Semana Criolla, Antes y Despues

It is probably not surprising that the gauchos with whom I attempted to speak Spanish are, indeed, from Brazil.

 

But luckily, one of them, from southern Brazil, speaks Spanish very well, and another, who we think is one of the main judges at this year’s Semana Criolla, has been living in Argentina for the last few years, so they seemed to understand well enough when I introduced us, en Español, as a couple of vacationing gringos – a conclusion they surely could have drawn for themselves – and asked if we could take a picture. I was initially a little embarrassed when it was suggested that we switch hats for the picture, but I have become ever quicker to embrace my turista status – as I’m sure you've noticed.

Being a tourist in a foreign country and having to communicate in a foreign language is, for some people, no big deal; for others of us, it is frightening. I don’t mean that it is frightening in a “tengo miedo de las apariciones” sort of way – we all have our ghosts – I mean that it is frightening in a “oh my hell I don’t have complete control of the situation and don’t really know what I’m doing” sort of way.

It is easy for some people to close their eyes and jump, or to grab a handful of mane and swing on, to try new things, over and over, and to open themselves up to change. They attempt to do the undone, at least by them, and count the ride as a win. They know how to put fear aside, when it needs set down, and how to let it help when it can. And they don’t regret things not done, unless gut feelings were ignored. They just smile wider as the next bronc is run in, then nod their heads and tuck their chins.

Then there are some of us who like our routines. We have developed a cadence and order in life with which we are very comfortable. We have planned control, and are generally pretty familiar with what’s around the corners of all the streets we travel. We also don’t regret, but we leave little to chance. 

And so the jump can be frightening for us. Also, ridiculously exhilarating and life-altering: foreign country, foreign language, no control, and not a clue. By damn, let ‘er buck!

There is a lot of pride-swallowing in a trip like this, things like: letting your beautiful wife handle all the complicated discussions (meaning anything outside the capacity of hand gestures), and accepting that you won’t always know exactly what’s being said; not being overly offended when a customs agent yells at you like you’re a dumb gringo who can’t understand what he’s saying, because, well, you can’t; and not being afraid to wear shorts and flip-flops to a rodeo. The last one was a bit unnerving for me, but like I said, I’m getting better at accepting the fact that I really am a gringo tourist.

Although, it’s still not the funnest thing in the world to walk up to a group of gauchos, while wearing these shorts and flip-flops or something of the like, hoping they’ll understand your gringo Spanish well enough to know you’re not an idiot – or that they won’t care that you are – and that they won’t mind waiting a few minutes while you formulate your statements and questions in your mind, and then that they will take the time to, you know, answer.

But that’s the rub. The not-knowing. The not-being-in-control. I told Joy and Jess and Jon, in December, that that is what I was looking forward to most on this adventure: the fact that it was the first time in years that I couldn’t see around the coming corners – any of them. I had never driven the Alaska-Canada highway in the middle of winter, I had never gotten married before, and I had never gone into new countries with new languages armed with only a single backpack and a dictionary. It was the proverbial eyes-closed, bareback, mane-hold cliff jump for me. And it hasn’t been disappointing. Incomprehensibly humbling and hat-swappingly embarrassing at times, but definitely not disappointing.

There has been plenty of excitement too. Like this week that we spent at Semana Criolla. Yeah, the guys wear berets and loafers and pleated, tapered-legged slacks, and they carry swords and thermoses full of mate tea, and their boots are knee-highs with lace and buckles and round toes, and they pull on their horses and push all their starting times, but it’s a rodeo! It has the sights and sounds and smells that I’ve missed. And, yes, all the people that I haven’t. But we started going to only the morning slack performances later in the week, which helped us avoid the crazy Semana Santa crowds, and we found a small curb in a relatively quiet part of the fairgrounds where we could sit and eat our chorizo sausage sandwiches, watch the gauchos come and go from behind the stands, and let my senses fill up.

I’m sure Joy thinks it crazy how much I enjoyed this week – especially the many hours we spent on the curb – but I’m very grateful for her patience. It was also fun to see her excitement about her new gaucho boots (and her disappointment when I told her we’d better not get a sword)!

Semana Criolla is winding up this weekend, and our time in South America the next. But we’re excited to see Guatemala for a bit before we head back to the States where we’ll begin the second half of our adventure – a tour of the western US – and get to see how many other new corners we can go around.

our curb