by Rick Neal
Fantastico. That’s my first impression of Cordoba, Argentina. Muy fantastico, in more ways than one.
I’m heading in the general direction of el centro, but in such a charismatic cuidad I’m not in a big hurry to go anywhere. The roadways are lined with lovingly maintained colonial buildings painted in hues of chestnut, ginger, and soft blue. The newer structures are of brick neo-colonial design, so they look right at home next to their older relatives.
It’s October, springtime in Argentina. The sky is a solid sheet of sapphire, the temperature a balmy 25 degrees Celsius, but a robust wind from the nearby Central Sierras keeps it all fresh. Many of the locals I pass wear jackets. Weather conditions aside, fashion-conscious Argentineans dress for the calendar, not the climate. Summer is a month away, and wearing shorts and flip-flops in any other season just wouldn’t be apropiado.
Fifteen percent of the city’s 1.3 million inhabitants are students at one of the city’s seven universities, and their youthful spirit seems to have infected the entire populace. A handsome older couple strolling arm-in-arm offer a sincere buenas dias. Several Cordobans flash welcoming smiles, something that I seldom received from the somewhat reserved residents of Buenos Aires. I can’t wait to delve further into this vibrant pueblo, but first I need to find a place to drop my bags.
My guidebook gives the nearby Hotel Quetzal thumbs up. The two-star lodge is basic, but its central location is unbeatable. The clincher is the nightly rate of 500 pesos, about $50 Canadian, great value in a country that has suffered 40% inflation in the last year alone.
I check in and then continue west along San Jeronimo Calle. Within minutes I’m in verdant Plaza San Martin. The leafy piazza has been Cordoba’s focal hub for over four hundred years, and it bustles with activity today. Giggling school girls exchange gossip as they stretch out on the lawn while elderly caballeros play chess on park benches beneath swaying palm trees. A giant statue of Argentine general Jose de San Martin on horseback dominates the plaza’s center. Revered as one of the country’s founding fathers, he was a key figure in South America’s triumphant struggle for independence from Spain in the 1800s. Young lovers now kiss beneath El General’s unyielding eye.
An outstanding destination on its own, the plaza is also a springboard to some of Cordoba’s top attractions. Standing adjacent is the pink-stoned Iglesia Catedral, the oldest continually operating church in Argentina. Construction started in 1577 but a series of structural collapses delayed its completion for two hundred years. Because several architects shared in its design, among them Franciscans and Jesuits, the structure is a mishmash of styles. Nevertheless, its Classic Renaissance portico, Baroque dome, and Spanish Romantic tower combine to serve up a dazzling colonial monument.
As impressed as I am by the cathedral’s outward appearance, its opulent interior leaves me awestruck. Ornate wood carvings gilded in gold-leaf adorn the large central nave, which almost seems to emit an amber glow. The only sound is the hum of locals who kneel in prayer before it. The overwhelming gold elements are balanced by a striking embossed silver altar crafted in Peru. In the early 20th century the interior was embellished with the addition of magnificent biblical frescoes and murals painted by prominent Argentine artists. Guidebooks tout this as Argentina’s most beautiful cathedral, but for my money its one of the most exquisite I’ve encountered anywhere.
These immaculate cream and tanned sandstone structures look as if they might have been built yesterday. As I stand outside them on the squeaky clean cobbled road, I can hardly believe they were built over 300 years ago. What’s not surprising is that the entire Jesuit Block was declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2000.
The library of the Universidad de Cordoba is a nirvana for bibliophiles. Its collection includes 2500 ancient manuscripts brought over by the original Jesuit missionaries, many of which are embossed with copper engravings and intricate woodcuts. There is also a rare 1645 bible written in seven different languages. Guided tours are the only way to see these priceless literary treasures.
The interior of the Iglesia de la Compañia de Jesus church contains decorative elements that combine both Baroque and native styles. Architect Philippe Lemaire was once a boatbuilder, which explains why the arched cedar roof resembles the hull of a ship. Gilded wooden statues of the saints adorn the sumptuous altar. The Capilla Domestica, the chapel, sits directly behind the church. Its elaborate ceiling is made from cowhide stretched over a frame of taguaro cane and painted with pigments partially extracted from boiled animal bones.
From the Jesuit Block, I wander head down La Cañada Calle, which runs along a stone canal lined with rustling acacia trees. Within minutes I’m in the bohemian district of Güemes, which fans out for several blocks on either side of the canal. Once a working class stronghold, Güemes has evolved, one trendy bar and eclectic antique store at a time, into Cordoba’s funkiest barrio.
Its weekend feria artisanal (artisan market) is said to be one of Argentina’s finest, but since this is a weekday I settle for a stroll down the main drag of Belgrano. I’m not disappointed, as I’m repeatedly pulled into atmospheric boutiques that offer everything from ancient light fixtures to antique toys to worn statues of religious icons. The Paseo Colonial, an arcade of small shops that sell clothes and jewelry created by the city’s trendiest young designers, proves a perfect spot to pick up one-of-a-kind gifts.
Fatigued from all this sightseeing, I park myself at a busy sidewalk café. Many of the artsy types around me are drinking Fernet, a popular bitter-tasting herbed liquor usually mixed with Coke. I play it safe with a café cortado (espresso with milk).
Bolstered from my caffeine fix, I mosey a few blocks east until I hit another neighbourhood that has undergone a recent facelift. Nueva Cordoba was once home to the local aristocracy, but today it’s a popular hangout for Cordoba’s teeming student community. Many of them reside in the high-rise brick apartments that have mushroomed here in recent years. However, a leisurely stroll past regal old mansions that line the main thoroughfare of Avenida Hipólito Yrigoyen reminds me of the area’s imperial roots.
The bone-jarring thud of electronic music from nearby Calle Rondeau jolts me abruptly back into the present. The narrow road is chock-a-block with raucous bars and nightclubs. It may be a weeknight, but the clubs are packed with students and hipsters who dance and quaff cheap jugs of Quilmes, Argentina’s national brew. I wonder if these kids worry about the rampant inflation and high unemployment they’ll likely face when they graduate. Or if maybe, like a lot of other Argentineans I’ve met the last couple of weeks, they’re too busy enjoying the present to worry about the future.
By now I’m exhausted so I start the long hike back to my hotel. Near the Jesuit Block I pass a miniature plaza where vendors hawk traditional leatherwear, pottery, and textiles from blankets spread along the sidewalk. A couple of boisterous young hombres sell sweet-smelling sausages from a portable barbecue in front of a 17th Century church. Next to them a young woman sings The Beatles’ A Day in the Life in flawless English, accompanied by a bearded fellow with a guitar and amp.
This scene is Cordoba in a nutshell. A city bursting with life that keeps one foot rooted firmly in the past while it looks confidently to the future. It is cool without even trying to be, and maybe that’s the coolest thing about it.
If You Go:
INFLATION
When I visited Argentina several months ago the country had experienced 40% inflation in the past year. All prices quoted here may have gone up (or down) dramatically since then. Do your research.
GETTING THERE:
Aerolinas Argentinas, Sol, and Aero Chaco airlines offer daily flights to Buenos Aires, Salta, Mendoza, and other Argentine cities. Cordoba’s airport is located about 15 km northwest of the city center.
Argentina’s safe and reliable bus network is a popular travel option. The local terminal is an easy 15 minute stroll from the center. There is frequent service to Buenos Aires ($45 10 hours), Rosario ($23 6 hours), Salta ($50 12 hours), and just about every other city in the country. There are also buses into Chile and Uruguay. Most buses make several stops along their route, though direct service is also available to many destinations. It’s a bit more expensive but can shave hours off travel time and directo buses usually have plush armchairs and mucho leg room.
WHEN TO GO:
Spring (September to November) and fall (March to May) are the best seasons to experience Cordoba. Daytimes highs are a balmy 20C to 25C, but expect the odd rain shower.
WHERE TO STAY:
Argentina’s second largest city offers a wide range of accommodation choices, from cozy hostels to eclectic boutique inns to modern hotels. Several worthwhile options are sprinkled around Plaza San Martin, though it’s a bit of a hike to the best dining and nightlife. If you want to be close to the action, consider staying along La Cañada or in Nueva Cordoba. Wiki Travel Cordoba.
Rick’s travel career began as a college student when he impulsively signed up for an international student exchange program and spent that summer working in Turkey. “Don’t go there!” the naysayers said, “it’s not safe!” Luckily, Rick ignored their advice and discovered that the outside world is a place of wonder worth exploring. Since then his wanderlust has taken him to Central and South America, England, Vietnam, Morocco, and China, where he spent an unforgettable year teaching English. Rick makes his home in East Vancouver, Canada, where he writes for various travel publications.
All photos by Rick Neal
It’s nearly dark by the time I exit the bus terminal. The market draws hordes of tourists on weekends so I’m a bit worried about locating a hotel, but I luck out at the first place I try. The Rincon del Viajero, only three blocks from the plaza, has one vacancy left. For US$16, I get a cozy room with baño privado and continental breakfast.
At five the next morning I somehow pry myself out of bed. I stumble along Avenida Colon toward the animal market, passing merchants who are already laying out goods and setting up awnings for the big show to come. By the time I reach the city’s outskirts, the first rays of morning sunlight are caressing Volcans Imbabura and Cotacachi, which have received an overnight dusting of snow. According to local legend, the two volcanoes are lovers. If there is fresh snow on Mama Cotacachi’s summit it means that Papa Imbabura has paid her a connubial visit during the night. I take this as an omen that the day ahead will be productive.
After an hour of jostling and ducking under awnings I reach the epicenter. The aptly named Plaza de Ponchos sells mostly textiles, but if not for the concrete umbrellas jutting overhead, it would be indistinguishable from the bedlam on the surrounding roadways.
We venture into Colombia’s Sierra Nevada mountain range, along narrow and seemingly impossible trails drenched in saturated air. After a few hours, we have crossed the same river a dozen times, as it snakes along our difficult path.
Teyuna, as the Tayrona originally called the city, was “found” in 1972 by treasure hunters. At the time, its location was already widely known to tribes living in the area. Founded possibly as far back as 800 A.D., at its peak, it is believed to have been home to about 10,000 Tayrona. Unlike many of the magnificent ruins dotting Latin America, The Lost City is not just a story of what once was, but the story of what still is. Along the way, our trail leads us through small villages inhabited by the Kogis, the blood descendants of the city’s founders. They are still living in the same wild, romantic way of their ancestors.
Either the second day is easier than the first, or my body simply has given up on feeling pain. I learn from our guide that all the villages along the way are part of one tribe, and that once a year in February they have a month of celebration in which they meet to drink fermented fruit juices and perform various rituals.
With my pack weighing me down on the slippery stairs, I almost fall several times, a mistake that could have disastrous consequences in this remote area. The stairs are by far the most difficult obstacle yet. Aching legs are being commanded up narrow stairs cutting into the steep mountainside. My cardiovascular system demands rest, but I ignore its plea. This has become my Mecca, and I vow to make it up in one uninterrupted jaunt.
How the city was built is another mystery. From samples of the rocks, archeologists have concluded that some sort of acid was used to cut perfectly shaped blocks. Because of a potential commercial value, jungle plants have been collected in throngs to find the acid, but it, like the city’s inhabitants, seems to have disappeared into the jungle forever.
To celebrate his victory, Túpac Inca Yupanqui (whose name meant ‘noble Inca accountant’) began to build a beautiful city there that would rival Cuzco as the heart of the Inca empire, a city that two generations later would be subjugated by the Spanish in their quest for the mythical land of El Dorado, the city now known as the colonial gem of Ecuador: Cuenca.
Its namesake is the city in Spain meaning ‘basin made by a confluence of rivers’, where the Viceroy of Peru at the time, Andrés Hurtado de Mendoza hailed from. He commissioned the founding of the city in 1557, which grew in independence and importance during its colonial era and reached its peak during first years of its independence, which was won on November 3rd, 1820. It later on became the capital of Azuay province in the center of the southern highlands, and is now the third-largest city in the country.
Another important historical landmark (but more exciting than it sounds) is the Iglesia de San Francisco, a neoclassical church built around a slender tower with an apricot-colored, horizontal base and mullioned windows that was built by Franciscans and finished in 1930. It is the best example of the baroque style in Cuenca and represents a harmony between baroque and neoclassical features, with a cedar altarpiece at its center. It’s situated at the edge of the expansive Plaza San Francisco which allows visitors views from many different angles, as the plaza has long-since been occupied by a popular, sprawling market where one can buy anything from alpaca backpacks to plastic Disney ones.
Caral, an abandoned city eroded by time and windswept sand, holds twenty-five structures including six pyramids that are as old as the Step Pyramid in Egypt. More remarkably, this early civilization developed in complete isolation without the use of pottery, metalwork or writing, unlike its contemporaries in the ancient Near East.
Just across the plaza, the Huanca Pyramid, named for the nearby 2.15 meter high huanca stone whose edges are oriented to the cardinal directions, holds three rooms atop its 12.8 meter summit. These rooms may have been used for astronomical and ceremonial purposes.
En route to our next destination, the Greater Pyramid, I fought back a sneeze as a sudden gust of wind raised a cloud of dust. Seen through the haze, the Greater Pyramid is the largest structure on site covering approximately four football fields. From a height of 19.27 meters (seven platforms), city officials oversaw all of the activities within the city.
After making quick stops at the Lesser Pyramid, Quarry Pyramid and Central pyramid, we returned to the lower section of the city to visit the Temple of the Amphitheater. Julio directed us to a bank of twelve cubicles lining the entry platform that once held the remains of burnt food offerings.
Deeper inside the temple complex is the Altar of the Sacred Fire. This cramped round space houses an altar with a two-level fireplace; an air duct runs beneath. This room was likely used for mysterious ceremonies that the general public was not privy.
