After a good night of drinking the fine ale that Oktoberfest had to offer, and enjoying the variety of German, Eastern Europeand and other assorted dances and music (a personal favourite was the Galician group with their gaitas...so many memories of Santiago de Compostela came streaming back), we decided to be a bit active on our last day in the Villa.
And so, after our regular routine of having lots of coffee, bread and homemade peanut-butter in the morning, followed by an optional mate, we headed on a hike up to the Cerrito de la Virgencita (literally, "the little Virgin Mary's little hill"...gotta love those Spanish diminutives!). Three of us braved the inland heat to take on the hike, which, after about a 3 km walk on flat terrain, was not a very challenging, half-hour hike which offered an impressive view of the villa and the sierra beyond. At the top was a lone tree and an odd, three-dimensional representation of the Blessed Virgin that actually looke more like an art-deco weathervane than anything else. It stood above a small glass mailbox-looking thing that encapsuled lots of photos, notes and images of saints.
At the top, as we rested and admired the view, the three of us who braved the trip met an elderley man from Quilmes, Buenos Aires who would not stop talking to us, much to our chagrin, since we had a horse-riding appointment to meet in the afternoon. He was incessant about telling us about every corner of Argentina that he had travelled to in his life, his long life as a shoe-salesman who is now retired, and who enjoys having a parrilla every week with his Chilean neighbours, even though they fight about politics...anyway, you get the point. Even as we stumbled, dazed, down the hill 40 minutes later, after his talk, he was still waving to us and filming us on his camcorder.
On the way back to the hostel we stopped off to dipp our feet in a gorgeous rocky arroyo (creek) on the outskirts of town. Had we known of the spot earlier, we possibly would have relocated several meals to the spot, as it was so conducive to a lovely picnic.
After a brief encounter to eat empanadas and have our ears talked off by the empanadero, who was our age, we headed back to the hostel to saddle up and head out on horseback...only my second time in history.
And we did quite well, heading out over tarmac and dirt roads, then over the rocky orchards and fields of the back country, even crossing a river gulley at one point. I found myself quite at ease atop a horse this time around, after my prior experience, and at several times headed into a decent canter, if not a full gallop, on the country dirt roads of Cordoba.
After an afternoon mate, a session of oiling up to soothe the sunburn of the outdoor acitivities, and a quick walk through the bionic garden of the hostel owners, we headed out on an evening bus to Buenos Aires, a long trip away. To make the trip that little bit less bearable, the company decided not to play a film, and for dinner, instead of a real meal (of which I have gotten decent variations on other bus lines), decided to serve several types of ham and cheese sandwiches and nothing else. Quite a disappointment. But alright, after the outcome of the weekend trip to the Argentine Oktoberfest.
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