Mercedes,
Argentina
Thursday, October 23, 2008
After our good times in Calilegua National Park, we decided to keep it close to nature for awhile and move on to the Esteros del Ibera, a massive estuary region in the central/northeast region of Argentina. Imagine the everglades spread over an entire state (the Corrientes province), with the closest city having more horses and chickens in its census than people. We had to get there somehow, though, so starting in Jujuy we took an overnight bus to Corrientes, the capital of the province and the second oldest city in Argentina (it didnīt show favorably), to Mercedes, our jumping-off point to the Esteros. Mercedes made me quite homesick, because it reminded me so much of a typical sleepy southern town; semi-tropical plants, including one that smelled just like gardenias, the earth was red clay, and the humidity like nothing Iīve experienced, except of course in the Carolinas and Georgia. Instead of rednecks and pickup trucks, there were gauchos (argentinian cowboys, usually pretty wealthy, who seem to come into town to settle financial affairs concerning their estancias (ranches)) and wanna-be gauchos drinking gallons of mate. Right now, weīre moving into the mate (traditional South American tea, most country folks prefer it to coffee) corridor of Argentina, where most of the mate crops are grown. Again, I feel that it parallels my home turf, reminding me of tobacco growing regions in the south. Mate is quite the obsession here, and is drunk by filling a gourd with the pulverized leaves, dragging this gourd and an enormous thermos of hot water with you all the day, and compulsively refilling your gourd full of leaves with the said hot water. The mate is drunk through a metal (traditionally solid silver) straw with a mini-filter in the bottom, so that all the tea leaves are strained out. I mean it when I say that everyone drags a thermos with them, down the street, on the bus, on rural boat trips, wherever. Equally as mystifying to me is the authority with which these folks will plunk down their thermos on any cafe counter and demand more hot water from the proprietor as if itīs their birthright. Itīs something else. Mate, like coffee, is a stimulant and appetite suppressant, and folks donīt really eat or sleep around here as a result. Me, Iīm still trying to adjust.
Mercedes itself was founded as part of a Catholic mission in the 17th century, and has maintained some charming architecture as a result. If any of you readers are familiar with Abbeville, South Carolina (and I know some of you are), Iīd say thatīs the southern city that most captures the feel of Mercedes. Unfortunately, hiding under the picturesque exterior is a rip-off waiting to happen. I havenīt had any straight up bad lodging experiences since weīve gotten down here, except this one. Please take the time to find alternative accomadation if youīre headed down here, do not stay at Delicias del Ibera. Totally nickel-and-dimed me to death. It was only for one night, though.
The next morning we piled into a tiny bus the likes of which we hadnīt seen since Peru (all the other tourists waiting for it balked and looked slightly ill, but we were game!), rode for four hours over unpaved roads, and got our first taste of the Iberán marshes.
Hereīs a few pics from
Mercedes
