Our first few days in Argentina are on a small estancia in the Pampas a couple of hours drive south of Buenos Aires where we rest and recover from the bad flu-like bug we picked up in Spain a few days earlier. We are happy to sit on the verandah for hours looking out over the fields and gardens. To my surprise the Pampas are indeed full of pampas grass, extensive large clumps where not cleared for buildings or pasture.
Despite our enfeebled state we swim in the pool lazily like dead logs at the end of the first two hot afternoons and go horse riding, Martin for the first time ever, me the first time since I fell off a pony aged 8. The horses are the most placid in the universe so I stay on, despite a close encounter with a low branch, which I skim under at the last second, lying flat on my back in the saddle, my head on the horse's rump. I'm pleased with my quick thinking, but am gently rebuked by our leader for not steering around the tree as we approached, so obvious when she says it, but it just hadn't occurred to me.