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Maté Time
Now that my journey is coming to an end, I noticed, looking back on my notes, that I have barely mentioned maté. Argentinians claim to be the copyright bearers of almost anything, including God. Maté, of course, is no exception, even though neighbouring countries have it as well.
So what is maté? That I asked my companion, Tincho. He raised his eyebrows in astonishment and decided I should find out for myself. Firstly, he took a hollowed out squash and filled it with yerba maté, which is a mixture of dried herbal leaves. Along with this he introduced a bombilla into the recipient, which is like a glorified metal straw, but with a wide sealed end with little holes so that the yerba maté doesn't enter the straw. Then Tincho poured in water heated up just before boiling point.
My companion took two long sips from the bombilla. He said he had to drink first, for if anyone but the cebador (the one pouring in the hot water) drank first, they would have bad luck. Then Tincho refilled the maté and passed it over to me. In horror I understood we were meant to share the same bombilla.
I fought back my sanitary standards and took a sip. The taste was strong, wild and bitter. That was my first and last sip of maté. Tincho kept pouring the remaining litre of water out of his thermos very happily, just for himself.
All over the country people carrying thermos and matés can be seen, just going about their life drinking it and offering some to their friends. It would be crazy to imagine oneself walking around with a kettle under one's arm, but it's quite the normal thing here. Well, each to their own, I for one found that maté is not my cup of tea.