Profile
Blog
Photos
Videos
After some fruitless attempts to find 'sights' in and around Cordoba, we finally stumbled upon a little town in the south called Alta Gracia, where Che Guevara lived for 11 years as a boy. The house he and his parents inhabited has been turned into a rather sweet little museum filled with photos, letters and school reports. It was really very interesting and unusual, tucked away as it was in a little suburb amongst all these average middle-class houses.
We left and drove back to Cordoba via the Quebrada de Condoritos, home of the mighty Condor and saw, off in the distance, what could have been a large bird, possibly even … a Condor.
Of course it could also have been a very small bird at close distance, but we prefer to think that we have espied the mighty Condor and will persist with that story come what may.
The next day (with no football scheduled at the Brigay cinema complex) we drove north of Cordoba along an endless highway of pollo-in-a-basket places, tyre repairers and corner shops before hitting some beautiful countryside of gently rolling hills, blue skies and wood-scented fresh air.
We turned off the main road and bumped along 22 kilometres of unmade road across, round, up, down and over a small mountain to reach San Marcos de Sierras a small dusty town that is a bit of a hippy hangout.A lot of the buildings here are painted in vivid colours with bright murals on the walls. The residents have the ubiquitous hippy uniform of dreadlocks, baggy batik clothing, handmade jewellery, tattooed and pierced body parts and rizla papers. The cafes and restaurants sell organic, fresh and healthy food, little stalls line the square selling tie-dyed clothing, wood whittled in stone cottages, hand-knitted yogurt pots and small objects blessed by fairies and kissed by angels. With large signs saying 'Do Not Touch'. Just like Brighton really.
I made the mistake of wearing my new light-coloured trainers with my rather fetching ¾ length trousers, which are a little baggy now I've lost a bit of weight. Bri took one look at me and burst out laughing. I was quite taken aback.'These are Nicole Farhi trousers I'll have you know' I pointed out sniffily, expecting some form of reverence and quiet admiration for my innate good taste in clothing. 'They may well be' he remarked drily 'but you look more like Coco the Clown in that outfit'.
How rude.
- comments