For a 42 year old, Rene really does put me to shame. On Monday he was up and dressed by 7.45AM, even though he was due to have a far less consuming day than myself. Shame aside, we both caught the same bus north where he hopped off at San Ignacio an hour away to view the Jesuit ruins and I stayed on for a further two and a half hours in order to get to the village of Caraguatay (pronounced Cara-wa-tie-ee if you fancy saying it out loud). Immediately I was faced with a sign reading ´Parque Provincial Ernesto Che Guevara´. Sorry to those I may offend but it sure sounds more interesting than your average National Trust site. And it was free, National Trust member or not.
After getting confirmation from a mate drinking local, I set out on my 5km walk up a dirt track to the house that Che (well, his dad) built. As hot as it was, the walk did still fill me with great happiness and satisfaction. Midway, I was even treated to my first taste of maté by a local, sitting outside his family shack, watching the world go by.
Sidetracking a touch, for those unfamiliar with the Argentine passion for maté, it´s an extremeley popular form of drink and socialising, especially in the Misiones region where plantations are abundant. I´ve done no research as such but from a travellers viewpoint, you stick some herbs (yerba maté) in a pot, fill it with water, then suck on it with a straw. This isn´t that strange. What is, is that they appear to do this all the time and everywhere. I´ve witnessed the natives consume their sacred brew whilst sat between parked cars on deck chairs, on buses, driving buses and generally alongside anything they happen to be doing. Again, you may not think it´s that daft but besides this, they always carry a huge flask with them so they can keep topping it up. It takes the tea and biscuit.
After about an hour I reached the casa (house) although this wasn´t before seeing three Che fanatics overtake me on the their motorbikes, ala the Motorcycle Diaries. At the Museo, I was greeted by the Spanish speaking but friendly Diego. Here, he let me roam free in the museum before escorting me down to the ruinas where Che´s first home once stood and where he spent his first two years on earth. Despite my very bad Spanish at present, we did converse quite well. I guess communism is a universal langauge.
After some picture taking and pondering glances at the Rio Parana below, we headed back to the base camp where I enjoyed some coke. Coca-Cola that is. A woman by the name of Mira welcomed me in to what was an educational room but with a fridge. She got some Che books out for me to look at but I went one better by unleashing one of my books which featured a previously unseen image of the young terrorist outside the very house we were stood but metres away from. Diego shared the delight and snapped away at my now cherished artefact.
Two hours had flown and the afternoon was getting tired. I meandered back to the main road but had to endure a further two hour wait before my Posadas-bound bus confronted me. The seat was welcomed but the same can´t be said of the music on board which was something to the effect of ´The Best Argentinian Power Ballads In The World…EVER!´ The maté drinking duo at the front seemed to enjoy it and between them, they gave me a ticket and drove me back to where my day had begun.
I had microwaved pizza and Fanta at the bus station then retired back at the hostel.
Another start to the day with Rene, another early one. Tuesday again was a belter weather-wise and on this day, it was Paraguay we chose to see so bright and clear. After a very tedious border crossing via two buses, we eventually landed in the town of Encarnación. We first got a taste of the old town, down by the river. In truth it was more half and half as large parts were actually in the river due to recent heavy rain. No sursprise, this is where the poor live and try and make a living selling knocked off goods from laptops to flip-flops.
Hungry and thirsty we walked uptown and found a café of sorts at which place I asked for a Fanta and got a litre of the stuff. With the warm conditions, I shamelessly devoured it along with a beef empanada. We had a good walk around thereafter but found nothing, so caught a bus to Trinidad and more Jesuit ruins that seem so popular in these parts.
These were fairly impressive but the winning ingredient was walking into this huge landscape of not so functional buildings and being greeted with classical music from all corners of the site. For those who have seen/declared as your favourite film ever, the Shawshank Redemption, you may get a sense of the feeling I felt.
Appreciation over, we returned to this country of Argentina and had burritos for supper.
Again, where I can save words, I will. A day on a bus fits this bill. I landed at the bus station early on Wednesday to catch the 11.30AM to Cordoba some twenty and a half hours away. The journey went well and it gave me time to read, write, reflect and rest. I landed in the second city at 8AM yesterday morning and then caught a local bus to the town of Alta Gracia an hour away.
Here, in this dry and rural town an infant and his family relocated roughly eighty years ago.
After a glorious shower at my empty hostel, I made the pilgrimage to the home where Ernesto spent eleven years of his childhood, following on from his stay in Caraguatay and this is now known as the Museo Casa de Ernesto Che Guevara. Recent guests here have included Fidel Castro and Hugo Chavez but there was less hysteria for my arrival and so I probably had the better experience of the three.
On show were many pieces of memorabilia, but the highlight was seeing the ¨Mighty One¨, upon which Ernesto and his friend Alberto travelled the length of South America in the neatly named Motorcycle Diaries. I also grabbed a bite to eat next door at a Cuban restaurant and purchased a Cuban Peso note with Che´s face on it to remember my day.
Today I was treated to pastries and coffee for breakfast and being the only guest here, had choice of which chair to sit on. I had a walk round town once more and visited the Sierras Hotel to see if they´d allow me a paddle in their pool. They declined.
I walked down by the river but this was more a stream with a few horses beside it, so I kept my shorts dry and continued. My schedule for the rest of the day will entail waiting for some clothes to dry, visiting a museum and then some gentle relaxation here at Alta Gracia Hostel. Tomorrow, I catch a quick bus back to Cordoba and probably a few more people.
As for now, I´ll cherish my Cuban currency and appreciate that my sneezing has stopped.
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