La Rioja - a quiet day

The cathedral

It's nine in the evening here in La Rioja, and the fan in the courtyard of “Residencial Anita” is still running full speed. Together with the tarp that serves as a roof over the courtyard it manages to keep the temperature at a bearable, even pleasant level in the afternoon. It was 28 degrees Celsius today, and a month from now it will be really hot.

We hadn't booked anything here but had decided to try our luck at one of the accommodations mentioned in the Lonely Planet. Critiques online didn't seem to confirm the positive description in our travel guide, but we have learned that one cannot necessarily give too much credence to the opinions of other people; standards and expectations are too different. The taxi dropped us off at 'Residencial Anita', and they did have a room for us – warm water, air condition, wifi, but no breakfast. The room and bathroom looked clean, and it was quiet – good enough for us to spend a night here, especially when dusk was already starting to set in. Little things like the missing toilet seat or – noticed only when we took a shower – a missing shower head are small inconveniences one can live with for a couple of nights.

We spent a very leisurely day here. Late in the morning we walked the fifteen or so minutes into town to have a look around. I had read about La Rioja's Museo Folclórico, folklore museum, and we got a really interesting guided tour in English.

We heard about the patron saint of the city, St. Nicolas de Bari, and the strange figure of Jesus Mayor (Mayor Jesus) and the celebration that honours both on December 31 (and the following two days), with huge processions to which people come dressed according to which of the two they follow – the biggest celebration of the whole year.

There is a room with wine making equipment, the most interesting of which – to me - was a tanned cow hide stretched on a frame, sagging in the middle so that it looks like a bathtub (accomplished by piling sand on it while it is still pliable), where children tread the grapes to extract the juice, with a hole to drain the juice. Other rooms have kitchen equipment on display, saddles, musical instruments. The last room we visited was reserved for the mythology of the area, dating back to pre-Inca times. The Inca arrived a hundred years before the Spanish and were here not long enough to lastingly impose their religion. The indigenous beliefs from before the Inca are still present alongside the strong Catholicism.

There is Pachamama, for instance, Mother Earth, or Mother Nature, the most revered of all since the gives and protects life. She is responsible for food and fertility and bequeaths all things necessary for a good life – but only as long as nature is respected and cared for. There are celebrations where big holes are dug and filled with agricultural produce, from corn to potatoes, grapes, olives, etc., then covered – an offering to Pachamama. Our guide told us that even one of the candidates for the upcoming presidential election closed his campaign by having a ritual for Pachamama. Will it make him successful?

Most gods – other incarnations of Pachamama, mostly, responsible for different aspects of life – are female, but there is also one important male god who is responsible for the thriving of livestock. A lesson on local witch rituals – a bit tongue-in-cheek, but not totally, I think - completed our education for the day ...

By now it is past midnight, and we returned from an excellent meal in the restaurant our landlady recommended to us yesterday about an hour ago. She warned us: before 9:30 or even 10pm there would be little hope to get something to eat. Yet when we came by the 'Le City' at the smaller of the two plazas and looked at the menu around 8:30 last night we were invited to stay: the parilla was smoking already. With the help of the waiter (and with some gesticulation to make up for the lack of words) we decided on 'Bife de chorizo' (Rumpsteak) and once again were not disappointed. Argentineans do know how to cook meat! The Santa Florentina Malbec, grown locally, recommended by the waiter, was a good choice as well. We are not sure if he didn't have the Gato Negro on the wine list we had asked for or if he just didn't want to serve Chilean wine. It's nicer to try local wine and support the local industry anyway. 

 

Since it was so good we had the same meal as yesterday, sharing the meat, but this time we left out the french fries and had two salads instead. I couldn't resist: I had to try the local olives, and was not disappointed.

The afternoon found us at the two plazas. Keeping the siesta time in mind, we left a little after five, only to find most shops still locked up. Streets and sidewalks were deserted, and so were the plazas. Here and there someone was stretched out on a park bench, sleeping. We sat on a bench in the shade and let the world pass by. Every time I am here in South America I am touched by the loving attention given to elderly people by their children and grandchildren. Actually, come to think of it, I only remember seeing women or girls with their mothers or grandmothers or grandfathers. What do boys do, I wonder? Often an elderly woman or man can be seen walking with a child on each side, guiding them carefully, giving support. Their faces are turned attentively to the older person, and each gesture speaks of loving devotion. Family, as we have heard time and again here, plays a huge roll. 

Children are everywhere, and mostly seem to be indulged, rarely scolded. Babies and toddlers are carried around rather than pushed in strollers, by mothers as well as fathers. Of course they are still up and about even now; the three small kids of our landlady here just walked up to their quarters and were shushed when they passed by the guest rooms.

La Rioja is not a town geared to tourists, at least not at this time of year. We didn't see a single 'extrajero' (foreigner), at least not one from a visibly different background. Wherever we went we were treated with politeness, but nobody made a fuss over us, which feels nice.

Tomorrow we'll find a bus to our next destination, Tucuman, a much bigger city about six bus hours north of here. From there, we hope to make our way higher up into the mountains to get away from the cities for a bit.

It's nine in the evening here in La Rioja, and the fan in the courtyard of “Residencial Anita” is still running full speed. Together with the tarp that serves as a roof over the courtyard it manages to keep the temperature at a bearable, even pleasant level in the afternoon. It was 28 degrees Celsius today, and a month from now it will be really hot.

We hadn't booked anything here but had decided to try our luck at one of the accommodations mentioned in the Lonely Planet. Critiques online didn't seem to confirm the positive description in our travel guide, but we have learned that one cannot necessarily give too much credence to the opinions of other people; standards and expectations are too different. The taxi dropped us off at 'Residencial Anita', and they did have a room for us – warm water, air condition, wifi, but no breakfast. The room and bathroom looked clean, and it was quiet – good enough for us to spend a night here, especially when dusk was already starting to set in. Little things like the missing toilet seat or – noticed only when we took a shower – a missing shower head are small inconveniences one can live with for a couple of nights.

We spent a very leisurely day here. Late in the morning we walked the fifteen or so minutes into town to have a look around. I had read about La Rioja's Museo Folclórico, folklore museum, and we got a really interesting guided tour in English.

We heard about the patron saint of the city, St. Nicolas de Bari, and the strange figure of Jesus Mayor (Mayor Jesus) and the celebration that honours both on December 31 (and the following two days), with huge processions to which people come dressed according to which of the two they follow – the biggest celebration of the whole year.

There is a room with wine making equipment, the most interesting of which – to me - was a tanned cow hide stretched on a frame, sagging in the middle so that it looks like a bathtub (accomplished by piling sand on it while it is still pliable), where children tread the grapes to extract the juice, with a hole to drain the juice. Other rooms have kitchen equipment on display, saddles, musical instruments. The last room we visited was reserved for the mythology of the area, dating back to pre-Inca times. The Inca arrived a hundred years before the Spanish and were here not long enough to lastingly impose their religion. The indigenous beliefs from before the Inca are still present alongside the strong Catholicism.

There is Pachamama, for instance, Mother Earth, or Mother Nature, the most revered of all since the gives and protects life. She is responsible for food and fertility and bequeaths all things necessary for a good life – but only as long as nature is respected and cared for. There are celebrations where big holes are dug and filled with agricultural produce, from corn to potatoes, grapes, olives, etc., then covered – an offering to Pachamama. Our guide told us that even one of the candidates for the upcoming presidential election closed his campaign by having a ritual for Pachamama. Will it make him successful?

Most gods – other incarnations of Pachamama, mostly, responsible for different aspects of life – are female, but there is also one important male god who is responsible for the thriving of livestock. A lesson on local witch rituals – a bit tongue-in-cheek, but not totally, I think - completed our education for the day ...

By now it is past midnight, and we returned from an excellent meal in the restaurant recommended by our landlady yesterday about an hour ago. She warned us: before 9:30 or even 10pm there would be little hope to get something to eat. Yet when we came by the 'Le City' at the smaller of the two plazas and looked at the menu around 8:30 last night we were invited to stay: the parilla was smoking already. With the help of the waiter (and with some gesticulation to make up for the lack of words) we decided on 'Bife de chorizo' (Rumpsteak) and once again were not disappointed. Argentineans do know how to cook meat! The Santa Florentina Malbec, grown locally, recommended by the waiter, was a good choice as well. We are not sure if he didn't have the Gato Negro on the wine list we had asked for or if he just didn't want to serve Chilean wine. It's nicer to try local wine and support the local industry anyway.

Since it was so good we had the same meal as yesterday, sharing the meat, but this time we left out the french fries and had two salads instead. I couldn't resist: I had to try the local olives, and was not disappointed.

The afternoon found us at the two plazas. Keeping the siesta time in mind, we left a little after five, only to find most shops still locked up. Streets and sidewalks were deserted, and so were the plazas. Here and there someone was stretched out on a parkbench, sleeping. We sat on a bench in the shade and let the world pass by. Every time I am here in South America I am touched by the loving attention given to elderly people by their children and grandchildren. Actually, come to think of it, I only remember seeing women or girls with their mothers or grandmothers or grandfathers. What do boys do, I wonder? Often an elderly woman or man can be seen walking with a child on each side, guiding them carefully, giving support. Their faces are turned attentively to the older person, and each gesture speaks of loving devotion. Family, as we have heard time and again here, plays a huge roll.

Children are everywhere, and mostly seem to be indulged, rarely scolded. Babies and toddlers are carried around rather than pushed in strollers, by mothers as well as fathers. Of course they are still up and about even now; the three small kids of our landlady here just walked up to their quarters and were shushed when they passed by the guest rooms.

La Rioja is not a town geared to tourists, at least not at this time of year. We didn't see a single 'extrajero' (foreigner), at least not one from a visibly different background. Wherever we went we were treated with politeness, but nobody made a fuss over us, which feels nice.

Tomorrow we'll find a bus to our next destination, Tucuman, a much bigger city about six bus hours north of here. From there, we hope to make our way higher up into the mountains to get away from the cities for a bit. 

One of my favourites: the bougainvillea