I couldn’t decide what to write about for my weekend in Colonia Caroya. There was a lot of material to cover: do I talk about the La Mora tournament? Explain the rules of the game? Do I talk about visiting Maxi’s brother’s school? The kindness of the Visitin family as they hosted me and introduced me to all their friends in the town? Helping to make about 100 pizza pies? My first moto ride? Drinking Fernet and Coke until I found myself throwing up into a ditch? Strip club hopping until 6 a.m?
Maxi competing at the La Mora tournament
When I first started drafting this post, I imagined it as a genuine stab at a travel article, something I’d submit to a magazine to make a buck. But that, honestly, sounds like an incredible pain in the ass. Instead, I’ll write about my first impression of Colonia Caroya. Call it laziness, call it a cop-out, whatever; it’s my party. I’ll cry if I want to.
When Maxi first asked me if I’d like to visit his hometown for the weekend, I really didn’t know what to expect. I asked him if he was sure, he said, definitely, there’s plenty of space. I imagined a small backwater town, where the houses where made of adobe brick and had dirt floors. I pictured a stone well in the backyard, where I’d see from my window a pregnant woman dressed in traditional garb, with a baby slung across her back, drawing water at 6 a.m. in the morning.
Which was all fine and good. I didn’t have a problem with any of this: my time in hostels got me used to communal living – and I actually lived in a commune in New Orleans. Plus the standard of living isn’t what you’d call “high” in China. I thought I could handle whatever Colonia Caroya threw at me. Nothing prepared me for what I found, though.
Colonia Caryoa is about an hour away from Cordoba. We get off the bus, and start walking down a dirt path that looks like it stretches for kilometers. “Only the main roads have asphalt. Everywhere else, all the side roads, it’s ‘tierra,” he points down at the reddish brown earth below. There is a lot of construction going on at the moment, and we pass by several homes which look like they’ve been completely gutted. We arrive at Maxim’s home, and I take breath as we step through the door.
la tierra en colonia caroya
Sunlight splashes through the windows, off the polished tiled floor, washing the kitchen in a warm, orange light. A fake tiger lilly graces the cherry wood kitchen table, accenting the glow of the room. The curtains are simple, but they match the decor, which in turn match the framed flower scultures hanging from the wall. Against the opposite wall, there’s a completed 3,000 piece puzzle framed. It looks like a painting of sailboats in and around the shores of Italy.
the visitin kitchen
As I walk into the his living room, I come to the full realization that Maxi’s home is more well-kept than mine. It’s not that the material things are any more expensive or more elaborate than what I have in my home. But there’s the clear effort of maintaining an image of tidiness in the house. Our home looks like it’s been well-lived in, like two adults and four children spent nearly 23 years there. This is how I prefer it; but there was no denying the Visitin’s had a beautiful home.
The living room (which doubled as the computer room) looked like the kind of place people weren’t actually allowed to sit in (our house doesn’t have one of these.) There were family photos on the wall and on the bookshelf. An Argentina flag, various knicknacks strategically placed from what I imagine are indigenous regions: tiny plates, spoons, and a fire hardened jar.
They had two bathrooms, both with the good soap (for guests and the Pope, when he decides to visit) and the regular soap for everyone else. Nestled against the side of the toilet and the duvet were little detergenet widgets to keep the bathroom smelling fresh after every flush. The tile ran halfway the wall, with floral accents all in the right place.
Three bedrooms. Huge backyard with an asado right in front. Cat and a dog.
Maxi takes his goddamn asado seriously
I need to do a better job of mentally preparing myself for “tough” living conditions.
Posted by Ming 
