los bomberos
Eduardo, Daniel, y el asado
la comunion de Eduardo
after dinner
goodbyes
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On the road with Carlos we happened upon a small number of cyclists headed in the opposite direction. Perhaps they were curious, or perhaps they indended to turn around anyway, but regardless, they ended up accompanying us to Villa Canas. We later discovered that one of these cyclists, Juan, was trying to indicate to us that we could sleep in the cuartel of the bomberos voluntarios (volunteer firemen) in Santa Isabel. Little did we realize how decisive this meeting would be with respect to the next week or so of our travels (and likely the rest of the trip!).
Anyway, after many hugs and waves, we left Carlos and headed north. Dusk was arriving, so we pulled into the next town on the road to look for a place to stay (which just so happened to be Santa Isabel). Not having understood Juan, we went to the policia to ask about a place to camp. After a few phone calls and a little waiting around, they said there was no safe place to camp, but the town would happily put us up in a hotel (at no cost to us).
Just as we were leaving the policia who should walk up but Juan, the cyclist we had met just a few hours earlier. In a few moments we finally understood—and we were being welcomed into the cuartel, showed where we could shower, meeting the jefe (chief) and a number of other bomberos, welcomed by the town comisiaria, interviewed by the local newspaper, and invited to the communion of a young boy which was happening that night in the cuartel. Phew!
After several attempts to duck out for showers we finally made it. When we came back out all the adults were off tending the asado and setting the table, but the children were waiting to trap us for questioning. They asked all the questions which we’re gradually becoming more familiar with (and more). Where are you coming from? Where are you going? Do you have girlfriends in the states? How much did your bicycles cost? What is the machete for…? And so on.
Fortunately, when the questions started getting a little more difficult the adults came and herded us, with children, into the dining room. There we were bombarded with the same questions by the group at large. As usual, any girls without boyfriends in the group were pointed out to us. Our route was also completely dissected and our own plans were more or less ignored (the Argentine men, especially, seem to very much enjoy telling us the “right” way to go). Eventually they tired of questioning us (or perhaps just of listening to us answer the wrong question). The family connections of the huge group were explained to us and finally for a few minutes we were left in peace before dinner commenced.
Dinner was an epic event. It started with drinks. To our horror, the popular method of red wine consumption seemed to involve seltzer and ice. We took ours straight. The appetizer was a tuna salad, made by a woman (present) claimed to be the best cook in Santa Isabel. Although it was just the appetizer, it seemed every time our plates emptied, another helping was rushed in. Meanwhile, the chanchos (pigs), sheep, and costillas de vaca (ribs) were being dramatically chopped apart with heavy knives (by the men, of course). Soon huge platters of meat were brought around. The mainstay of any Argentine meal: lots of meat, with a little bread. This meal was no exception. The lay included chorizo (sausage), chancho, costillas, tapas (steak), pollo (chicken), and who knows what else (well, the asadors did, but we were a little baffled). There was even a little salad to accompany all the meat. Throughout the meal Eduardo prodded us whenever our progress slowed on either our wine glass or our plate: “Mas!” “¿Te gusta asado?!” “Bueno! Mas!” And Jefe Adrian regularly punctuated our meal from his end of the table with a powerful “TOBIAS! Escuchame!” Followed by question of doubtless grave importance.
Eventually the momentum of the main course began to wane. But for fear of hunger, the postre (dessert) was soon brought out. It started with a “muy natural” ensalada de fruta. Again, second helpings were rushed to empty bowls and quick on their tails came several immense tortas and galletas (pies and cakes). Dessert was accompanied by a light, sparkling apple cider.
After many photos and goodbyes we made it to bed before three AM. We were still hoping to leave in the morning, despite the rain which had begun falling during dinner.
In the morning we arose to the sound of steady rain. Glancing out it looked as if the clouds had gathered for the long haul. Downstairs we found one young firefighter, Jorge, washing the trucks. There was mate and hot water. Whilst we sat and drank our mate in the relative calm of the morning, we considered slipping off, in the rain, as we once considered in Teodelina (a mere two days ago?).
Soon Claudia, wife of Eduardo (elder), and mother of Eduardo (younger) showed up to explain that Eduardo (elder) was still abed on account of the wine. She gave us some left over cake for breakfast and said Eduardo would be in later for mate.
Another fellow by the name of Daniel, both bombero and cyclist, came in and introduced himself. He provided a brief tour of the pueblo. He also took a look at the route we actually wanted to take and drew a most useful map of how to get to the next important pueblo along our way.
An hour later we found ourselves at Eduardo’s for lunch. More asado. He also showed us his metal working shop behind the house. In the course of conversation while taking mate it was discovered that we lacked both a mate and a bambilla (that is, the two items necessary for drinking yerba mate). In short time we found ourselves being offered a selection of mates and bambillas; we took the smallest of both.
Full to the brim with lunch, we headed back to the cuartel to lay down for what turned into a three hour siesta. The evening turned out to be relatively calm. For dinner we satisified ourselves on more leftover asado and a little bread, in the company of Jorge and his friends. Still, the night was not free of activity. One thing led to another, and we found ourselves expected the following morning to visit both the primary and secondary schools to meet the children; afterwards, moreover, it seemed there would be one more radio interview.
The next morning, we drank mate and ate facturas with Eduardo while waiting for our ride to the primary school. It never showed, due to the visit of a doctor to the school that day, we were later told. Eduardo, however, drove us to the secondary school around 9 AM. The school yard was littered with bicycles; we couldn’t be that foreign… In the main hall of the school there was a dog sleeping, and no one paying it any attention; I was starting to feel right at home. When we were brought to the library and all the teenagers were gathered together in, with all the attention on us, we started feeling a little less in our element.
After a little introduction from the English teacher to the group at large, I asked if they’d prefer we spoke in English or Spanish (in Spanish). As it turned out, they were actually more excited about understanding us than about hearing people speak English.
So the interview proceeded in Spanish. From where do you come? Where are you going? Do you have girlfriends in the states? (That one was asked twice, the second time by a teacher who hadn’t been paying attention). What do you think of the girls here? Do you like Argentina? Do you like your President? As the topics ranged from politics, to sports, to music, to traffic, we got a little help translating from the English teacher.
They were a very enthusiastic bunch, and quite a few of them gave us sincere well wishes on their out. Nonetheless we were feeling a little tired from being the focus of so much attention after they all filed back out of the library.
It was then that a woman walked in with a little walkie talkie like device. We were told she was from the radio. She sat down, her little device crackled a little, and a question came through in Spanish. The English teacher explained to the device that we had actually just done quite well answering the students questions in Spanish. The little radio was giving some feedback, so the lady plugged a pair of ear buds into it, and turned off its speaker. There were two earbuds, and four people present. After a few more questions for the teacher, Toby was given an earbud so he could hear the questions which were being directed at him. Then I was given one, and neither the teacher nor the radio woman knew what was being asked us, they only heard us answering (or trying to). Somehow we made it through that interview too, only slightly worse for wear!
A few students had remained for the radio interview and, of course, asked for our e-mails. Many of them spoke rather good English, but we told them that we needed to practice Spanish anyway.
Leaving the school Eduardo looked a little more concerned than usual. I think he was aware that we really had intended to be on the road by that time, and wanted to be on our way. In retrospect I believe he didn’t want to impose on us, but he and his entire family were very much hoping we would spend a little more time with them. He invited us to lunch. Claudia was making milanesa, a kind of thin, fried, breaded meat. We accepted, a little reluctantly, as it was all ready nearly noon.
On the way over to his house he asked if we would actually rather go back to the cuartel. We told him it wasn’t important, and we’re glad we did. At lunch they had some advice and many thanks for our visit. They explained how it was a real gift for the pueblo to have travelers come to them, because so many of them would never travel very far themselves. We were honored, humbled, and equally grateful for the hospitality we were being shown.
Claudia and both Eduardo elder and younger accompanied us back to the cuartel. Juan and Adrian met us there on bikes, offering to accompany us out of town.
At our parting, all of Eduardo’s family, even young Eduardo, of eleven years, was in tears. Once again we were touched and humbled; how profound the implications of our mere whims could be. I (Toby) rarely let loose any tears, but in this case even I had trouble suppressing them.
We set off with Juan and Adrian. Juan turned back early to go back and open his bike shop after siesta. Several kilometers later we parted with Adrian; businesslike but caring as usual, he told us about the road ahead, to call if we even needed help and then sent us right along.
We set off with a deep debt of gratitude to all the bomberos of Santa Isabel, and firmly planted memories of our second new family: Eduardo, Claudia, young Eduardo, and his two sisters.
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