The Lost German Towns of Argentina's Mountain Valleys

In the early days of World War II, the German battleship Admiral Graf Spee was wreaking havoc on Allied merchant ships in the South Atlantic. In December 1939, it was intercepted by British cruisers in what would become known as the Battle of the River Plate, just off the coast of Uruguay.

Heavily damaged, the Graf Spee sought refuge into the neutral port of Montevideo. Uruguay, like Argentina at the time, had declared neutrality in the war, and under international law, the ship could only stay in port for 72 hours. Believing British reinforcements were waiting just beyond the harbor, the captain, Hans Langsdorff, made a fateful decision: he evacuated the crew and destroyed his own ship. Days later, he was found in a hotel room in Buenos Aires, wrapped in a German naval flag, dead by suicide.

Many of the Graf Spee’s crew were interned in Argentina, and when the war ended, some chose to stay. They joined existing German and Austrian immigrant communities in the Córdoba highlands, helping shape the culture of towns like Villa General Belgrano and La Cumbrecita. Today, that influence lives on in the architecture, food, festivals, and identity of the region. It’s one of history’s stranger stories, a world war leaving its imprint on a peaceful valley thousands of miles away.

Living in Buenos Aires has its rhythm: a steady hum of cafes, heavy traffic, gym and basketball runs, and late-night asados. But every now and then, you need a break from the city.

The idea for a weekend road trip came together quickly. A few friends, all digital nomads, coming from different places but who have called Argentina their home, craving a bit of green, some space to breathe, and a reason to hit the road. We’d heard good things about Córdoba: alpine forests, German towns, crisp mountain air. So we booked a flight and headed west.

We rented a car Friday morning from Cordoba’s old center, passing through Spanish colonial blocks, or cuadras. The city felt frozen in time, from a bygone era. Our main goal was to get into Cordoba’s storied mountain valleys. What we encountered next was impossible to foresee.

As we drove westward to the mountains with a loose itinerary and a trunk full of snacks, we had no idea what to expect. We’ve heard of the German influenced towns in the area, but we certainly weren’t ready for what we encountered. We stopped at a traditional restaurant for an Argentine asado, meat, chorizo, provoleta cheese. A light rain began as we were dining on the covered patio of a beautiful estancia, a traditional Argentine ranch.

We arrived in Villa General Belgrano, and if you told me I was in a Bavarian or Swiss town, I wouldn’t have thought twice. We walked into a small café that looked like it belonged in the Black Forest, not rural Argentina. The waitress greeted us in Spanish, but the menu was full of German classics: bratwurst, goulash, strudel, and house-brewed beer. Home to the largest Oktoberfest outside of Europe, the town was distinctively German. Alpine architecture lined the main street, with signs in Spanish. It was a fascinating and slightly disorienting blend of cultures.

Villa General Belgrano, Córdoba, Argentina

The next day we visited the town of La Cumbrecita. A nearby car-free village where pedestrian walkways seamlessly connect to hiking trails. The day consisted of long hikes, sweeping views, deep conversations, cold plunges in waterfalls, and the kind of thrill that reminds you you’re alive. We had post-hike beers at a Swiss bar and an amazing dinner of meat, fish, and spatzel.

La Cumbrecita, Córdoba, Argentina

On the way home, the car was quieter. Not in a tired way, but in that content, road-trip-satisfied kind of way. We passed signs for places we’d never heard of. Stopped at a roadside stand for homemade salami and cheese. And every so often, one of us would say something like, “Can’t believe that place exists,” referring to the weekend’s surreal blend of cultures and landscapes.

We left looking for mountains and came back with stories about German sailors, lost villages, and long hikes with good friends. The kind of weekend that doesn’t feel like a detour, but like something you were meant to find