We wanted to go paragliding in La Cumbre. I say that, but what I mean is that George had read that it was an ideal place to do it, and I felt pressurised to go along with it, despite a clumsily hidden terror, so as not to appear weak and cowardly.

La Cumbre is a peaceful little hillside town, set on the edge of the beautiful Sierras Chicas, rolling verdant hills, the launching point for said paragliding. It´s about 2 hours from Cordoba, and we spent a lovely 3 days there. Despite misgivings about the paragliding plan, my enjoyment of La Cumbre wasn´t disturbed - by the night before I had genuinely worked myself into a state where I was looking forward to it, albeit apprehensively.

Alas, that night brought a violent and very wet thunderstorm, and the next morning we were told that the thermals were all over the place, there was a chance of rain, and, in short, there would be no paragliding today. So, we went horseriding instead, being driven to a tiny homestead overrun with chickens and puppies. We rode for 3 hours through the most beautiful and varied countryside - heathland, pastures, through rivers, along a disused railway line (overgrown rails and sleepers still intact, like all over the country). Along the way we saw condors and parakeets up above, while on the ground a skittish fox crossed the path in front of us, and we stumbled across an iguana contentedly munching on horse poo. It wasn´t paralgliding, but it was nearly as good, and this despite George initially complaining about the "dobbins" we had to ride, and talking in horsey terms to me, knowing full well that I didn´t understand a word she said.

At certain points we roused the horses into bursts of energy, and I cantered for the first time ever, holding on for dear life. George seemed to find it extremely funny. I admit, flapping around like that, I did feel a bit like a teddy bear strapped onto the exciteable family dog by a child.