Postcards from Argentinian Paradise
Pip Dossetor
As we plunge into our ‘Year of the (Fire) Horse’, it’s hard to imagine a better place to celebrate the symbolic energy of intensity, freedom and courage than a working Argentinian estancia where horses are the lifeblood. Estancia Don Joaquín, a family-run ranch in Corrientes province, offers exactly that: wide wetlands, grazing Criollo horses and a thriving Gaucho culture that invites you not to merely observe but to saddle up and immerse yourself.
Emerging from our palatial rooms at dawn, we’re met by the lyrical chirps of nearby birds. Mud caked boots and leather chaps are donned before a quick coffee to ignite our energy for the morning ahead.
Our horses wait patiently, already groomed and saddled by the Gauchos. We mount ready for the morning’s cattle work. The world has a hushed stillness and an expectant calm at this time of the day. Sprawling wetlands, with lagoons that mirror endless skies, feel full of possibility. Will today be the day we spot the flightless rhea, the remarkable pink spoonbill, or perhaps the potato-shaped capybara or a water-dwelling peeping caiman?
The cattle have seen us coming and stubbornly dig their hooves in, commencing a stand-off. Immaculately dressed in uniforms of freshly ironed, collared shirts peppered with a haze of cologne, wide-brimmed straw sombreros, characteristic neck ties and leather chaps, the Gaucho begin to yield their whips and release the first yodel-like calls. “Pss-pss”, “get em up”, “ayyy ay ay” and the powerful diaphragm driven “eeeeh”s echo across the plains.
We guests join in too, tentative at first, but soon our confidence builds as we find our voices. With a rippling effect, we are met by the indignant moans of 200 cattle that roar out their moos as they’re torn away from their favoured patch of grass.
Chaos follows. Mothers and calves scatter, dodging and weaving our group, but quick Gaucho horsemanship deftly block their best efforts. In the cattle yards, lasso skills are demonstrated with effortless precision – one flick of the wrist and a darting calf doesn’t stand a chance.
Indulgence follows the mornings work. A full breakfast spread of local pastries, eggs to order, fruit, freshly squeezed orange juice and strong, restorative coffee. Next up, it’s time for a cool off in the pool and a quick trip into town to buy our own Gaucho uniforms, so we also fit the part.
On return, gin and tonics await under the leafy oak tree before our gourmet three-course lunch. A perfectly cooked, salted, medium rare Argentinian steak that melts in your mouth, is the true highlight. The mandatory daily siesta follows.
At 5pm, it is time to reconvene for the evening ride. Sleep dust is brushed from our eyes as we’re reunited with our valiant steeds. The seething heat of the beaming summer sun is avoided by our newly purchased, crisp, long sleeve, collared shirts and winding our way through the shade of the trees. The wetlands are alive – a chorus of hundreds of ‘F1’ frog croaks spill out as we pass them (aptly named as they mimic the racetrack sounds), and various birdlife gather to witness the glow of the golden hour.
A dirt road opens up and the horses begin to pick up speed. As they hammer their hooves, pounding the ground, space opens up and time stands still. The bond between animal and human is unparalleled. In the driver’s seat you must be bold, letting momentum and possibility build with each stride. Courage is key – requiring full trust in their power, eyesight and agility, hoping they stay the course and don’t stumble or spook as you fly along at full pelt. A puff of dust is all that’s left in your wake. Eventually, the stretch of road ends and so does the fun of the gallop.
We meander through open fields before reaching the swamps edge. Here the horses urge forward again, cantering through the water. Refreshing splashes drench everyone from head to toe and a gleeful, unrestrained laughter erupts. This is pure freedom and unabridged happiness. The ride finishes with a stroll through long grass glowing gold in the last light.
Released from duties, the unsaddled and hosed horses treat themselves to a blissful roll before lowering their heads to graze. In turn, we indulge in a glass of Malbec and are captivated by the mesmerising flickers of the fireflies’ sparks. Their dance is accompanied by the dulcet tone and building hum of the cicadas at dusk.
The evening unfolds around a coal fire with an empanada cooking lesson, followed by enthusiastic consumption of our handiwork. Dinner is enjoyed beneath a clear, starlit sky and continuous chatter flows easily amongst the motley crew of travellers.
By the time we finally collapse into bed, exhausted from the delights of the day, eager to discover what the next will hold, it becomes clear that the experience at Don Joaquin echoes the ethos of the Year of the Horse.
The days are shaped by movement and trust in another, getting back in the saddle, giving yourself over to the rhythm of life and letting the landscape sustain you. Freedom and joy exist in being wholly present, and in having the courage to let yourself, and your horse, fully go. An unmistakable sense of momentum lingers long after the dust has settled.
If the Fire Horse year asks us to move boldly and embrace freedom with confidence, instinct and heart, then life here feels like the most natural place to begin it – if only for a few unforgettable days in the saddle. You leave feeling restored, primed and quietly aflame with the possibility of the year ahead.
