Leaving Jaguari wasn’t easy. My new Italian family wiped the tears from their faces as I rode towards the edge of town.
“Anything you need, you call us okay Filipe,” Juarez said before giving me a tight embrace.
Because the main bridge had collapsed a few months back, I was forced to ride out following the train tracks. The narrow bridge, sitting high over the river beneath made it an intense exit out of the small town. With nowhere to hide, I prayed for the train not to appear in the distance. Luckily it didn’t, and like always, the mares navigated this obstacle with nothing but class.
Two days later, in the small town of Cacequi I was welcomed like all of the other communities I crossed in the state of Rio Grande do Sul – like a king.
Local ranchers and horseman from the community gathered at the CTG where the mares and I rested to cook a feast and get to know me. We talked the night away sharing stories and drinks.
“Here in Cacequi we have a large problem with cattle theft, in the last two years over 80 cows have been stolen from my ranch,” one of the Gaucho’s told me.
The stories were alarming. Sometimes the thieves will cut the fence and take the cattle and on other occasions they simply butcher the animal out in the pasture and take the meat away. Because the ranches here are so big and located in remote areas, it’s hard to catch the robbers.
After dinner I was given a gift basket with products from their community and the tremendous opportunity to see a Trova Galponeira live for the first time.
“Filipe we will perform a Trova for you and the theme will be your journey,” one of my hosts said.
The trova is a freestyle poetry competition where two competitors go head to head reciting poems about a certain theme given. It’s like the cut throat, modern day rap battle scene in North America, but with the class of a Gaucho. The Trova was born in the horse barns of Rio Grande do Sul where one Gaucho would battle another to see who was the best.
It was an amazing scene to watch! I was so excited it made it hard for me to shoot what was happening. With a guitar being strummed in the background, two men went back and forth reciting poetry about me, the mares, my van without a driver… one of the coolest experiences I have had in the state thus far.
The Gaucho is as sharp as the knife he carries at the waste.
