Sierra de la Ventana

Estancia de la Ventana was the country estate of turn-of-the-century tycoon Ernesto Tornquist(1842-1908). Tornquist, whose business interests included cattle, railroads, sugar refineries, salt mines, hardwood, oil, breweries, hotels and whaling, owned 100,000 hectares (close to 250,000 acres)in the valley of the Sierra de la Ventana, in the southwest corner of the province of Buenos Aires, near the port of Bahía Blanca.



Tornquist is also the name of the town Ernesto founded there in 1880 when he invited German, Swiss, Austrian, and Russian-German families to settle in the area.

Over the recent long weekend I visited the house with my uncle Augusto Coelho and aunt Maria Acuña. Maria is a great-granddaughter of Ernesto and one of the present day owners of the property.

A 100-year-old mansion of this size (24 bedrooms) is costly to maintain, but the building is in good condition. The tall front doors open to white marble entry stairs. Beyond the foryer is a long, tiled gallery. The living and dining rooms are large enough to entertain all the guests at Gosford Park, although this weekend there were just three visitors and no murders to investigate. Upstairs I had about 20 bedrooms and 7 bathrooms to myself unless old Ernesto himself was drifting around in the dark corners. I never saw him on my floor and didn't have time to check the attic.

The park was designed by Charles Thays, the french landscape architect who had a huge influence on the famed public spaces of Buenos Aires. But as in the Bosques de Palermo and the Botanical Gardens, his work here has faded somewhat over time. In one place a large grassy depression is the imprint left by a lake that was once there. Not far away a brick border traces the site of a tennis court. On another side of the house cherubs wait impatiently with hands on hips for their fountain to spring back to life.

But what remains are acres of woods and an amazing variety of trees, all older and grander now. Two arroyos that flow through the grounds were filled with water and running fast after a recent rain. A suspension bridge crosses one of these at the original entrance. There, a huge iron gate was a welcome sight at the end of the long journey from the city. Today it stands on nearby land donated by the family for a provincial park.

Maria and Augusto led us on a walk down the carriage lanes and pointed out giant eucalyptus, oak (roble), cork oak, walnut (nogal), chestnut (castaño), rosewood (tipuana tipu), stone pine, aleppo pine, acacia, rows of slender alamos, and another visitor from California: a surprising sequoia. At one point we heard the loud sound of cracking wood and turned to see a tree come crashing down across the path behind us. Along an arroyo we came to an wonderful old dam that, over time, had created nature there. As if to prove the point, Augusto and Maria showed me the exact spot where, 10 years earlier, my father had reached down into a fissure and found a rare fern. A little further along I ventured out onto an aqueduct that crosses the stream and looked down through thick green plants and fallen trees at a beautiful hidden place where the water pools.



In the late afternoon near the house we heard the cook Sofia ring a bell announcing tea. Inside we were treated to toasted french bread, homemade jam, sweet local honey, and a tasty quince pie called pastafrola. Downstairs in the kitchen Sofia had also been busy feeding wood into the boiler for hot showers. That night after dinner we sat in comfortable chairs near the fireplace and were joined by Sofia who stopped to chitchat. Later, after she had gone, the three of us talked and read newspapers while Maria mended a pair of pants. Later she showed me an old guest book and on one of its pages I saw a little painting my father had made of that special fern.

In the morning the sky was blue but a chilly breeze stirred the leaves outside. The dining room was empty but whole sections of a tree were already burning in the massive fireplace. And the sun was shining in through the east window. On the sideboard I found hot coffee and milk waiting under quilted covers.

In the early afternoon Augusto and I brought up the saddles and walked over to two mares that Julio had left waiting for us in the corral. There, we saw that our horses were already attended by an amped up young stallion who stood just outside their enclosure. Unfortunately the only way to get the gals out was through his pasture. Sure enough the fiesty young guy was in our face, but Augusto waved him off repeatedly and we managed to maneuver out through the gate while keeping him in. The studhorse was not happy about having his harem taken away and continued to voice displeasure while pacing up and down the fence line. Things finally quieted down once we were in the woods and out of his sight. But on the other side of the stream the trees opened to a large pasture and there we found ourselves in the proverbial fire. Across the field a herd of 15 semi-broken ponies grazed quietly. But the gang soon spotted us and came trotting up to investigate. Our mares were ears-back tense and ready to kick as the ponies surrounded us and then followed along, weaving in and out on our tail. After a few minutes Augusto led us through a treeline and we seemed to cross an unseen boundary. The ponies fell back.

On the other side of a little-used gate we walked through green alfalfa fields and stopped a few times to let our hungry horses feed. At the base of a sloping rocky sierra called La Colita de Cocodrilo, we started to climb up to a ridge. The steep incline and stoney terrain forced us to dismount and lead the horses on. Later, trying to mount again at a tricky place, Augusto had a foot in a stirrup and was pulling himself up into the saddle when his mare suddenly turned and stumbled. At that moment the saddle came loose and there was nothing left to hold on to. Augusto hung in the air for a moment and then fell backwards, landing hard on the rocks. Miraculously he was up on his feet right away and brushing off dust; he had suffered nothing more than a skinned elbow and we were able to continue on to the summit. Up there we found that the gate we were looking for was locked. The choice now was to turn back or follow the fence through thick brush and rocks downhill and then up again to another hilltop near el cerro Mamin. After much effort we were close to our destination when Augusto spotted a place where the fence itself could be released. He opened it up and we rode on down to the valley on the other side. Back at the corral our friend the stallion tried to mount one of the mares, but Augusto only smiled and chuckled at his youthful inexperience.

That evening we sat and watched the sierras turn pink at sunset and then gray at dusk. Parrots and chimangos darted overhead and called to each other through the branches. After dark we stepped outside and saw a shooting star crossing the southern skies.