Horsing Around

It was really sad checking out from the Estancia in the morning. The staff had been great. The food and wine were great. The relaxing was great.  The room was stunning (and had a blazing shower worthy of refreshing two weary hikers). We had also made new friends with a British couple who were at the end of a month-long trip. She is a pilot and he, a diver. We talked travel and backpacking and the Estancia and Covid, and all sorts. 

It was our last day in Patagonia - for the first time it felt like we were coming to the end of our adventure.

After checking out, we did have one more estancia experience however. A three- hour horseback ride and lunch. The estancia had about a dozen horses that were allowed to roam free over huge swaths of land. When we arrived at the stables, however, three chestnut horses had been brought in and saddled. A private trip!

Our guide, Nelson, didn't speak any English, but as the British guy had said, he was basically a horse whisperer. We put on chaps and Nelson helped us into the saddle. 

I haven't been in a saddle since I was a child. I don't think I've ever been given reins. I quickly felt out of my depth. So I set myself some goals:

1. Take photos, but don't drop the phone!

2. Don't rock the boat. Don't fall off the horse.

3. Before the trip, my parents exhorted me to not harass the locals. I thought that was good advice in this situation.

4. Hold on. See #2.

5. Go wherever the horse goes.

Nelson steered his horse toward the gate. He gave a little whistle. Our horses fell in line. Four ranch dogs decided to tag along.

Everything was silent. The horses walked silently in the sand and, since we rode single file, we couldn't really talk to each other. We left the estancia and followed the lake shore, weaving around and climbing over sand dunes. The views of Lago Viedma, Rio La Leona, and the distant snowy mountains were wild, fierce, and remote in the ever-present wind. I felt connected to millennia of pioneering and exploration in the American West, Asia, South America, Australia, Africa, and Europe. 

We walked along the beach. The wind had worked up some waves and whitecaps, which splashed at our feet. It turns out the horses were scared by the waves and my horse spontaneously broke into a trot to evade the water lapping up on shore. I bounced around in the saddle awkwardly. Poor horse. Poor Dan. After about an hour of walking peacefully (except when the dogs wrangled an armadillo, RIP), punctuated by random trots (see #2) and a few impromptu grassy snacks and sips of steam water (see #5), we came to a little pond with a refugio, or shelter. A wind-torn Argentinian flag flew overhead (a common sight in Patagonia!). There were a couple picnic tables, an outdoor sink, and a corrugated metal sheet in a semicircle. Ellie and I sat down. The dogs were already asleep in the beautiful sunshine.

Nelson went to work, unpacking a bag strapped to his horse. First he pulled out a rustic serving board. It had little holes which he filled with olives, jambon, ornately curled cheese slices, peanuts, and salami. Ellie and I dove in. 

Next, he got an axe from somewhere and chopped some of the twisted gnarly local deadwood. It was extremely dry. Gray outside, yellow inside. He built a fire inside the metal sheet, a wind break. I remembered building a campfire in the backcountry in Yellowstone and how terrified I was of starting a forest fire. I guess that's why the windbreak was slightly protruding into the pond. A quick extinguisher.

A big cast iron pan with three legs emerged from behind the windbreak and was placed in the fire. Nelson pulled out about 6 onions and a couple red peppers and swiftly sliced them like a Michelin star chef. A healthy dose of oil was heated, and then in went the veggies.

Then, three face-sized steaks an inch thick emerged from the bag. Ellie's eyes widened: "whoa!" At first I think she wondered if that included portions for the dogs, but no - just the humans. Nelson salted them thoroughly, then salted the veggies. A herb (oregano?) Was also added to the pan. Finally, as the onions were looking good, the steaks were added. Mmm, the smells. Fire, onions, beef. Yes.

Shortly thereafter, we indulged in our feast: a serving board for each, overflowing with steak, onions, and peppers. A nice basket of bread was a perfect accompaniment, but slightly out of place with the rustic rancher meal. The dogs woke from their slumber to come investigate; no scraps went to waste.

And finally, Nelson came out of the cabin with Cachefaz alfajor for each. I pocketed mine for later.

Alfajores are the dulce de leche sandwiches found all over Argentina. There are several main brands/variants such as Cachefaz and Havanna, although dozens of them exist. Havanna is what we had first thing when we arrived in Buenos Aires - two cakey chocolate or vanilla cookies with dulce de leche filling and maybe another layer, all coated in a chocolate ganache. The Cachefaz alfajores were vanilla biscuits with dulce de leche filling, with the edge of the sandwich rolled in desiccated coconut. I can count the number of Starbucks I saw this trip on one hand, but in Argentina there was a Havanna on every city block.

We packed up and got back on our trusty steeds to return to the estancia. There was a lot more trotting and I finally realized I'd bounce around less if I gripped the horse more tightly with my legs. It must be exhausting spending a day on a horse...

Horse ride complete and feeling extremely content, we hopped in the car and returned to El Calafate. We returned our other trusty steed to the car rental and then took a bus to our hostel. For our last Patagonian meal we went out for... Italian! There's a significant Italian immigrant community in Argentina, and the pizza is quite good. I had Del Bosque, a combination of "forest" mushrooms and olives. Ellie had pumpkin ravioli, a popular Patagonian option.

The next morning, we hopped on the plane back to Buenos Aires (the air is so good).