#Condor 2 argentinp generator#
In the late evening, the generator was cut, silence descended and log fires were stoked. Behind us reared the Champaquí mountain - an optional extra climb of five hours-plus - but we rested and passed round the mate. From the top of the hill the view west took in a string of villages and the outer fringes of the sierras. We packed some mate tea and snacks and climbed the steep hill behind La Constancia. Writers and artists come to hide here, too, especially out of season. Luis explained that Traslasierra attracted porteños (residents of Buenos Aires) because they suffered more stress than Córdobans. All gloom and romance, old wood and homespun fabrics. Ponchos hung from posts, flowers and plants filled every nook, and the library was a miniature version of something you'd find in a Victorian novel. The hotel itself had the "chic rustic" look at which Argentinians seem to excel. I took a stroll in the early evening, the chatter of parrots just audible over the rush of the nearby stream, and a deep orange glow setting on the family chapel, which was as big as an English parish church. Owners Luis and Alicia Dorado welcomed us like family. La Constancia is one of several new boutique hotels in rural Argentina, affiliated to Spain's Rusticae chain and offering a fair bit of luxury and lots of character. We found our lodgings 45 minutes up a dirt road sheltering inside a cleft called the Quebrada del Tigre (Tiger Ravine). On the walls hung faded posters bearing rules and regulations, and the old, poorly stocked wooden bar and stuffy looking restaurant gave the impression the empire only recently left for a siesta. British railway workers settled in Yacanto, a hamlet-suburb of a village called San Javier, when they came to Córdoba to build and run the railways in the early 1920s. There was a decadent air, not least because it was autumn and only a single guest was in residence. The next curiosity was at Yacanto, with its eponymous hotel and golf club, a gorgeous old place set in lavish gardens. Bouchon said the land and air had kept him looking so well, adding: "I'd never go back to Europe, not after Chernobyl." "These days everything changes or disappears, including our identity." His words have more force in Argentina, where historical "memory" is a political issue. "I started when I was eight and since then I could never resist picking something up and collecting it," the sprightly looking Bouchon said. It is like the British Museum, but more fun. In fact, the cabinets and rooms have themes such as "the sea", "ancient medicine", and "eating, drinking, smoking". The Museo Rocsen (derived from a Celtic conflation meaning "sacred stone") is rightly famous, with about 20,000 artefacts ranging from antique cameras to native mummies, two-headed cattle, butterflies and scorpions, all spread out like so much bric-a-brac. At Nono there was a wonderful museum owned by a 78-year-old Frenchman, Juan Santiago Bouchon, which had been recommended by several Traslasierra specialists. As so often in remote, thinly populated regions, the inhabitants had striven to make their towns perfect and there was a simple beauty to many of the older colonial-style homes. It was pretty much as promised: green, clean, fertile and ever so civilised. But we drove on and, after one final view of fields and mountains swathed in purple haze, we descended into Traslasierra. The Camino is one of those trips where you keep stopping to take photographs, breathe deeply and fantasise about just taking off into the wilds. This is condor country - the only region this far east where you can see the magnificent vulture - and a small national park straddling the passes, El Condorito, is a good stopover for walkers and birders. The road is lined with pampas grass bobbing in the breeze, with long bends that open on to sweeping views of green mountains.
![condor 2 argentinp condor 2 argentinp](https://img.cdandlp.com/2018/11/imgL/119370405-2.jpg)
It takes less than four hours, it's safe and it's dramatic. The Camino de las Altas Sierras is one of Argentina's great drives. The Camino Real mule highway passed through, and there was always a native pride in Córdoba and little or no envy of the capital. This is largely due to the provincial capital and Argentina's second city, also called Córdoba, where the Jesuits founded a university and established missions in the early 17th century, when Buenos Aires was a backwater. I'd been to Córdoba province twice and knew its balance of wilderness and sophistication - rare in Latin America. They all said the same - Traslasierra - praising the climate and clean air, the laid-back towns and villages, the home-style food and small hotels, the views and the adventures you could have there. I was in Buenos Aires and I asked members of my Argentinian wife's family and their friends where they went to relax. Like something from the oracle, it means "beyond, or across, the mountains". The name was first mentioned to me in hushed tones.