Getting our Gaucho on

I’ve always had a similar feeling about helicopters and horses: I can’t wait to get up onto the big beasts and once I do, I can’t wait to get my feet back on solid ground.

Luckily my memory is short, so each ride is like a new experience, bringing excitement about the upcoming thrills.

And so it was as we prepared for our day of horseback riding with Carol Jones, local gaucha extraordinaire in Bariloche. Based on a recommendation from my friend Leon, we signed up for a day of riding through the Andean foothills around town. What better way to get our gaucho on than to ride a two thousand pound mammal around the countryside. Needless to say, I felt mas macho.

However, the feeling didn’t last long as I tried in vain to get some control over Charol, the feisty stallion charging over the meadows with me on his back. “Pull on the reins. Show him who’s boss,” yelled Carol. Feeling like I was riding a furry jackhammer, it seemed pretty clear who was boss of the situation.

Luckily, Charol and I eventually saw eye to eye and our day was nothing less than stunning. With weather in full cooperation, we toured the Jones estancia, first settled by Carol’s grandfather in 1887. With a varied topography and views of the mountains in the distance, the ride was wonderful.

And the intermingling of gaucho culture made it all the more memorable. For those who have not been to Argentina, gauchos are Argentinean cowboys (and possibly cowgirls too, although the local masculine culture might have something to say about that). On our ride, we were accompanied by two gauchos-in-training, who served as Carol’s assistants.

To say these guys had personality would be an understatement. From the top-of-the-lung singing to the massive sheathed knives stuffed into their belts, they screamed “Argentina man.”

And nothing says man down here like massive portions of meat. We were not disappointed, as Carol and Co. laid out huge steaks on a grill over the campfire. Grrr. In true Gaucho style the only beverage served was red wine.

Which was a good thing, since the ache in my hips required some sort of analgesic. Being mostly a city slicker these days, it’s not often I climb up onto a horse and force my legs into the unnatural position required by the stirrups. After several hours of this position, my body was screaming out, “Get off!”

And so we’ve come full circle. I’m back on solid ground, slowly forgetting the low-grade pain and feelings of helplessness I felt on the back of the beast. Like Charlie Brown when Lucy offers a football, the next time I’m offered a horseback ride, I will jump in with both feet. And I am sure once again, I will not be disappointed.