Las aventuras cordobesas

      Ascending the serpentine mountain roads overlooking the immense features of the landscape, I couldn't help but take a few pictures. Cobalt blue lakes and jagged boulders dotted the landscape, surrounded by endless pine trees and quaint hamlets. But after our hour ride in the Mercedes van we arrived at our destination: Peñón del aguila. What we did next literally cannot be named in English, but the best I can say is "treeing, in which we were all doned in impressive rock climbing gear and traversed large gaps between impressive features of the sylvan scenery. The consenus was that I looked extremely experienced in this activity, rocking my puffy winter jacket and sleek aviators, while Brendan Bennett was most congrous to Bob the Builder. The "levels" became progressively more challenging, but nevertheless we all made it out unharmed, lest we were unprepared for a what was next.
       After a scenic and oddly German themed lunch we tackled our next objective of the day: zip-lining. Harnessing up once more we zipped along longer and longer lines through more and more formidable ravines. Next was rock climbing, in which Wall Number Four humiliated every soul who attempted to conquer it including, unfortunately, myself. After a short stop in the very peculiar town of Germany IN Argentina, I indulged in mint chocolate chip, tiramisu, waffle cone ice cream. Said desert was so indulgent I had trouble remaining conscious, the only encouragement being that I could eat more.
        The next day, the last day in which we were able to enjoy the extensive breakfast selection of Hotel Felipe II of croissants and yogurts, we set off for somewhere a bit more authentic. Do you know how to ride a horse? How about in salmon colored dress shorts? The riding itself was adventurous and daring, in which breathtaking views from the summits of ridges were combined with the thrill of riding horseback and the disobedience of a few stubborn horses. Personally I have a lot of riding experience, so my skills were yet to be truly tested. When the other half of the group went out to horseback ride I and the few others were introduced to a game without a name. Nail is nailed into wooden pole, small metal circle hanging by string from a top, you stand back and try to swing the circle onto the nail. With four successful attempts of circle-on-nail I am the undisputed champion of this game out of all the other Americans. My reward? A modest yet symbolic horseshoe.
        But now, we depart. After the farm we went back to the hotel, then to the mall again for dinner at the food court, then gone again to catch our bus at the bus terminal. Our sojourn to Córdoba, which provided everything from historic tours of churches to overpriced German beer mug souvenirs to raw tests of brute strength along unforgiving rock walls, was phenomenal. Now though, cruising across the Argentine countryside, cutting through the night, we must return to the bustling South American metropolis so known for its cafeterías and political Peronist past. I look around now, trying to see if anyone is still awake on this double decker bus. Even trustworthy Mr. Rakovec, who just moments ago was infuriated at how the reading light above his seat did not actually permit him to read, is now utterly lost in slumber. I wipe the condensation off the glass, peer at the stellar moon. I yawn. 1:08 AM is not a time for blogging, but sleeping.  Buenas noches.

-Ross