planning and developing their properties.

More on our next day in Cordoba in the following post.