It is my third day in Cordoba and the sky is falling down. I woke up this morning all ready for my first day at work and it was raining. “Pity” I say. “Disaster” say the Argentines and cower in bed. Children have stayed home from school, taxis are not an option and work is well and truly cancelled. Have they no roof at the newspaper office I shall be working at? Evidently, this is not a country well accustomed to rain.

So, from a dingy internet café/counterfeit DVD rental store, I bring you my latest news… I arrived on Saturday and was welcomed into the home of Dorita and Cecilia in the sleepy neighbourhood of Villa Belgrano, Cordoba and began duly adjusting myself to a more tranquil pace of life after the madness of Buenos Aires. 3 hours later though, I found myself on my way to the Jesus Maria Festival de Doma y Folklore and the tranquillity stopped abruptly. Attracting hundreds of thousands of Argentines as well as many foreigners, the festival is quite an event, and a serious wake up call to this drowsy countryside village. Sprawled across parks, gardens and pretty much anywhere big enough to swing a hula hoop, was store after store of cheap clothing, toys and argentine tourist necessities. As we negotiated our way though the bras, dangled like jungle vines from the ceiling, and dodged the battery controlled puppy dogs, an enormous stadium came looming into view. This is the star attraction: the Doma, or Bucking Bronco. To the tune of Argentina folk pop and thousands of screaming, whistling visitors, gauchos take on the wild fury of an untamed horse. They fly thought the air, kicking, whipping and generally displaying their skills in a show of horsemanship that to my tender English eyes seems tantamount to torture. Human rights groups have attacked the tradition for years now but to the campesinos of the argentine countryside “asi es”, and we had better just accept it. In the howling darkness of a Corboba night, they dance and drink, sharing this spectacle with the buzzing midges and revelling in what it is to be Argentine.

It’s very easy to criticise people for the lives they lead in this country, for the way they treat their animals, cook their food, wash their clothes. But for me, this journey is as much about acceptance as it is about experience – perhaps to some extent, the two cross paths. So as the rain falls and Argentina sulks, I will try to see the rough edges and the apparent eccentricities of this country with the same affection with which they see them. How very mature of me...we´ll see how long that lasts.