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We roll out of bed after 9 AM, have another of Silvia’s great breakfasts, and pack up to go.
To finish our insane 5 day diversion to the north of Argentina, we face another grueling drive of 420 miles to return to Santa Rosa de Calamuchita where the gaucho festival is beginning today. I text Chris at Cabañas Kangarú to see if they can accommodate us for another 2 nights and immediately get a “but of course!” response. No lodging search tonight.
We don’t have many boring days on this trip, but backtracking on the main highway through endless flats certainly qualifies, although we do encounter a few minor diversions. In the village of Famaillá, a roadside lawn full of statues catches our eye. It turns out to be the Bicentennial Historical Theme Park depicting various Argentine historical figures and pioneer life.
We notice two men hauling a heavy load in a one horse cart rather than the more typical pickup truck. They notice us as well when we slow up for a photo. I don’t understand how the great portrait photographers overcome the impact of a prosperous stranger sticking their camera in the face of some economically disadvantaged peasant and snapping away. They get great pictures, but how? Do they chat up each subject and get permission? Offer money? Or just ignore the potential insult and do it? Susan and I don’t have the skill or the nerve. As a result we’ve seen many interesting scenes, often touching ones, that we keep in our memories but don’t capture on camera. Having a good telephoto lens, though, really helps.
And, of course, there are the frequent police checkpoints. They’re never a problem for us, but the questions they ask seem completely random from one to the next. “Next” is sometimes just a few miles from “Last”. Argentina has many different police forces and they work without any apparent coordination. We can be asked for the same document 3 times in a row, or a different document each time, or just waved through. We’re still trying to figure out the purpose of all the checkpoints.
In some cases, our Chile license plates seem to elicit a stop, while in others they seem to trigger a “keep going” reaction. When questioned, I always make it clear immediately that I speak almost no Spanish. Unless the officer happens to know some English and wants to practice, my little deceit often results in a quick “enjoy your trip” release.
We stop shortly before our final destination in Villa General Belgrano to get some cash from an ATM, having found last week that none of the ones in Santa Rosa would put out for us. As we enter town, we pass a residential subdivision with a prominent sign declaring it “Colonía Eva Perón”. The Juan Perón regimes, 1946-1955 and 1973-1974 were very controversial, but Peronists have persisted, loud and proud through a number of subsequent governments. Juan’s second wife, Eva Perón, who was only in the public eye for 7 years before her untimely death, is still idolized by many Peronists and commemorations of her are found throughout the country.
The small town of Belgrano is one of several in South America that were founded by German immigrants, often long before World War II, but in some cases by fleeing Nazis and sympathizers. After a few generations, these “German” towns have retained and enhanced their German architecture and atmosphere in a successful effort to attract crowds of Argentine tourists. Having made eager inquiries in these places, however, we’re generally told that no one speaks German now and that there aren’t even any German descendants left. Instead, the villages have become pure commercial attractions full of German buildings, decoration, and signage.
We arrive at Cabañas Kangarú shortly after dark and unload our gear into the familiar surroundings. Last week, feeling like friends rather than customers by the time we departed for the north, we made a few suggestions for improvements to owners Chris and Yanina based on our now extensive cabin rental experience. To our surprise and delight, Yanina has already implemented some of them, including wall hooks to hang clothing and a shelf in the shower stall to hold soap and shampoo in convenient reach. To top it off, she has left a (wrapped) chocolate sitting on top of the clean towels, which was a half joking recommendation of Susan’s.
Eager to find the gauchos, we go out again looking for their encampment. Despite Chris giving us directions — in English — we’re unable to find it and, being tired from the daylong drive, we decide to give up and have dinner with our friend Josie. Early dinner in Argentina is almost unheard of, so by the time we finish at 11 PM we’re ready to hit our comfortable bed in the cabin.