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My family and I watched in disbelief as our gaucho leaned down from his mare and pulled the bleating calf up from the ravine onto his saddle with one hand. The baby cow had just slipped through mud and fell into the freezing water of a mountain fed stream. Now upside down upon the gaucho’s lap, he diligently searched the calf’s belly button for larvae which might have stuck to its still attached umbilical chord. The calf cried and struggled to regain its upright position as the gaucho willed it to remain still. Within moments, a larger cow -assumedly the calf’s mother- came barrelling down the moor to stand practically chest to chest with the mare, scampering worriedly as her baby cried for her. With a swift Spanish command, the gaucho signalled his mount to gain some space from the cow as to properly examine the calf’s abdomen who he’d fixed to his saddle with his reins. Somewhere amidst the wild Andean lowlands, La Pampa, my family and I were traversing a moorland upon horseback. We had been exploring a seemingly endless glade just beyond our estancia for the last hour, dipping in and out of marshes, willow groves and dozens of sheep which, unannounced to us, the gaucho was simultaneously herding. We were nearing the tail end of our three week Argentinian trip spent driving across the agricultural heartlands of Buenos Aires and strolling through the rolling vineyards in Mendoza, meeting people from Patagonia and Uruguay along our journey South of the equator. Our last few days at Estancia La Bamba De Areco, two hours North of Buenos Aires, however, had been by the far the most captivating. Tucked far away under the shadows of the surrounding mountain range exists an unruly world. La Bamba De Areco is a homestead run explicitly by equestrians. Here, if you aren’t atop the leather of a saddle, you’re sleeping. There is never a quiet moment unbroken by the sound of distant whinnying. Throughout the duration of our stay, we had learned the significance of Argentine equestrianism, and the historical meaning behind the gaucho way of life. The tender bond between man and horse fostered over years of training and companionship was being displayed before us. Disregarding the calf which lay upon her, the mare curved and ambled to the gaucho’s soft voice, and the two moved in effortless tandem like a single entity. The gaucho slowly lifted the calf’s hind legs in the air before it fell to the ground by its mothers hooves. Seeming as though he had forgotten about the four tourists behind him. he unraveled his reins, swung them down near the mares shoulders and caressed her buckskin hair, whispering what sounded like sweet nothings into her mane. I felt as though I wasn’t meant to be watching. A few quiet moments went by as the calf and its mother strolled by us. The gaucho wrapped his hands around the mare’s strong neck as she turned her head to embrace him, pressing her white muzzle into the crease of his arm. Finally, he regained his posture, fixed his beige Campero, turned to face us, smiling as though nothing short of a love story had just unfolded before us, then said, “we go”.