Ahhh, the twists that life takes...
Las Loicas is the small town, almost exactly 100 km from Malargüe, where I turned off the road to head to a small homestead along the "Rio Grande" to work as a gaucho. And it's two weeks later before I return....
Life as a guacho was interesting. I'm accustomed to farm work, having spent a good portion of my childhood working on a farm. But this seems somehow more glamorous and mystical... It only takes a few days for the glamour to wear thin... although, I have to admit, that every time I think that I'm actually working as a gaucho, a smile cracks my lips.
The day is pretty straight forward. Wake early, drink mate (a herbal tea made from a alfalfa-like grass; an Argentine must), herd the goats into a corral where we fed the motherless chavatos (baby goats) milk from mothers that have only one child or are childless, drink mate, go to the other corral, slaughter a goat for lunch, drink mate, eat lunch, drink mate, siesta (hell ya!), and back to the motherless chavatos.
The routine repeats itself everyday. There isn't an exception. There can't be an exception.
The spice of each day is a little different.... one day, we listen to the River vs. Boac futbol match (I'm told that I MUST cheer for River); one day, we go to the neighbors for dinner (only a 25 minute walk away.... after crossing the river in a small cable/cage contraption); one day we fish with small crayfish thingies used for bait; several days we work with horses, using lassos to bring them to the ground before we begin; one day, I repair a lasso destroyed by a horse in one of our aforementioned battles (who knew I had those kind of skills?!?!?).
Las Loicas is the small town, almost exactly 100 km from Malargüe, where I turned off the road to head to a small homestead along the "Rio Grande" to work as a gaucho. And it's two weeks later before I return....
Life as a guacho was interesting. I'm accustomed to farm work, having spent a good portion of my childhood working on a farm. But this seems somehow more glamorous and mystical... It only takes a few days for the glamour to wear thin... although, I have to admit, that every time I think that I'm actually working as a gaucho, a smile cracks my lips.
The day is pretty straight forward. Wake early, drink mate (a herbal tea made from a alfalfa-like grass; an Argentine must), herd the goats into a corral where we fed the motherless chavatos (baby goats) milk from mothers that have only one child or are childless, drink mate, go to the other corral, slaughter a goat for lunch, drink mate, eat lunch, drink mate, siesta (hell ya!), and back to the motherless chavatos.
The routine repeats itself everyday. There isn't an exception. There can't be an exception.
The spice of each day is a little different.... one day, we listen to the River vs. Boac futbol match (I'm told that I MUST cheer for River); one day, we go to the neighbors for dinner (only a 25 minute walk away.... after crossing the river in a small cable/cage contraption); one day we fish with small crayfish thingies used for bait; several days we work with horses, using lassos to bring them to the ground before we begin; one day, I repair a lasso destroyed by a horse in one of our aforementioned battles (who knew I had those kind of skills?!?!?).
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