Diary
Argentina - Week 1
Argentina pictures here
We left San Pedro from a dusty car park in a bus with the silliest film collection you could possibly imagine (we sat through Meet the Spartans), and the 12 hour journey was only punctuated by occasional stops to queue in the cold outside very slackly-run immigration offices. We arrived in Salta at 11pm and then waited what seemed like an eternity to get our bags off the bus. The argentines have a strange rule that you must tip the baggage boy, even if all he does is move your bag by about three inches. He can get very uppety if you don't produce any cash, and so the whole process takes much longer than it should. We took a taxi to our hostal and then had a little late-night wander around town and ate our very first empanadas.
For anyone who has never come across these little pastry packages of tastiness, they are a sort of mini Cornish pasty, usually filled with meat, chicken or cheese, and are unbelievably moreish. We have lunched on them almost every day since arriving in Argentina.
Salta was really our first encounter with retail as we know it for six weeks, so Dave got a new battery and glass face for his watch and we trooped up and down the high street (very much like an English high street from the eighties - they even have C&A!) buying everything we'd been unable to get hold of for the last month and a half. We immediately noticed that Argentina is a country where things get done. We went up to the bar and club district to take a look during the day, to find the whole street being dug up, and went back in the evening to discover a shiny new set of about 50 old-style street lamps, all lit and ready to go.
Another thing we have noticed about Argentina is that siesta time is taken seriously here, and that everything closes between 1pm and 5pm so that people can get their beauty sleep. No one eats until 9 at the absolute earliest (there seem to be two sittings, the first with families - and very young children - and the second with whoever has been able to wait long enough) and we've found it difficult to keep ourselves occupied for long enough to hold out until a reasonable hour. The result is that we're usually a bit tipsy by the time we sit down to eat.
The first night, we found a lovely big (the restaurants here are big!) restaurant called La Lenita where we shared a fantastic steak (having been told categorically that it was NOT possible to order the mixed grill - or parrillada - without the customary tripe and blood sausage) washed down with a bottle of Don David Malbec. We then made the most of the fact that it was a Saturday night to explore some of the other bars in this lively little district (well, as we're here...) before heading to bed.
The next day being a Sunday, Salta was a bit of a ghost town. However, we soon discovered where everyone was when we joined the queue for the cable car to the top of the Cerro San Barnardo (a big hill). Sunday lunchtime is obviously peak 'teleferico' time and we waited an hour before we even got near the 'gondolas'. The journey to the top takes around 8 minutes, and we were fortunate enough to share our cabin with a charming elderly Argentine couple who thought we were German, rather than one of the hundreds of screaming children we queued with.
The top of the hill is pleasant enough, with an impressive man-made waterfall and cafe with panoramic views, but the sulking children and rowing parents soon got to us and we had to descend (sharing our gondola with one particularly morose French family) and went to have our siesta. Dinner that night consisted of beer and empanadas upstairs in a cafe on the square and we watched the full moon rise over the cerro as the town woke up again and people prepared to get themselves really tired before Monday morning.
We had a very early start the next day for our 7am bus. It was still dark when we left (due to the time change between Chile and Argentina) and the bus seemed to make interminable stops to pick up extra people before we even got out of town. Sitting behind us were a Scottish couple we'd met in the Potosi silver mine (no bus journey would be complete without a random and surprising encounter with someone we've met somewhere before) and once the sun was up, the scenery was as stunning as anything we'd seen so far, as we made our way through the Quebrada de Cafayate with it's brightly coloured rocks in strange formations. We arrived at aroud 11am and looked around for hostels - not too taxing as Cafayate is a tiny town - and eventually settled for El Balcon. Though now absolutely shattered, we managed a wander around town and explored some of the other hostals and hospedajes on offer to see if we could get a better deal. After sitting in the Casa de las Empanadas for a full hour before our six empanadas arrived, we decided nothing was going to get done quickly in this sleepy little town. At this stage, we allowed ourselves a siesta, and fell asleep to the sound of chairs and other loose objects being blown through the street by the unbelievable wind.
After a drink on the square, we opted for El Baco for dinner, and had more very nice steak (we had by this stage worked out that we need to order them rare - or 'jugoso' - if they are to come even remotely pink) and wine.
The next day, we moved out of our hostel and into another cheaper and nicer that we'd dicovered (El Hospedaje - highly recommended) and were served breakfast in the little add-on cafe while our room was prepared. Then we headed out to the bus station to see about booking our bus to Tucuman (next stop on the long journey up and around to Iguazu) and had our fortuitous meeting with Lizzie and Caroline, two English girls who were also inquiring about the bus to Tucuman. After much confusion caused by some very inaccurate signage, we ascertained that the buses left at 6am and 6pm, possibly the most inconvenient times we could have hoped for. So the four of us decided we would try and find someone to take us in a taxi, and found (via the tourist information office) a company who seemed willing to do this for us, but asked us to come back the next day to confirm.
The four of us then headed to the viewpoint - or mirador - and did a little bit of off-piste walking before deciding there actually wasn't a path and we should turn back. After more beer and empanadas for lunch, we went to try out Helados Miranda and their famous wine ice cream. Now this comes highly recommended by guidebooks and travellers alike, but let us save you the trouble of ever trying it for yourselves - wine ice cream doesn't work. Not only is it inevitably made out of the worst plonk being produced in the area, but, being alcoholic, it freezes at a lower temperature than normal ice-cream, causing you to cold-burn your tongue. It's horrible. We discarded ours discretely.
During our pre-dinner drink that night, we bumped into an English couple we'd met in San Pedro and they told us about their day - spent wine tasting in the many bodegas in and around town. We resolved to make that our activity for the following day, before heading to El Rancho for more lovely steak and more lovely wine (there are some themes developing aren't there...).
The next morning, we headed first up to the taxi office to confirm that they would in fact take us to Tucuman. They reassured us that our four large rucksacks would fit into a Corsa (Dave still wasn't convinced), and so we took their word and embarked on our wine-tasting quest. It was an unbelievably hot day, as we discovered during the 3km walk out to Bodega Etchart, nothing but vines stretching out on either side of the road. We spotted an unusual woodpecker and numerous sleepy-looking vultures along the way. When we arrived, there was the inevitable awkward moment of “you and I both know we're just here to drink your free wine and aren't going to buy anything,” but they were lovely to us nonetheless and we tried some very nice wines, particularly the Torrontes (the white grape typical of the region), which we even bought a bottle of (when it's two pounds a bottle there's not much persuading to be done). We even learnt something about how the wine is produced.
We tried another bodega on the way back to town, but it was closed, and in any case we were empanada-ready by then, so we headed into town for lunch. The Hermanos Domingo bodega actually gave us a tour of their winery after lunch and we saw gallons of wine being pumped into hundreds of demijohns (the cheaper wine in town gets sold by the demijohn rather than by the bottle.) We then headed to La Vecija Secreta where a large group was conveniently about to start a tour and tasting and we covertly joined them. Very hot and slightly tipsy, we headed back to the hospedaje to sleep it off.
We had arranged to meet the girls at 8pm to tell them how the meeting with the taxi people went, and had a few drinks on the square and related the events of the day (theirs had been rather more active than ours, with a 48k bike ride into the quebrada). We then headed to a parrilla we had spotted earlier, where we were served two enormous and very tasty pieces of cow.
The next morning, after checking out and leaving our bags, we were feeling uncharacteristically adventurous, and hired a tandem. Anyone that knows me (Amy) well will know that I 'don't do' bikes and even claim to be unable to ride one, so this was something of a leap into the unknown. Our first test drive around the square revealed a shortage of air in the tyres, which we went to get remedied (I was all for giving the bike back there and then, but Dave was more optimistic). Our bicycle man asked where we were going (some waterfalls out of town) and told us we'd have a slight hill to contend with, and to be very careful to use the breaks on the way back. This, as it turned out, was because the bike had no breaks to speak of and, also being gear-less and extremely heavy, our climb up a very slight incline left us both panting. We didn't make it to the waterfalls. However we did have quite a lot of fun on the way back, which was considerably easier, even if the chain did fall off twice.
After all that effort, it was time for beer and empanadas (a dozen, as we'd been exercising), taking our total up to 46 since entering Argentina. Then we collected our bags and waited for our 3pm taxi. It has to be said, the journey started well, with our bags all fitting into the boot - as promised - and some lovely scenery along the way (at one point we came over the brow of a hill to see a cloud filled-basin, which we then proceeded to descend into). In fact all went well until our driver announced he was going to try to find a faster route on the Pan American highway, a route it quickly became obvious he wasn't familiar with. The repeated stops to ask for directions would have been ok, but we arrive at a complicated junction, and things got too much for our man. He tried to go down a slip road the wrong way, reversed up the motorway and drove over the central reservation all in the space of five minutes. At the same time, Lizzie discovered that she'd accidentally thrown away her bus ticket for Mendoza. Things in the car got a little tense.
Eventually, though, we arrived at Tucuman bus station, parted with the girls and made our way to our hotel. Needless to say, by the time we had dropped our things off and headed into town, we were both in need of a stiff drink. And we found the right place for it - I got served a glass of wine that must have contained a third of a bottle, and Dave got to choose the amount of gin in his gin and tonic. Feeling like we didn't need to be challenged, we opted for a pizza for dinner - there was a place recommended in our guide book - and this is when we had the pizza incident. Tucuman is a strange place, particularly with regard to one specific feature: they don't put tomato sauce on their pizzas. We didn't know this. In fact, as we sat down, Dave said in anticipation “I really hope there's lots of tomato sauce on this pizza.” Inevitably, when the tomato-less pizza arrived, all squidgy cheese and pale-looking, Dave went into immediate decline and I had to endure a painful exhcange with an extremely partonising waiter before our pizza was whisked off to have tomato sauce added. We went to bed quite agitated that night.
The next morning, we went on a quest for bus tickets to Resistencia, which ended up in us having to go all the way back to the bus terminal. By the time we were back in the centre of town, we were faint with hunger and went straight to a cafe to have a slap-up brunch (they do excellent milanesa sandwiches all over Argentina, much to Dave's delight) before heading to see the Casa de la Independencia, where the agreement was signed that gave Argentina independence from Spain.
Our guidebook (which, as it would appear, contains more than a few innaccuracies) tells of a mate bar - one of only a few in the country - in Tucuman (mate is the tea-like leaf the Argentines drink all day long, and we were keen to try it), and we spent some considerable time looking for it at the specified address before deciding it wasn't there and giving up. We ended up drinking Stellas instead and having a long discussion (diagram-assisted) about the Apollo 13 mission. We went to an atmospheric traditional restaurant for dinner and I opted to try the local specialty stew, locro. Unfortunately, this really didn't taste of very much, and had large lumps of fat and stomach lining floating in it. Tucuman definitely isn't destined to be my culinary heaven. The wine, however, was excellent.
Argentina - Week 2
Argentina pictures for week 2 here
If anyone is in any doubt as to how civilised a place Argentina is, take a look at the photos page to see how we were served our Stella on the day we left Tucuman. We spent the whole of siesta hour in this cafe and were practically the only people there. When it was time, we took a taxi to the bus station and got on our bus. We were treated to a DVD called "Baladas en Ingles" - a selection of the corniest live recordings of overplayed songs in the 90s - and had fun playing guess the next song. Then they swapped the disc for a collection of Latin ballads and we had to take refuge in our iPods.
We arrived in Resistencia at 7am and sleepily managed to get a taxi among the chaos, turned up to the hotel in a sleep-deprived and slightly agitated mood and had an argument about the cost of the taxi before crawling into bed.
We got up again at 11 and had a wander around town, which, it being Sunday, was completely dead. Resistencia is known for its hundreds of sculptures dotted around the streets, and there are some very unusual ones. In fact, on that Sunday afternoon, there were more stone people than real ones as we walked around and got our bearings. There isn't an awful lot to do in Resistencia and we spent two days getting some sleep, people-watching in the square, and making arrangements for Iguazu and Buenos Aires. Having made a few calls to Iguazu hostels, we realised the holiday period was going to mean a serious hike in prices. We decided to stay just two nights, booked our bus and made a reservation at an expensive hotel, which we had little intention of staying in. 10 or 12 places we called were completely fully-booked.
It's probably time we mentioned that, despite what all the guide books say, Argentina is no longer a dirt-cheap country to visit. Something has happened in the last twelve months to make the prices quoted in the Lonely Planet 100 or even 200 per cent out. Accommodation, particularly, seems to have leaped in price. We're glad we didn't budget according to the prices quoted!
On the Monday night, we took one of the ropiest taxis yet to the bus station (the whole of one side of the windscreen was completely shattered and held together with tape), and booked our bus from Iguazu to Buenos Aires. We already made a decision to book the ultra deluxe 'coche suite' bus for this trip (20 hours and more than 800 miles). We had occasionally peered into these buses in other towns and glimpsed relaxed-looking people sipping wine in their extra wide leather padded seats, and decided it would have to be done at some point. We also took the opportunity to book some accommodation in BA before waiting for our bus to Iguazu, which turned up 45 minutes late. Dave woke up in the night to a violent electric storm.
When we woke the next morning, the scenery had changed completely and the road was lined with lush, tropical foliage. We got to Puerto Iguazu at around 8am and started looking for somewhere to stay. The Hotel Tierra Colorada had told me on the phone to come and see if any rooms were freed up in the morning, and luckily, we were lead straight up to a light, cosy twin with a view of lots of tropical greenery. And it was half the price of the hotel we had booked as an emergency fall-back.
Surprisingly, we felt awake enough to head straight to the falls (we had assumed we would spend the first day sleeping off the journey and seeing the town), and so went straight back to the bus station (only 5 minutes walk away) and got on a bus to the Cataratas park. Unfortunately, we didn't give enough thought to what the weather was doing, and turned up to find hundreds of people queuing for their entry tickets in shorts, shades, hats and flip flops, and rubbing in their sun cream. We had none of the above, and the heat was oppressive. Thankfully, I managed to beg some sun cream off a sweet Argentine family to stop me burning to a crisp, and we avoided the crowds by walking instead of taking the free train. This turned out to be a much better way of appreciating the hundreds of butterflies that were fluttering over the tracks - of all different species we'd never seen before, some of them absolutely tiny, some tame enough to come and land on us.
We arrived at the walkway to the Garganta del Diablo (devil's throat) and walked the 2.5k to the end, where crowds of people were watching the water thunder off the cliff edge. The spray that rises up is so dense you can't tell how far the water drops. The sheer volume of the water and the sound it makes is overwhelming. We took the train back to the start point for the upper and lower walks that take you close to the many individual falls. On the way round, we saw toucans, dozens of coatis (long-nosed racoon like rodents that are tame enough to eat from your hand), lizards and of course, tons more butterflies. The rainbows that formed in the spray from the falls were stunning. We spent around 5 hours walking all the routes (getting very wet at the end), before heading back to the bus. We were still undecided about whether or not to go over to the Brazilian side the next day to see the more panoramic views, but in any case, felt we had definitely seen enough for one day.
We spent the evening relaxing in Puerto Iguazu, which is a lovely little town in its own right, with plenty of nice little bars and restaurants. The only problem is the hoards of persistent hippy artisan street vendors, beggars and street urchins. We felt so harassed on the terrace of one bar that we had to move inside. We had a fantastic meal (the best steak yet) that night in El Quincho del tio Querido before heading to bed.
We felt extremely fortunate (I might even say pleased with ourselves) to wake up the next day to find the sky overcast and threatening rain. Everyone says the difference between a fine day and an overcast one at the falls is vast, as you don't get the rainbows and butterflies if the sun's not out, so we were very lucky indeed - the rain didn't stop for the next two days. After helping an eccentric middle aged woman keen to practise her English to the bus station with her incredibly heavy suitcase, and promising her that we would call her son in BA and let him take us round the sights, we walked to the confluence of the Iguazu and Parana rivers to take a peek at Brazil and Paraguay. We got very wet on the way and had to seek shelter under a tree. The rain was actually a refreshing change from the heat, and the tropical, damp-earth smells made us feel a million miles from the High Andes.
Each country has a monument in the colours of its flag at the point where the three of them meet. Paraguay and Brazil felt so close you could almost reach out and touch them. We stayed for a while to contemplate how far we had come and watched the moody clouds rolling over the two rivers, before making our way back to town. We dipped into a cafe when the rain got a bit too heavy and had our first fried empanadas (taking the total to 48) and watched people rioting in Cordoba on the news. After hot showers and a short siesta back at the hotel, we actually had to get our waterproofs out for the very first time to brave the conditions outside. After a few beers, we headed to a place we had had our eyes on for a while, and ordered their all-you-can-eat parrillada - a great way of avoiding the tripe and other 'bits and pieces' and generally eating an obscene amount of meat. I actually damaged my jaw attacking one particular rack of ribs, and was in mild pain for the next 24 hours.
Our bus to BA the next day left at 2.30 pm, and we spent the morning killing time, using the internet and buying supplies for the trip. The bus didn't disappoint us. We felt a bit like we were flying business class. There were only six seats in the downstairs section, each having its own personal mini flat screen and dividing curtains in case you felt the need to isolate yourself. And the (black, padded, faux-leather) seats reclined fully to become beds. And we were shown the first decent film since arriving in the continent - The Hoax - though unfortunately, the DVD packed up towards the end. But thankfully they had some more standard fare (P.S. I Love You and The Nanny Diaries) on standby. We were given free beer, wine with dinner (a hot meal preceded by canapes!) and, to top it off, free champagne! One advantage to this kind of bus is that you don't have to get off for police checks - the police just get on, check your passport, let their dog sniff you and whatever else, and then let you go on your way.
After a very early breakfast (6.30am!), we arrived in BA at 8am and took a taxi to our hotel. The journey reminded me how much like Paris this city looks. We had a half hour wait for the room to be made up, which we spent in an immense cafe on the corner drinking coffee and orange juice and planning the next few days. We took showers, got our laundry done and took a walk around the centre.
We had by now decided we would change our flight to give us more time in New Zealand, as Cordoba was now looking like a non-option and we seemed to have done a few things more quickly than we thought. We headed first to the Lan Chile office, where, after looking confusedly at our flight details for a few minutes, they told us we would have to see Qantas about it (one of the confusing things about a round-the-world ticket is that there are so many airlines involved, and codeshares that make you think one company is operating the flight when actually another is). We were given an address and sent on our way. I should have been suspicious when she told me the Qantas office was on the 27th floor. We certainly thought something was wrong when we headed into the business, high-rise district and worked out that the address belonged to the top floor of one of about six or seven skyscrapers on the edge of town. (The roads in BA take some crossing at the best of times, but out here they became even more of a mission.) We though we'd give it a try anyway, and went to reception with our slightly odd request. The girl wasn't sure and called up to Qantas to ask. Surprisingly enough, they said head on up, so we showed our passports, smiled into the camera on the desk and were given electronic tags. Once we'd found a lift that could go to the 27th floor, we were on our way.
We were amazed to find a little man sitting on his own behind a desk, and, still not quite believing we were in the right place, we put our question to him. No problem. Not only did he change our flight, but we also set the date for our Delhi London flight next year, and allocated seats for all the other flights. And this all cost us ten pounds each, rather than the 70 STA had quoted us at the start. We left elated.
After a celebratory lunch, the three overnight buses we had taken in the last week were catching up with us, and we went to siesta (I had a hot bath!!) before heading out and finding a cool little studenty bar, and then a lovely Italian restaurant (the huge amount of Italians in BA means the Italian food is fantastic). Unfortunately, on the way, Dave managed to fall off the pavement (something he does quite often, but usually without damaging himself) and twisted his ankle. It wasn't so bad that we couldn’t carry on, but we had to go and buy a support for it the next morning, and poor Dave was progressing at half his usual speed. The next day was cold (puffer-jacket cold) and drizzly - perfect conditions for wandering around the Cementerio de la Recoleta, BA's equivalent of the Pere Lachaise cemetery. The tombs are all like miniature buildings, and you feel like you're exploring a minuscule and sombre little town. We found Evita, a number of past presidents, and a variety of beautiful, mottled, long-haired churchyard cats.
Argentina - Week 3
Argentina pictures for week 3 here - The Atlantic Ocean(!), Street Tango and Rosario
After the graveyard, we went to a cafe to escape the drizzle (again, very Parisian) and discussed Uruguay over an obscene piece of chocolate gateau. Uruguay didn't come out too well and our efforts to find an agency that would sell us ferry tickets were half-hearted. By the time we got back to the hotel, it was too late for a siesta, so we watched the second half of My Cousin Vinny before heading out to find all the bars closed (looking back, and considering it was a Saturday night, they wouldn't have opened until midnight). So we headed back up to Calle Montevideo where we'd spotted a Beer House earlier. Here we had a chance to have a few proper British ales - quite a refreshing change from the bog standard lager you get across South America. This held us off until 10pm, when we chose a restaurant in the same street (we were spoilt for choice) and ate the rarest Bife de Chorizo we'd managed to get so far. Delicious. Especially when accompanied by a nice bottle of Shiraz.
The next day was a beautiful, crisp winter's day and felt like Paris at Christmas. After some really good medialunas for breakfast (the standard of croissants in Argentina is generally much better than in France) we headed to the Casa Rosada, or Pink House, Argentina's equivalent of the White House. It apparently owes its pink colour to the bulls' blood they used to paint the buildings with in this part of the world. From the Plaza de Mayo, you can see the balcony Eva Peron used to orate to thousands from (and where Madonna also sang for the film). We headed on round the building, managed to navigate our way through a complicated junction, and decided the sea must be close enough to catch a glimpse of. We crossed what looked like BA's version of the Millenium Bridge to reach the edge of the Reserva Ecologica, which after much walking we eventually found an entrance to. The Reserva is basically a large patch of marshy ground on the sea front that has been left to nature. We wandered through it for around three hours and saw a huge array of birds: brightly coloured finches, creepers, songbirds, hawks, seabirds, and an enormous bird of prey perched on a pylon that we were told was a carrancho. We eventually reached the sea and had a chance to sit on the rocky beach and ponder how far we had come since May. It occurred to us that we had begun by looking out at the Pacific from Miraflores in Lima, and now we were dipping our fingers in the Atlantic. Quite a feat really. Now all we had to do was make our way back across to the Pacific again! Of course once we looked at a map, we realised it wasn't the Atlantic at all but, officially, still the Rio de la Plata. But you know what we mean.
We crossed back across the Dykes and walked the length of Puerto Madero, BA's newest quarter, which reminded us of London's docklands with its converted warehouses and expensive restaurants. The portenos were out in their hoardes for their Sunday walk, many in their fur coats and with their ridiculous little yappy dogs. Once we had got far enough south, we headed into San Telmo, a very lively little district with street sellers and performers, and dozens of antique shops. We found a little artists' square where we were able to catch a glimpse through the crowds of a couple tangoing. Then we headed up back into town, taking in the atmosphere (and a few empanadas - total now 54). Once back, we walked to the manzana de las luzes, a block which apparently played an important role during the Renaissance, though you wouldn't know it now (we were a bit mystified), before heading to a cafe to watch Murray beat Djokovic in the final in Cincinatti. We had decided we would do dinner in a cafe tonight (another characteristic of the cafes here is that they are totally multi-purpose, so you can have a coffee and croissant, a beer, a pizza, a bowl of pasta, a steak...). Only, having found our cafe on the corner shutting its doors, we had to go a bit further afield for our milanesas.
After a late start the next day, we tried to organise our bus tickets for Rosario. After being told a few times that this wasn't something agencies would do, we eventually got the Tourist Information Office to do it for us (everything is possible). We went to a cafe for breakfast and found ourselves drooling at the sight of a deep-fill vegetable tart on the counter. Vegetables haven't featured heavily in our diet since we arrived in Argentina, so we devoured a couple of slices before finding a locutorio to make some calls and book our hotel in Rosario. After that, we wandered up to the Santa Fe area and Plaza San Martin where we contemplated the enormous Australian Ficus tree (it's so huge individual branches have to be propped up to stop them dragging on the ground) and the Torre de los Ingleses. We eventually headed back to the Casa Rosada via Calle Santa Fe (the main shopping street, but I exercised discipline!), only to find they aren't currently doing visits of the building. But we did have a look at their slightly odd (and propogandistic) museum of the Presidents of Argentina, and learnt a thing or two. A life size painting of Eva and Juan had Eva's eyes and throat gashed, so it would seem she isn't everyone's hero.
On the way back to drop our things off, Dave managed to fall off the pavement again and re-do all the damage he did the first time. We decided it would be best to go and numb the pain in the Red Bell Saloon, where we drank three litres of Heineken and two rounds of Strawberry Daquiris in happy hour. We also played pool with a couple of nice Jewish boys (Ezikiel and Daniel) who gave us some tips on what to do around Cordoba. We even managed to beat them. Then we went to soak up the alcohol with a plate of pasta in a cafe, and crawled into bed.
Early the next morning, we moved our things into the cafe on the corner and had our medialunas and coffee before taking a taxi to the gigantic Retiro bus station. It's so big the taxi driver needs to know which platform you're leaving from before he can decide where to drop you off. It also has seating with little personal coin-operated TVs! We got on our bus to Rosario, thinking we could switch off and relax for a few hours, but only a few minutes in, there was a commotion upstairs (it actually sounded as if people were rioting). After much confusion and arm-waving, it turned out the bus conductor had beaten up one of the passengers for being rude. A few people gave their details to act as witnesses and we went on our way, only to make a few more redundant stops as the drama continued upstairs and the victim decided whether or not he wanted police and an ambulance. Eventually we stopped and got off while he made phone calls and talked to police officers, more people gave their details and then thankfully we left him there and continued our journey.
Our room at the Hotel La Paz in Rosario was big, light and airy and had a balcony looking over the Plaza Montenegro, and free, functioning WiFi. We went out to walk along the famous river front (dodging the long trails of spider's web that were mysteriously floating around), admired the imposing “monument to the flag” (which I instantly recognised from my first visit 12 years ago) and found a cafe with outdoor heaters (though it was already feeling much warmer that BA) to relax with a beer before dinner. Tired from the journey, we had planned to eat early and turn in at a reasonable hour, but all the restaurants we had earmarked on Pellegrini Street were all totally empty at 8pm, and we bowed out and went for another drink instead to buy time. But it was well worth it when we finally sat down to eat in Don Leo's. We were served a vacio (flank cut) from the parrilla that could have fed four and was pink in the middle but all crispy and blackened at the edges. We were in heaven. And the free mini empanadas took us to 56. We did eventually make it to bed, only to find that our room was superheated by rather noisy radiators through the night, meaning we had to wake up several times to drink gallons of water, and had very tender throats in the morning. It isn't even cold in this town! (If only we'd had this treatment in Uyuni!)
We managed to make it up in time for our free breakfast (only because they were serving it until 11) and did some planning for Cordoba. We'd decided to take Ezikiel and Daniel's advice to make trips to Villa General Belgrano and La Cumbrecita, both in the Sierras outside Cordoba, and so needed to do quite a bit of organising. After making reservations at three hotels in a locutorio, we went to buy our bus tickets in an agency (having been advised, once again, that this was impossible). Then we were free to take a long walk along the river. The day had turned out to be a very hot and sunny one, and we watched people fishing along the river's edge, then took a detour to visit Che Guevara's first home. We were feeling very peckish when we got back to the hotel, so we took our empanada count to 62 before having a long nap. Our book recommended a good cafe for drinking, eating and relaxing, so we headed there for dinner and were served by one of the surliest and rudest waitresses we'd come across yet. It was almost amusing.
The next morning, we went to take a closer look at the monument (that comes complete with eternal flame and memorial to the fallen soldier, at least six statues, full-size square and enormous water feature) and also stumbled across a monument-cum-water feature for the "Malvinas Argentinas" with scale model (maybe even life size...) of the islands themselves. We didn't linger here. After walking the remaining section of the river front and exploring more of the town, we found a little cafe to have a light lunch in (service with a smile as usual) and then napped before finally drinking the bottle of Torrontes-Sauvignon we bought in Cafayate. The bottle had been chilling on the balcony in a wet sock (Dave's idea) for a few days and we shared it out of tumblers borrowed from reception, in front of a silly Brit Flick Rom Com starring Russel Crowe. Then we headed out for a beer of two in a lively little bar we had spied a few days earlier, before having dinner at De Rosario, a stylish little restaurant serving tasty modern food (I sound like the Lonely Planet). We managed another bottle of wine and arrived home rather worse for wear.
The next day was the start of the Chinese Olympics, and we spent the morning in bed, dehydrated and hungover, watching the opening ceremony on TV. When we eventually made it out, we wasted hours in some very unsatisfactory internet cafes (and had a very lively conversation with one particularly eccentric woman about whether or not we'd infected one of her computers with a virus), during which we at least managed to book hostels for Santiago and Auckland. Given our state, we kept the rest of the day low-key, and lacked the imagination and will to resist the temptation to go back to Don Leo's for dinner, seeing as he'd done us so proud the first time round (free empanadas take us to 64).
The next day, we were up early and took a taxi to the bus station. There were no fights this time, and we were able to get quite a bit of sleep during the seven hour journey to Cordoba. I was just woken up during our lunch stop by Dave bringing me a collection of particularly juicy empanadas and other pastry bits (total 66). Once we arrived at our hotel (Hotel Garden, though I don't spot a garden anywhere), we headed straight out for a wander, and found the pedestrian area covered with a hotchpotch of useless goods being sold by optimistic vendors. We went to the manzana de las luzes which is considerably more impressive than the one in BA, and then wandered some more before heading back for showers before dinner. There was no sign of the rioting we saw on the news in previous weeks, though the Main Municipal Government building is still being kept off-limits by some sturdy-looking metal fencing.
That evening, we went to Alfonsino's and had our first taste of mate. After charging it up with sugar, it was actually drinkable, and we could almost understand why the Argentines sup on it all day long. The bar got busier and livelier and we ended up staying for dinner and watched the live band (a trio of girls singing traditional Argentine songs and playing a surprising range of percussion instruments.) We made it until 12.30 before flaking out and heading back. On our way through the main square, we came upon a dozen or so couples tangoing in the square. Someone had a sound system on and people were just coming up, having a quick dance, and then going on their way. It was absolutely magical. Then they all sang happy birthday for one guy, who then had his own private tango with a string of women, who would come up one by one to interrupt each other and take their turn. Only in Argentina.
Argentina - Week 4
Argentina - Week 4 pictures here - Cordoba, German Alpine Villages, Wank Hill and Mendoza
After a lazy Sunday (Sundays in Argentina are necessarily lazy, as everything is shut), we checked out of our hotel and took the bus up to Villa General Belgrano in the Sierras. We had some free time in the bus station so we booked our night bus to Mendoza for the Wednesday and also our accommodation. Once we'd arrived in VGB (two hours from Cordoba) and had a frustrating time trying to get any sense out of the Pajaro Blanco bus people about buses to La Cumbrecita, we opted to take a taxi to the hostel instead of guessing which direction to start walking in. Lucky, in the sense that the hostel was nowhere near where we thought it would be. Unlucky, in that our taxi driver was a crafty devil and drove us the very short distance at about three miles an hour, as if the road were totally unnavigable. We were met at El Rincon by aggressive barking dogs, and then by the Dutch owner who showed us to our room... an entire dorm room just for us!
Villa General Belgrano is a strange place with its chocolate box feel and German heritage. It is largely populated by descendents of unrepatriated survivors of the Graf Spee, sunk during the battle of the River Plate at the beginning of World War II. You can get German ales, wursts of all varieties, most meals come garnished with sauerkraut and everyone is eating Black Forest Gateau. A few things remind you that you're not actually in Germany: the parrots, the slow service, and the fact the people of VGB have embraced alfajors in a big way. Ah, alfajors! Alfajors are a typically Argentine delicacy consisting of layers (usually two or three) of soft biscuit sandwiched together with dulce de leche and covered by either a sugar coating or chocolate. There are infinite different varieties, with nuts, fruit, flavourings etc. VGB is a very small place but has a disproportionate number of large shops dedicated to selling alfajors.
After a very German lunch, we hiked up the Cerro de la Virgen to take in the view of the village and see the odd, white lead "statue" of the virgin that looks down over the town. We spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around town and sitting in cafes watching very mean looking clouds roll in. When fat drops began falling from the sky, we headed back to the hostel, but not before stocking up on alfajors. The big heavy thunderclouds were something we'd not seen in a long time, and with gaps here and there showing glimpses of a deep pink sunset, they were fairly spectacular.
What with the heritage of the place and my colouring, we have repeatedly been mistaken for Germans. Explaining we're actually English stops most conversations dead, even more so than in other parts of Argentina. We figure that the Argentine/German combination here probably makes us more hated than any other nationality.
The wind during the night was fierce and unexpected, but the next day was totally cloudless and calm. We left for La Cumbrecita alter a confusing conversation with an old lady at the bus station who thought she knew me, and arrived at our guest house, La Campana. Our room here was probably the best we've had so far, almost an apartment, situated above the German owners' little shop. We made a short stop at the tourist information centre for maps and got another dose of grief from another Pajaro Blanco agency.
La Cumbrecita, even more chocolate boxey that VGB, is a little Alpine village high up in the Sierras, and is one of the world's few pedestrian-only villages. Think wood cabins, babbling brooks, trout ponds, hidden waterfalls and paths leading into the hills all around. We did the one hour hike up to the poetically named Cerro Wank and looked down on the pine forests and lakes. There were condors floating above us. We spent the afternoon hunting waterfalls, spotting birds, exploring little paths and catching a bit too much sun. After a siesta, we headed out (in puffer jackets) to admire the stars and drink a few beers.
The next day was sunny and crisp again and we had intended to explore more of the village, only David managed to trip and hurt his ankle again, and walking became out of the question. After spending a few minutes wondering what to do instead, we found a bus leaving for VGB and decided to get on it (there are no direct buses from La Cumbrecita to Cordoba). We spent the afternoon back in VGB sitting in the sun and enjoying some more German beer and food, before getting on a bus back to Cordoba, and then onto our night bus to Mendoza. No champagne this time, but we did get free alfajors. And the views of the snowcapped Andes in the pink morning light were stunning.
We have heard that unpredictable weather can make the crossing of the Andes between Mendoza and Santiago tricky, and when we asked at Mendoza bus station, they said there were plans to close the tunnel during Saturday and Sunday, due to predicted heavy snowfall. We plan to travel on Tuesday, so there's a degree of finger-crossing to be done. We arrived at the lovely Petit Hotel and breakfasted in the cafe next door while our room was made up. I finished the book I traded mine for in Cafayate: A Thousand Splendid Suns, and ended up sniveling over my medialunas. As soon as the room was ready for us, we went and slept (or I slept. David watched an old war film). At around 1pm, we went to explore the town.
After hearing Rosario hyped up and then getting there and wondering what all the fuss was about (the perfect Argentine town? Come on Lonely Planet!), we came to Mendoza with open minds. But it turns out all the praise it gets is fully deserved. The boulevards are wide and sycamore-lined, the buildings are lovely and the restaurants and bars, plentiful. We actually got some useful stuff done too - we booked our bus to Santiago (fingers and toes crossed) and, as it turned out to be a day bus and not a night bus, rang our Santiago hostel to book an extra night. The lady in the agency advised us which seats to get for the best possible view of the mountains as we go over them. We're currently the only two people booked on the bus.
Back at the hotel, Dave spotted a cabinet with a shelf of books in the lobby, and, among them, our holy grail: The Lonely Planet's guide to New Zealand! After being told by the girl on reception that it was possible to trade books if something took our fancy, we went straight upstairs to get the one book that both of us have read and made the massively one-sided exchange. We're now ready and set to tackle NZ.
That night, having unintentionally managed to starve ourselves for the last few days, we shared a tasty bife de chorizo. We've noticed a lot more gringos around than in any other Argentine town and, as far as we could tell, there were only two tables in the restaurant that were actually occupied by Argies. David winced as the gaggle of American girls at the table behind us over-ordered on a massive scale (a cut of meat each!), and then again when whole untouched plates of meat went back to the kitchen at the end of their meal. Almost as bad was the girl sitting on her own across from us picking the tastiest, crispiest bits off her entrana (skirt steak) and leaving them.
After an admin-filled morning the next day, we succumbed to temptation in the mercado central and lunched on meat. To help our consciences recover, we spent the next five hours walking. The enormous Parque San Martin to the West of Mendoza is, we discovered, an odd park with main roads and junctions running through it. The enormous cast iron gates were apparently shipped over from Great Britain (they're very reminiscent of gates to the bigger parks in London). After finding ourselves a map, we headed towards the Cerro de la Gloria, the highest point in town, and, not wanting to walk up the road, took a very unconventional path up to the top. The Monumento a la Gloria is as grand and pompous as it sounds, and represents San Martin (the liberator) leading his Andean army to victory. Dozens of vultures circled just above us.
By following a few locals, we discovered the proper path, and descended past the zoo. Then we negotiated more major roads to find the path out of the park. Just as we were about to leave, we spotted a hummingbird feeding from a flowering bush just in front of us. He was absolutely tiny, bright green and with a long red and black tail. Unfortunately, he zoomed off before we could get a decent picture.
We collected our laundry and headed back to the hotel for a rest. As it was Friday night, we left it until 9pm to head back out (you have to try, don't you!), and walked down to Villanueva street, where all the action is (though I suspect it didn't really get started until well after we were tucked up in bed.) We had a few drinks in a few places, including a very Spanish al fresco tapas bar and a bar that had a disco ball in the shape of a camel. We eventually shared a pizza at around midnight and called it a day.
The heavy rain began in the night and didn't stop again until the following evening. We stayed in the hotel room, watching images on the news of the snow-covered passes we were hoping to cross in a few days, until hunger drove us out and we had to dust off our waterproofs again for the first time since Iguazu. The streets were totally flooded. We found a café offering milanesas, warmth and WiFi and set up camp there for a few hours. More laziness in the hotel ensued until the rain eased off in the evening and we dared to head out for a walk. We went to take a look at the enormous, fairy-light version of the national emblem in the Plaza Independencia (a wooly hat on a stick held by two interlocked hands - it's been fascinating Dave) and then did a circuit around town that took us about an hour, taking in the Mercado Central (open this time) with its pigs' heads and braided entrails. Not far from the hotel, we discovered an entire row of parrillas we hadn't come across before, and had a drink before choosing one of them and sitting down to a couple of extremely tasty vacios and another bottle of Mendoza Malbec.
Argentina to Chile - Final entry for South America
Argentina and Santiago pictures here - Last pictures of Argentina and a few of our couple of days in Santiago, Chile
The next day was another Sunday and, though the weather had improved, it was a pretty eventless day. As we left the hotel, the girl on reception announced that she had a present for us and handed us a bottle of local red wine. This confused us. Aside from that it was a day of cafes, internet, mooching, bad films on TV and, of course, the odd beer. We had plenty in mind, however, for the next day (our last in Mendoza), including plans for one last meaty supper, but these were all scuppered when the lady in the Cata International office told us the appropriately named Cristo Redentor (Christ the Redeemer) tunnel in the Andes was still closed. I should have known when we booked our bus with Cata International that things wouldn't turn out well (Cata is used colloquially in French for catastrophe and I even commented to Dave on this when we booked.) As if that weren't enough, the lady, all sweetness and light when we'd bought our tickets from her a few days before, had turned into the evil bitch from hell and had no interest in helping us or answering any of our questions. All we got out of her was that there was a bus leaving that day at 5pm that would go via Barriloche and try to cross the Andes there. If you look at a map, you'll see what madness this is. Santiago is just over the Andes from Mendoza, whereas Barriloche is well over 1000km to the south.
Having considered our options, we wandered for a bit looking for Air Lan offices to see if flying might be an option, and found everything mysteriously shut. As it turned out, it was a bank holiday. Perfect! A few people told us the pass was likely to be closed until Thursday and we failed to get through to Qantas on the phone to ask about the possibility of changing our flight. We looked up Mendoza to Santiago flights on the internet and found that they were $500 per person. So we eventually went back to the Cata woman for another ear-full of abuse. This made us want to go straight to a bar and let beer make everything better. However, we managed to be responsible and went instead to the bus station to see what the deal was.
The Cata office was full of people standing next to piles of luggage generally looking peeved and like they'd been there for hours. When we reached the front of the queue, we were told that the pass was closed, that this was the only bus scheduled to go to Santiago, that it would take 30 hours and that it wasn't a sleeper bus. Also, it cost 35 pounds each on top of the 15 pound ticket we'd already paid for. We bought tickets. An hour or two later, we joined the peeved looking people.
The less said about the journey, the better, really, so all I will say is that, all in all, the border crossing protocol took a total of six hours, that we sat through the very best of Argentine cinema (very, very bad), and that even the bottle of wine that the hotel had given us, and which we'd packed for emergencies, turned out to be awful. Oh, and two and a half hours into the journey, we pulled over to the side of the road for no apparent reason, and then our bus failed to start until the fifth or sixth attempt. They didn't turn the engine off after that until we reached customs, and then it had to be given a push start by a few of the passengers (we're talking about a double-decker, 60-seater bus). To make things worse, there were rumours that the pass back up at Mendoza had been reopened (we later discovered this to be untrue).
It was midnight before we reached Santiago. We'd met Mikayla from Texas during the journey who was also travelling at the last minute, was alone and without Chilean cash or a reservation. We took her with us to our hostel, though when we arrived in the taxi, the street was in darkness and deserted and there was nothing to suggest that there was a hostel behind the gate at number 262. To quote our taxi driver: "that's a hostel?" Luckily, though, it was, and there was room for Mikayla. We did a lap of the block in search of water, which confirmed all we'd been told about Bellavista being a lively centre for night-life. We had no desire to take advantage of any of it.
Needless to say, we slept very well that night. La Chimba is actually a great little hostel, very homely and in a great location. At breakfast, we said goodbye to Mikayla, who was heading off to Easter Island, and then made our way into town. We have no Chilean guide book and know next to nothing about Santiago, but it didn't take us long to stumble across the Cerro Santa Lucia, a little hill among the high-rises that's home to a beautiful crumbling relic of a sort of staircase all the way to the top, complete with little turrets and fountains, the whole thing covered with lush, tropical foliage and buzzing with hummingbirds. We had a fantastic view of the snow-covered Andes rising above the fog as if they were hanging, disembodied in the air.
We explored the centre of town and Dave finally had his boots polished by a bootshine in the street (something he's been dying to get done for months). We lunched on empanadas and ice cream, rediscovered our beloved Escudo beer (probably the best in South America - trust us, we tried a few), and headed back to the hostel to read, socialise and chill out. Quite tired still from the journey, we had a low key evening involving a bar where there was a brief, chaotic incident with a cat, and the first Turkish food we've tasted since our last meal at Tas on the Borough High Street.
The next day, we decided to tackle the real hill in Santiago, the Parque Metropolitano, which is big enough to warrant a funicular railway and a cable car. We took the funicular up and walked up the steps to the giant Mary. The hill itself is beautiful, with palms and blossom and hummingbirds drinking from red hot pokers, as well as a fantastic view of the Andes, but the atmosphere created by the broadcast church music, the eerily empty amphitheatre looking down on a stone altar, and the giant white virgin, is more than a little creepy. A suited teacher was making his class stand looking up at her, and chant an endless prayer while clutching their rosary beads. We crept off in silence.
The next 24 hours will be spent just relaxing and taking in the fact that we've completed the first leg of our journey and the next time we write we'll be in NZ (having lost a whole Saturday to the International Date Line). We look forward to letting you know how it goes!
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