lunes 19.05 --- ¡Viva Córdoba! --- Long Live Cordóba!

A full night of rest yielded us a full day of activity. Sadly, it was our last day in the city, so we had a very condensed day. We arose early and I went to go pick up our laundry that I dropped off the night before at around 09:00. The city, starting its week this Monday morning was full of vitality, a stark contrast to the relaxed Sunday afternoon when we arrived. I returned to the hostel, packed up and we checked out by 10:30. The hostel was nice enough to let us leave our backpacks there for the remainder of the day.

The Argentines are a kind people. Every encounter I’ve had with one usually ended with a warm ciao, hasta luego or adios. There have been maybe only one or two exceptions to this. I mention this because I was, at first, very apprehensive about leaving our bags in the hostel. To those unfamiliar, hostels are generally small and make just enough money to get buy. Charity is not a profitable field. However, when I asked what to do with our bags and how long we can leave them there, the response was “of course you can leave them here…a day, a week, a month, as long as you like.” Now I know this may appear to be just one example and is insufficient to judge a people. But I am making such a claim about Argentina hospitality. It followed us wherever we went.

And not only were people kind to us for our tenure in the country, but curious to learn more about us. I was always asked where I’m from in the States. To avoid confusion, I always counter with a sharp Nueva York. And everyone has had some sort of commentary about the Big Apple, be it its size, fame or just plain greatness. This is not a lie either. I was born in New York City and much of my family continues to reside in the great city and state. The interest of the people, to me, seemed sincere and not sycophantic because we were tourists with money to spend. This is why I proudly judge the population as kind, intuitive, and generous.

We left the hostel at about 10:30 and Steven and I had the whole day in front of us (12 hours until our bus would leave for Mendoza). We made for Plaza de San Martín in the newer part of town. On the way we stopped for coffee and pastries in a café for breakfast. Afterwards we headed to the tourist information booth to see what needed to/could be seen in our last day in Córdoba. We were then kindly informed that since it was Monday, nearly all museums and historic sites were closed. We were discouraged and broken hearted. Following the in footsteps of a young and near indomitable Mr. Guevara, we chose not to let such details affect our time here. My brother and I were going to enjoy our last day in the city and see as much as we could no matter what stood in our way.

We visited the city’s first cathedral (under renovations) and it was fantastic. Several of the country’s influential idealists, religious figures and politicians were buried in the floor of the cathedral. Keeping up with the Catholic theme our day had started us with, we pressed toward an old Jesuit crypt, one of the few attractions open that day. We first mistook the entrance for a subway station. Descending the stairs under Avenida Colón (a major avenue for Córdoba) we were met with a very enthusiastic young woman named Marissa. She implored that any questions be directed to her.

We explored the minute burial chamber and twenty minutes later (and ready to leave) Marissa asked if we would like a tour. She very passionately explained the history of the crypt, its possession passing from the Jesuits to the Bedlamites, to private use and then lost in time for 60 years. It was rediscovered by Argentina’s telephone monopoly Telecom when they were drilling to install phone wires in 1989. Marissa’s English skills nearly surpassed my Spanish skills, however, she insisted on giving the tour in Spanish and leaving me to act as translator, so we wouldn’t miss any information. I was surprised by this tactic, but had no problem serving as the medium of communication between Marissa and Steven. She confirmed everything I translated which raised my confidence in my Spanish abilities. After the tour, she refused a tip and told us where else we could go on a Monday. We departed with a meaningful hasta luego, even though we both knew we’d never see each other again.

Crypt Keepin'

We proceeded to the Jesuit block that included another church, a monastery and the first university. The Jesuits, despite their expulsion in 1767, still maintain a strong influence on the city. The university is still in use and teaches a variety of humanities. We broke away form our catholic theme for the day and visited a museum that was open. It was the best preserved historic site in the city, called Sobremonte. It had many artifacts from pre-conquistador eras to the colonial time and into the late 19^th century.

Sobremonte.

We walked through the entire city to get a good look at her. For a small city, Córdoba maintains a good crowd and is very busy. We came across Parque Sarmiento and stopped for lunch. Afterwards we made it to Steven’s beloved attraction; the zoo. We spent nearly two and a half hours in the facility. There was nothing special about this zoo, except for its endemic exhibits which featured many animals for the Amazon as well. We exhausted ourselves in that zoo. Pushing forward, we went to Buen Pastor for a beer and to recharge our over worn batteries. We still had five and a half hours to kill.

Steve on a snake.

A friend at the zoo.

We made our way back to the familiar Plaza de San Martín and shopped for a long time. I finally found my long lost Che hat. I had been searching for one since I had arrived. We wandered around for a bit and due to my famous navigational skills we found ourselves on the outskirts of the city. We took a break in a small square, gathered our bearings and made our way back to the main plaza. We located a small restaurant and indulged in a much needed meal. I sampled some gnocchi, to see whether Argentina’s Italian influence had stretched this for west. It has, and the meal was delicious.

After dinner we got back to the hostel, retrieved our bags and caught a taxi to the bus station. The driver was of bad humor and was our first negative Argentine of the trip. I’m on the bus now, and while I’m writing this I can see Córdoba in the rearview mirror. I’m sad to be leaving her so soon. Now, there is only darkness and our future in Mendoza on the horizon.

Sculpture at Paseo del Buen Pastor.