Argentina
And Now: Argentina. stories posted below
Last modified on 2009-12-20 01:58:50 GMT. 0 comments. Top.
On New Year’s Eve 2009, Mr. Lentz will be awoken by a foreign voice from a drowsy, sleeping pill induced slumber. The stewerdess will be explaining in a bullet paced spanish how to fill out the immigration and importation card to enter the country. If Mr. Lentz is lucky enough to wake up soon enough, he will even hear a broken english version that will guide him and his blurry eyes towards completion. Yes, Mr. Lentz is embarking on a journey no less than a month into the deepest reaches of Patagonian Argentina. His plans to work on a cattle ranch and learn the way of the Gaucho will become realized (if not then at the very least he will experience the way of the Gringo.) Check back often after the 1st of January 2010 for an intravenous (I can write whatever I want people) look into the travels, trials and tribulations of a white American man in a foreign country. Oh yes – and lots of photos will be coming your way. Click on the tab ‘Argentina’ above to read the adventure in chronological order, much as our modern day books are written. Cheers!
A few days until lift-off
Last modified on 2009-12-20 01:59:00 GMT. 0 comments. Top.
The last week or so in my final countdown for departure has shown me a bit of turmoil. After not having heard back from the ranch in over a month to confirm that ‘todo bien’, I decided to create a plan B, C, D, and E. My Chile trip has taught me to release all expectations, plan ahead and get on with it. I invited my best friend Mark to enjoy a bit of traveling with me, and unfortunately he cannot make it – which comes as quite a bummer. I also looked into Wwoof volunteering on organic farms, going on an expedition up Aconcagua (22,300 feet), and a short “cruise” to Antarctica, but……. the ranch did finally get in contact with me, so I am back at square one. Stetson: check. Pearl Button Shirt: Check. Leather Gloves: Check. Boots: Check. Slight (fake) Southern Lilt: Check. Off I go.
(Also please note, the Estancia (ranch) is in fact in the middle of nowhere – a 6 hour horseback ride from the nearest dirt road that is another 3 hours from town. Electricity? No. Running Water? No. Television? No. Highspeed DSL internet connection capable of uploading hi-resolution images of estancia life? Definitely not…. What I am trying to say here is that this travel blog on Argentina will be blank, yep. Nothing zilch nada….until I get back and fill in all of my stories and photos and juicy details etc.. So please, for now, just imagine and choose your own adventure.)
How to Kill a Goat.
Last modified on 2010-01-16 21:25:37 GMT. 0 comments. Top.
(Sorry for the lack of photos – currently I have not discovered a way to transfer…coming soon!)
Upon the enlightenment of knowing that one needs a goat, thou shalt first double-check the meat dispensa (an underground barracks-like area) to be sure that no more rotting goat flesh is still left hanging from its once vivid loins. With confirmation that only flies exist in the dormant space, thou shalt next seek the advice of the all knowing Gaucho Manuel. With a lick of his finger pointed towards the sky and a glance at the sun – Manuel will tell you to visit the Keeper and hence the Killer of the Goats – in short – Hugo. Through threaded thorn bush and scraggly scamper weed one must wander for nigh an hour until the home of the Goat Killer is spotted. A quaint house of adobe and brick that lies beyond, yes you guessed it, a flock of goats. But lest thine flock of goats be roaming amongst scraggly scamper weed – yee shall return on another sun for ´tis past time for killing.
Fear not ´tis your lucky morn´ as all the goats are accounted for in their pen. The Goat Killer is spotted in the distance – knife in hand, towel in the other. He stays this way nary a movement, until you approach his presence with a typical greeting followed by an atypical request – you ask to kill the goat yourself. Silence shatters as he belts out a laugh loud enought to make goats pee in their pens. They know what is coming. But it looks as though you will not be the doer of the deed.
Lasso in hand the Goat Killer serenely selects from his stock, whilst you wait beside the pen disillusioned that your opportunity has passed. The moment is heated, not by the sun, but by the focused eyes of the Goat Killer. Gazing at his victims, alas one is selected. Do not waste a second in confusion at the sounds you will hear – a human like ¨Nooooo, Nooooooooooo,¨as if it were mixed with a goat – will pour from the victim´s throat. Tied up and held down, the selection will make no attempt at escape nor hard feelings in your direction. A quick, precise stab to the throat by the Goat Killer followed by a twist of the knife will separate the selection´s major arterial structure along with its trachea. The resulting pool of blood will nary have a chance to coagulate before being eaten by a mangy pack of mutts, leftovers quickly gobbled up by the chickens. A quick fillet of the skin and separation of internal organs will prove this goat to be yours, but lest yee forget the tariff on this service – half thine goat shall be not for thou but for thoust Killer of Goats.