domingo 18.05 --- Salida de domingo --- Sunday's departure

We finally got up early for a change. I think that this is only because we had to. Our bus was scheduled to leave at 08:30, so an early departure from the hostel was necessary. I was up at 07:15 and by 07:45 we were both showered and ready to go. We caught a taxi that early Sunday morning to the bus station and our bus left on time. I was happy to be leaving the city. Perhaps if I had a better chance to acquaint myself with the city I would have left with a favorable impression. However, I was not presented with such an opportunity and I can see why Che’s parents left the city some seventy years ago. The bus ride was taxing and long and I managed to get a few winks of sleep in.

Argentines are not tall people. There may be the freakishly tall one now and again, but this is very rare. I say this because since there are no tall Argentines, there was no reason to design a bus seat to accommodate one. Steven and I were very limited in terms of movement and comfort on the Sierras de Córdoba bus. The seats weren’t impossibly comfortable, but they were not the Chevallier bed/seats were had grown accustomed to.

Since most of the day consisted of sitting on a bus, there is not a lot I can describe until we reach Córdoba. I can only briefly remark on the vastness of the Argentine countryside. It commands a strange respect. You stare off into it for hours and not realize what you’ve been looking at. It is different from the American Midwest because it is much greener, yet equally as flat and seemingly desolate. It is all grassland, with some scattered trees. Every once and awhile there would be a herd of at least 50 grazing cows that couldn’t be bothered with anything else. This was pretty typical of my preconceived notions of the country’s landscape.

I counted the shacks made of corrugated tin and wood. There are campesinos (field workers) who are barely surviving live off this land. This is a people I can not relate to, being of suburban New Jersey, but I still sympathize for them. I can see what they’re protesting for; they just want a better life. And from the very quick glances I was allowed from the bus, they deserve better. Our bus pulled into the station at 15:30 and we immediately purchased tickets for Mendoza. Fortunately Chevallier ran there and at a reasonable time. Tomorrow night we would be on the night bus westbound for the city before the Andes. We took a cab to the hostel and were checked in by 16:00.

View from the hostel.

Córdoba, aptly named for its Spanish predecessor, seems much larger than Rosario. It is appropriately named because it reminded me of the city in Spain that was once a Muslim stronghold of the peninsula. There were no grand mosques in this city, but the cobblestones streets and general easygoingness of the town made me yearn to return to Spain yet again. Within minutes of being in the city, I recognized it to be better than Rosario. The city is much larger, cleaner and there is more to do. We trekked down to Nuevo Córdoba and searched for an ATM. We passed Paseo del Buen Pastor, a hot spot for families and couples to hang out and enjoy the afternoon and early evening. We went through the main plaza de San Martín and there were street performers and artisans en masse. We located an ATM, withdrew some cash and got a late lunch.

While we ate we watched a national football game between River Plate and Independencia. The clientele of the restaurant grew restless over River Plate’s increasing margin over Independencia. It is quite an experience to watch football in a different country. The people are so passionate. It’s different from baseball. I love baseball, but unless I was at the game myself, I would never get up and start shouting at the television in the same manner these Argentines did. It was awe inspiring. The meal was good and with our cerveza we became very tired.

We headed back toward the hostel and encountered a Franciscan cathedral during mass. Still a little buzzed, we headed in to pray and give thanks for a safe arrival to the city. The familiarity of the church procession, even in a different language, eased my weary mind. We left the cathedral and passed by Paseo again, which since our first passing had grown very crowded. We made it back to the hostel by 20:00 and were almost ready to turn in. I spoke with the hostel workers and he said there was a 24 hour Laundromat. Steven, too tired from the day’s traveling, stayed in. I went and dropped off our laundry. I was told to pick it up in 12 hours.

Franciscan Cathedral.

I wandered by the artisan’s tables and picked up a few souvenirs. Tomorrow is our second and last day in the city. Tomorrow night’s bus ride is going to be longer than today’s. I am not sure whether I can deal with that. I returned to the hostel and crashed for the night. There is so much to see in this city and yet I am left with only one day. If only Córdoba and Rosario had been switched on the itinerary. With no time machine at my service I went to bed wishing for an alternative, knowing I would receive none.

At Paseo del Buen Pastor.