Today I got whisked out of town to a local Gaucho ranch for a tour and demonstration of Argentinian and Gaucho (local cowboy) culture. My fellow tourists were all native Spanish speakers and a bit older than me, but very nice and could speak English quite well. Nevertheless, I was immediately chastised by the tour guide for not being able to understand Spanish – but I think she was just trying to be funny. Of course, it meant she had to run through her whole spiel in both languages – just for me.
Two of the others were from Guatemala and the other two were from Bolivia. It’s one of those repeated experiences you have down here that make you feel like there is a parallel universe going one that has little or nothing to do with us from The West. They were all quite educated, knowledgable, and respective of each others cultures. One of the woman from Bolivia later told me that she spent quite a few years of her life living in Alabama and was a graduate of a big university there but decided the U.S. was a better place for young people and not a good place to retire.
For the first hour or so of our tour at the Gaucho ranch I was a little skeptical. It all did seem a bit too touristy at first. They put us on horses and had us ride a 1km circuit. Then they put us in the back of a wagon for a longer tour in a horse drawn buggy. The farm itself was pretty flat and not super attractive, but as the day wore on the tour became more interesting. We practiced making various kinds of empanadas in their kitchen (which we ate later in the day). We also had a fabulous Argentinian barbecue with fine local wines and freshly slaughtered pig, chicken, and beef while they entertained us with traditional folk music and dancing. In the afternoon we watched their best Gauchos perform a variety of horse skills and competitions. On the whole it all turned out to be quite good and interesting. And nobody beats an Argentinian barbecue! They’ve got the seasonings down just right.
However, on the subject of the freshly slaughtered pig. Or should I say hog (it was huge): As we were beginning our day on horseback and touring a small circuit of the ranch, we passed a number or Gauchos tying a huge hog’s legs to ropes while it was squealing bloody murder. And for good reason: it was about to be. Very matter-of-factly, our tour guide, who grew up on a ranch, mentioned that they were about to slaughter it to make sausages. I tried not to think about it too much (which is hard when hear them squealing like that, knowing what it happening), but sure enough, later in the day as were were heading to the dinner tables for lunch and passed the barbecue pit, you could see the same hog up on a table being gutted for our meal. Yum, yum! I figured if that didn’t turn me into a vegetarian, nothing will!
But I did pass on the “sweet blood” sausages when they came around the table. One of the Guatemalans thought I was nuts. The regular sausages and the rest of the barbecue was quite tasty.
