Visit Argentina > Land of the Gauchos

We had just turned off the main highway and were now driving along the dirt roads that lead to the Hacienda del Bolas. The wind stirred up clouds of grey dust in front of us, blocking out an already hesitant sun. Frightened chickens ran for cover, cackling all the way. A few feathers flew through the air, one of them landing on the Jeep's windshield. The driver let out a curse in slang and spit out the juice from his chew of "maté" as he barely missed a herd of young calves.
The Jeep got back on track and Chico, pleased with himself at having managed this little feat, pulled down his hat and smiled, revealing yellowed teeth. 

Like something out of a children's story, a few ombús appeared on the green prairie, mud brick cottages surrounded by simple gardens. The women sat on their doorsteps, weaving. They looked like statues with their brightly-colored dresses and chiseled faces. Dogs, upset by our passing through, were barking, faithfully defending their masters' property. We had just gone through the final village. We traveled a good hour before seeing the first pasture. Occasionally we'd come across men on horseback, rigged up like cowboys, who acknowledged us haughtily, their minds on other things… but good manners required it!

A well-worn sign with a picture of a stallion and the name of the ranch owner was hung on a post to identify the place. We had arrived.

Seeing guards whose duty it was to oversee the premises only strengthened the connections in my mind with ranches of the old days. Dressed in leather, they came towards us, one of them wearing a wide-brimmed felt hat, his hands pressed to the Colts hanging on his belt. After a long discussion with our driver, the gates opened with a great squeal of rusty iron and a flurry of shouted orders.

Four cavaleros mounted on their criollos, native horses, escorted us to an immense building of weather-beaten planks. The interior was filled with thick smoke through which I could just make out the shapes of men of all colors who were bidding loudly on horses and cattle. It happened to be auction day and they had come from far and wide to buy and sell livestock. The scene was extremely lively and there were shouting matches of competing bids. Powerful arms were waving in the air as bank notes and animals changed hands. I left this din and went outside.

I saw Chico saddling up a magnificent thoroughbred. I approached him; surprised by my interest in this beautiful animal, he asked if I wanted to mount a chestnut mare who, feeling neglected, was stamping to attract my attention. I didn't need any further encouragement, and I put my foot in the stirrup. What a delight! I was taken back to my grandfather's farm with the docile pony, two big Percherons and a palomino… Memories of the past! I set off at a trot, stopping for a moment to admire some wild mustangs in a paddock that were still refusing to be tamed. What a sight! I lost all sense of time. When the lunch bell rang I headed back - cutting a fine figure on my mare! - to rejoin the gauchos who were leading horses into the stalls reserved for buyers.

I was getting ready to dismount when I saw my groom wearing his special occasion outfit: buckskin breeches, hammered silver half-moons on his vest, an indication of rank, and leather boots decorated with star-shaped spurs. His hat had slid onto his back, hanging from a leather cord. Before getting down I had noticed the "bolas" on the long cord tied to his belt and had counted the knots, a certain sign of his quickness and skill as a rancher. He took his mischievous eye - and wandering hand - from me.