Make like a gaucho

Wednesday, 5th November 2008

Rachel Ward takes on the Penelope Cruz lookalikes and enjoys a horseback tour of scenic Patagonia

I’ve just come back from the holiday of my life. At 50 and a spoilt brat I’ve had a few of ’em, so that’s saying something. And since seclusion and wilderness were a large part of this one’s charms, I probably shouldn’t be sharing it, but I’m guessing the credit squeeze will slow the rush, especially when you hear that saddle sores, three days without a shower and sharing hunks of meat with swarthy gauchos is what you get in this package.

With today’s travelling masses and the smorgasbord of choices to be found on the web, finding the right holiday takes as much painstaking research as finding the right director for your film or surgeon for your nose job. Ultimately it comes down to the minutely shared sensibilities between client and consultant; often a very disappointing marriage.

Ideally, a travel agent should have a good understanding of the client’s hip pocket and ruthless attention to detail but, most importantly, an accurate reading of my interpretation of ‘romance’. So if romance is paramount, give Australia (and, through sheer overcrowding, most of Europe) a wide berth, and head straight for Argentina.

Poor Australia. Perhaps it’s not entirely our fault. The Spanish language alone, especially if one doesn’t speak it, transcends even the most mundane of instruction into something quite magical. Picture Penelope Cruz over our Kylie issuing seatbelt instructions. We share the same outback and livestock culture, so why can’t our stockmen wear sombreros and pink cummerbunds with a large knife tucked inside it, for extra virility? Why can’t our bridles be made of plaited rawhide with silver dingle-dangles and our horses perform without bucking or bolting and climb to 2,500 metres above sea level without a neigh of complaint?

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