Gaucho life: maggots n all

Just before I went to bed on my "final" night in the Sierras, I was informed via text message via the gaucho that there was to be no services between La Falda and Cordoba - where the rest of my backpack still was - tomorrow because it is the national holiday, May 25 (Argentina´s independence day). Grr.

So we woke with muddled heads... do we stay another night and get charged by this wretched woman who was still away, OR do we go to ugly La Falda and hope to find some festivities celebrating May 25, OR do we stay to give the gaucho another night of company and get an asado out of it at the same time, OR do we go into town and try to find cheaper accommodation... I was torn. D suggested messaging the owner, asking if we could stay a night free if we helped out about the place - she never responded so we just ended up staying, having waited that long anyway for her response.

C and I took another stroll to the river, this time going a little further down the track to see the now fully sunny mountains open up in all their bountiful glory, me trying to shake the specks of stress curling into my mind... then finally resting on the fact that if we stayed we would most likely not pay much more because the gaucho preferred our company than giving the woman more cash for basically doing nothing. I would have preferred paying full and giving it all to the gaucho instead.

After the walk, and lunch, and a siesta, we joined D in the carelle with the cattle so he could teach us to lasso. Well, his version of teaching... which was to demonstrate just how easy it was by getting the calves a couple of times first go, then thrusting the rope into our hands and pointing at one of the poor little creatures shivering behind their mamas. I gotta say, I was pretty shite, BUT managed to get one around the head 3rd try. After that, I was back to shit. But hey, it was a bit of fun.

Then we stood watch as the gaucho caught the youngest of the calves, just 4 days old, and proceeded to clean out a nasty infection it had gotten from birth I think... which included pushing a pile of maggots out of the hole. I almost vomited. Just when I think I am becoming a little gaucho, a big, cold slab of reality slaps me right in the face. Que grosero. But such is the gaucho`s life.

I was also pissed I couldn´t afford to ride again, and didn`t want to ask in case he said yes and then charged me when we checked out. Eventually, though, I thought fuck it, and the next time he was about to swing his leg over (the horse), I asked if I could join him. Turned out to be a good decision, as we had to circle the property checking the fence for breaks as well as taking the cattle back out, and it was a stunning day to do so. It was nice riding, pretty easygoing and slower than the day before, especially cos I was on a slower horse (no more owner`s favourite for me)... but all in all, a nice ending to the day.

As the sun faded, bringing with it a luminous umbrella of pinks, purples and blues across the sky, we sat on the patio and I kept reading my book about a fat man in Argentina. Funnily enuf, his observations were largely similar to mine, and it reinvigorated the sense of romance in my own writings. So I apologise if these last few posts flowed a little too poetically. But dammit, a girl can dream.

Having resigned ourselves to the fact we were indeed stuck in the Sierras for another night, we enjoyed a national holiday asado with the gaucho - traditional meats, salted to the 9th degree and roasted over hot coals for some time, even blood sausage which I thought was strictly Scottish - and it was nice. The blood sausage remained on the plate, though. The dogs had a particularly nice meal that night. Which is good, since food at that time for the animals was scarce. Apparently none was left, another thing left for the gaucho to organise in the owner´s absence. At first, I was bummed I hadn´t come here early enuf to be a WOOFer - now I was glad.

From a lack of water during the day, or whatever else, I had the onset of a raging headache so I took myself to bed early. Guacho´s face dripped with disappointment. I left the better Spanish speaker with him. And I slept. In my saggy bed. Or tried to.