Did Che drink Duff beer? - Nico and Beni do Córdoba

Shout out to new follower: loyal cousin Eitan. And though I don't think hers went through, Becca also said she signed up so she gets a benefit-of-the-doubt shout out. That one really rolls of the tongue. Now I know that at least two people are still reading :) But I digress...

Boasting one of the liveliest downtowns in South America, Córdoba buzzes with hundreds of thousands of university students who give Argentina's second city a legendary club scene.

Somehow we didn't end up going clubbing in Córdoba. In fact, though we loved the city, we actually had our best moments in two outlying towns: Villa General Belgrano and Alta Gracia.

First was Belgrano, the site of Argentina's very own Oktoberfest. Loaded up with a majestic beer stein that holds more than a liter, I watched tango, salsa, ballet and more drinking artesanal beers with German sounding names brewed just miles away. One, though, had somehow hijacked the most beloved American beer name of our time - Homer Simpson's Duff beer. I just wish Moe had been there serving us (though the Argentinians who had licensed the name for exclusive use down here were nice enough).

There we also experienced a moment that epitomized one of the fun (or sad) realities of traveling in South America: realizing that almost everyone you meet is on the same Gringo Trail as you are. Fun because it helps make good friends but sad because you're just not as unique as you thought you were. There we were in a small village several hours outside Córdoba sitting at a picnic table with Irish, Israeli, Dutch, and British backpackers. Two remembered us from a tour of the Potosi silver mines we had taken together weeks earlier. Two more wore buddies we had made riding around the Uyuni salt flats, also up in Bolivia. Two more Binny recognized from our hostel in Mendoza. And the last had been on a tour of the university with us that morning. All gringos. And, of course, the Jewish world was even smaller; I found out later that night that one of the Israelis had been on the Bronfman summer program with one of my FunHouse housemates. Think that called for one of many "Saluds!"

Alta Gracia, besides housing a historic Jesuit estancia, was also the childhood home of this blog's namesake: revolutionary leader Ernesto 'Che' Gueverra. I figured that I at least owed it to Che to check out his museum, so off we went. There I learned not only about Che the Cuban guerrilla leader but also about Ernesto, the father who in his final letter to his children urged them to be the best revolutionaries they could be and even about Ernestito, the little boy with asthma whose love for motorcycles led to one of the most memorable journey's of the modern era, inspiring many (including hopefully me) to take their own motorcycle trips to truly experience and understand new lands and people. Che's compassionate poem for the poorly treated Potosi (and Chilean) silver miners we had visited touched me even as his devotion to guerrilla tactics scared me. His last letter to soulmate Fidel Castro was in equal parts sweet, surreal, and awkwardly over-honest. And who but Che would smoke cigars while sitting in a tree in the Congo reading a novel and waiting for an ambush?

Even as I disagree with many of his tactics, I can't help but be inspired by how Che followed his heart to new countries, positions, and goals without fear or hesitation. In that, at least, I hope I can take on the Che.

Having some trouble getting Córdoba pics up so for now check out these sweet photos from overpowering Iguazu Falls and then check back soon for Beni's last stand in Tango Porteño - Nico and Beni do Buenos Aires.