Rio de Janeiro - 17th to 20th December

Where to begin..Rio is a show stopper. Its got it all - the beaches, the nightlife, the architecture, the ubiquitous sexiness, the pizazz, great music, dancing, food, pubs, grit, energy, danger, stupid wealth, hopeless poverty, the sweat..everything I expected and more.


We stayed in upmarket Leblon, the district bordered by the furthest stretch of sand along to the west from Copacabana and Ipanema, in Lemon Spirit Hostel. We had a few drinks with the owner , Andre who was a great conversationalist. He suggested a few things for us to see and do the following day.

We took it easy that night, just eating nearby in a sushi place. Ominous clouds had been gathering all day over the rocky peaks around which urban Rio sprawls, and our evening of sipping coconut milk from freshly hacked coca´s on Leblon Beach was rudely interrupted by a thunderous clap and then a bucketing downpour.

The next day was epic. Andre had pointed us north and we took an early morning walk through Parque Faria Lima along the western side of Lagoa Rodrigo de Freitas which will undoubtedly be the venue for any rowing that takes place in the impending 2016 Olympic Games. From there we continued towards a favoured haunt of the artistically inclined, the cafe inside the Ecola Artes Visuals on Rua Jardim Botanico. This is housed in a beautifully opulent mansion rebuilt in the 1920´s under Mario Vodrel on the grounds of the botanical gardens. The gardens here contain the only native forest left in Rio, and sitting in the courtyard by peering up past the elaborate colonnades one can see Cristo Redentor as he spreads his arms over the city. After coffee we walked through the gardens and into Gavea for lunch in Brasero de Gavea, another famous haunt with a reputation for great meat.

We had arranged a tour to take in the main sites for the afternoon, and were picked up in the hostel at 2pm to be shuttled up to the first stop of the day, the iconic Cristo. As I was looking up at the statue from the many angles our wanderings in the city to date had afforded, I had wondered at the impressiveness of the peak on which it stands, Corcovado (´the hunchback´). Its an incredibly steep incline and we passed through colourful favelas on our way to the top, winding through the greenery as the road twisted ever upwards.

The views of the city up here are spectacular. The statue itself was designed by a local named Da Costa Silva and sculpted by a Frenchman named Landowski. It is the largest art deco statue in the world and was completed in 1931 heralding the start of Rio´s golden age which lasted until the late 50´s. The locals get a slagging from their cousins in Sao Paolo who consider themselves as the workers in the country, and the Cariocas (locals of Rio) as a shower of beach bumming messers. The story goes that Cristo is waiting up there with his arms wide open ready to clap as soon as a Carioca does a decent days work.

So from that lofty height we descended through San Teresa and made for the conical monstrosity that is the enormous Catedral de São Sebastião do Rio de Janeiro. The interior of the church makes up for its, in my view anyway, horrendous exterior which was built in homage to Aztec architecture. With a standing capacity of 20,000 the huge floor space is covered by sloping stained glass windows that stretch the entirety of the 75 metre internal height.

Next stop is the venue for the World Cup final in 2014, the Macarena. 200,000 people crammed into this place to witness Pele´s last game there in 1950. We mucked around taking photos of our feet in the foot imprints of the cream of Brazilian soccer before making our way to another of Rio´s venerated spots - the Sambadrome.

Carnaval is something I will endeavor until my dying day to attend. Every February this enormous street party sweeps its bachannalian self through Rio. The official hub of this week long mayhem is the Sambadrome, a narrow strip of road hemmed in on one side by a series of concrete stands and on the other by a public school that is converted into VIP viewing boxes for the big event. The 12 samba schools of Rio spend about an hour each marching through this gauntlet vying for the top prize.

Last stop on our thoroughly enjoyable if whirlwind tour was Sugar Loaf (Pão de Açúcar). We took two separate funiculars (built in 1912) to its peak. The first leg to Morro da Urca takes you to 220 metres, and the viewing platforms on Sugar Loaf itself are about 400m above sea level. We opted to leave our guide and hang on for sunset up here. The photos speak for themselves, it is a breathtaking cityscape.

Eventually we made it back down and to Leblon where we showered and hopped a bus towards Lapa to get involved in some of Rio´s famed nightlife. We weren´t disappointed. I can only imagine what Carnaval must be like. Lights, action....mayhem! There were thousands of people of all shapes sizes, race and sexual persuasion spilling in and out of samba clubs, bars and cafes and drinking on the square under the peeling whitewashed old aquaduct. Fellas were walking around with bottles of rum, tequila and cachaça and shot glasses..mobile human chaser machines keeping the masses suitably fuelled. All you had to do was put your hand up and you would have three or four of them trying to pour looney juice down your throat for r$1 (about 40 euro cents) a pop.

We were immediately bowled over and energised by the madness of the place and bought a few caipirainha´s to wander with. I stupidly wandered into a dimly lit stretch of pathway past the aquaduct and had to fight my way out from about 10 kids who attacked me looking for my wallet. They were only 20 metres from a cop car but were hidden well enough in the shadows. Luckily I got out intact, money still in my pocket.

SO we stayed to the crowded sections, popping in and out of the samba clubs. I bumped into Niall Haughian, a fella I did my leaving cert with. I hadn´t seen him since were in school so we both did a bit of a double take, and promptly headed for the nearest bar to celebrate. It turned out we didnt take too much notice of our surroundings..I left the group a while later to find a toilet. We were sitting on the street, so I nipped into the ´bar´. It was a converted furniture shop full of coke fuelled gay guys getting friendly with each other. Ahh, Rio. It was fine though, no menace about the place just more people having a good time. Eventually we ended up out on the streets mixing with the crowds having chats with Nigerian pharmacists, sculptors from the favelas, Chilean postmen and lots of other random lunatics.

The next day was a bit of a write off, we were in bits. We wandered to a nearby mall, wasted 2 hours trying to get photos saved onto a dvd, and made our way to Copacabana where we sat in a beach front cafe and ate while people watching. After walking the length of the beach we returned to Leblon, sitting in one of the beach bars sipping out of coconuts trying to make sense of the previous evening. After another great sushi dinner that night we knocked Rio on the head, happy that given the short time frame for seeing the city we had squeezed in as much as we could have.

Country # 14......Brasil!!!

The last of the 14 countries it will have taken us to complete the full circumnavigation is the 5th largest in the world, and one hell of a sexy spot. Like the Dutch are deservedly associated with clogs and bicycles, and the ´suave´ Irish with Guinness and fiscal mayhem the Brazilians do tanned asses in thongs, football and samba like no one else. With 1% of the population owning 50% of the land mass (which is the size of the USA excluding Alaska) its no wonder that you get a distinct feeling that the best things in life are free and to be enjoyed openly.

Crossing the border was easier than expected, and we made it to Foz do Iguazu by lunchtime on a quiet Sunday afternoon. The main bus terminal is a fair bit out of the town itself but we needed to get there asap to make sure to get tickets for a night bus to Florianapolis. So we spent about 6 hours in limbo in the station eating drinking and messing about until the appointed hour arrived..and no bus showed up. 2 hours later we were on our way. This was to be the final bus journey. After a good 20 hours of human stink, constant stopping and starting, raucous families and other passengers getting on and off and causing mayhem at all hours, random customs inspections and by now hugely swollen feet and cramped legs from lack of movement we were decidedly finished with long haul bus journeys.

From the centre of Florianapolis it took another 2 hours to get about 30kms out onto the island to Barro do Lagoa and the beach we were by now ready to roll around on, bags still strapped to our backs. The hostel we had booked turned out to be a winner, even if the friendly kiwi who runs the place informed us that there were no ATMs within walking distance and we had to get another bloody bus to get cash. That first day in Barro was a bit of a nightmare. Having finally got there absolutely shattered, we had to bus it back in towards the city, go to a number of banks before finding one that took our cards, all the while peering out the steamy windows at beautifully inviting beaches. By the time we had sorted ourselves out we took a walk along the cliff tops to an alleged swimming hole. All we found was a treacherous series of rocks and some mentalists braving the rip currents.

That night we had grilled sole in a restaurant down by the beach front, our appetites having been stoked by the sight of returning fishermen unloading their weighty cargo on a dock in the centre of the village.

Barra Beach Club turned out to be a fantastic little place. We shared a log cabin perched atop stilts and with a balcony overlooking the sweeping bay with a few Aussies and a British family. The balcony had a few hammocks that got a fair bit of usage in the evenings as I sat sipping mate (Argentinian green tea) and reading while the sun set.

Next morning having eventually navigated our way through the quagmire that is booking domestic flights in Brazil we bought a few bags of fresh fruit and some cold beers and finally hit the beach that had been calling out to us for the previous 24 hours!! Hours later and suitably satisfied with ourselves we spent the evening with our house mates over a few drinks on the balcony. A frenetic, crazed yet infinitely hospitable German lady has an idyllic restaurant just down the lane way from the hostel, and we visited her in the hope of partaking in some more fresh fish. The balcony has an unrestricted view of an impossibly gorgeous cove and we sat whiling away the time it took her to clatter and bang together a meal for us taking in the balmy sea breeze over a bottle of wine. She emerged triumphantly with a platter of roasted vermelho and we tucked in.

Then another glorious day on the beach, more fresh fruit, a few lime juices from the stall boys that wheel their shops along the sea front..jumping in and out of the surf like excited puppies..ahahahahhh. Yes.

The flight to Rio the next morning, via Sao Paolo, was a misty eyed daydream compared to the previous couple of journeys. Banking over the sea and into Rio on a clear day has to be a pilot´s pleasure. The tarmac of Santos Dumont juts dramatically out into the water as the iconic Cristo Redentor oversees the countless jets whizzing around its ears like flies. Catching a glimpse of the iconic statue as it emerged from the clouds just before we landed was something I will never forget.

Puerto Iguazu - 11th to 13th December

Another night bus...this one was the worst and longest yet. Our seats were within sufficient distance of the toilet to induce nausea every time one of our fellow passengers decided to relieve themselves. Intermittent sleeping, mumbling and fidgeting filled the almost 20 hours it took to cover the distance from Salta. The landscape changed dramatically from arid and dusty to verdant and extremely humid. The greens and contrasting auburns of the soil were a welcome change from what we had been looking at for the previous few days.

Puerto Iguazu thrives as a touristic hub for the nearby Iguazu Falls. The falls are world renowned and straddle the border with Brazil. We settled into ´Hostel Sweet Hostel´ deliriously giddy after the journey. This was a cosy enough place, and we were reasonably enamored with it for a few hours sitting by the pool reading until it started to bucket rain and our room flooded. The electricity was on the blink aswell, which apparently is a regular occurrence in wet weather.

I bumped into Peter Stapleton in the hostel, and with his girlfriend and her family who were visiting them for a few weeks on their travels we were taxied through the sheets of rain to a nearby restaurant. We had a great parilla and a few glasses of wine before hitting a nearby bar. It was great to catch up with someone from Naas and we eventually made our way back to the hostel as all had an early start the next morning.

The weather had cleared as we caught a bus to the entrance to the falls. We paid our way, got a few maps and set off into the grounds. The abundance of wildlife became apparent pretty quickly. Coati roamed through the forest and around the eating areas and hundreds of bright butterflies surrounded us as we made our way towards the ´eco train´ that crests the eastern side of the falls. The most spectacular of the waterfalls, Garganta del Diablo (Devil´s Throat) can be accessed by a winding walkway that threads its way over the surging water and right up to the edge of the falls. The power of the water is unbelievable and unfortunately my paltry grasp of the English language precludes an accurate description. Its huge, thunderous, awe inspiring, other adjective adjective etc.

There are a series of trails that wind through the undergrowth and offer amazing views of the main event. The best was the Lower Trail which makes it´s way right down to the river. We had booked a boat trip and were whizzed around for about 15 minutes. It was really refreshing given the humidity, and we got soaked as we pulled in right underneath a couple of the falls!

Sitting on the rocks afterward we admired the view and smugly delighted at yet again landing in paradise. Our revelry was shattered by a guide who informed us that we were sitting in the middle of snake and scorpion infested undergrowth, and we better get our arses out of here pronto!

Satisfied with our day we left and enjoyed a free bbq in honour of the hostel owners birthday. We were too wrecked to partake in the drinking and hit the beds early. Iguazu was definitely a highlight in our South America experience. After months of continual stimulation it can sometimes take something a little special and out of the ordinary to inspire that ´wow factor´ and the falls certainly did not disappoint.

Next stop Brazil!

Salta

We arrived into Salta much later than planned due to our tardy start so by the time we got to the hostel it was dark and we were wrecked. We stayed in Las Rejas hostel which was more like a B&B. Fresh towels were such a treat!

We spent the next day wandering around Salta, glad to be off the bus and stretching the legs! We walked to the cathedral on the main square. It is a peach coloured building built in 1882. We had coffee on Plaza 9 de Julio before heading into the controversial Museo de Arqueologia de Alta Montana. Inside they have the mummified remains of a six year old girl found high up in the Llullaillaco volcanoe (6739m) in the Andes range in 1999. Three mummified remains of children were found in a sanctuary in Llullaillaco and many locals believe they should be laid to rest instead of being on display. It is eerie to observe the yound girl who was found still perfectly intact and lifelike due to the freezing temperatures at that altitude.

These child sacrifices were given a maize drink which made them fall asleep and then they were left in the mountain as an offering to the Gods. They were accompanied by gold and silver statues and textiles.

Afterwards we headed towards Cerro San Bernardo and ascended by the cable car. It gives a fantastic view over the city and the surrounding mountains. We wandered back to the main square via the white washed walls of Convento San Bernardo and the ´ox-blood coloured´ Iglesia y Convento San Francisco. It is a nice town to wander around but most of its activities involved a bus one way or the other so we opted for aimless wandering instead. We easily secured our tickets for the following day to our next destination, Puerto Iguazu.

Counterfeit 100 peso notes are something of a problem in Argentina. The worrying thing is twice now I have received false notes from ATMs. We hoped to tackle the situation in Salta but the queues for all the banks were astounding. We could not figure out what was going on. The queue around outside the post office went for a couple of blocks. It was the same the next day too.

Of course now that we were back in Argentina we sought the best steak in town to make up for lost time. The proprietors of Las Rejas highly recommended La Monumental restaurant. We stopped in ´Los Tribunales´ a lovely little pub/ cafe on the way to the restaurant. We were drawn in by the appearance of the place and the old fashioned decor inside. Lots of old men sitting around reading papers drinking and smoking. It was like Salta´s answer to Fletcher´s. La Monumental did not let us down and we enjoyed a delicious meal there before calling it a night.

San Pedro De Atacama..Part 2

We had an extra two days to spend in SPDA seeing as the bus we wanted was fully booked. The first was mostly spent with Alex and Jeanette before saying our goodbyes that evening. We had a lovely meal on the main plaza in the town and sat for a few hours chatting. It was nice for a change to have no excursions lined up and the chance to sit back and enjoy SPDA for the lovely little town that it is. The main plaza is a lovely tree filled square with a beautiful white washed adobe church with a mud roof and a bright blue door.

The streets of the town for the most part are not paved and leave a cloud of dust when cars drive over them. The buildings are all small, adobe structures containing over-priced restaurants, souvenir shops and travel agencies. SPDA is the kind of place you hope to experience in Chile, finally out of the big cities we felt we had found something a little more authentic, pity there's 100's of tourists everywhere, ha! But in spite of that it is very much worth the visit. Its a interesting little town surrounded by incredible landscapes. At times it reminded us of places in Mongolia we'd been and Olkhon Island in Russia, a very basic standard of living, unpaved roads and makeshift homes.

On our last day in town we wandered into the museum off the main square. There are claims that in parts of the Atacama basin it has not rained for 100's of years hence its claim as the driest place on earth. I don't find that hard to believe. Jeanette who is Namibian would possibly argue that matter. According to her and Alex there are places in Namibia with a lot less running water throughout the town. Irrigation channels here line the gutters with plentiful water supplies running through them. In terms of precipitation levels however we reckon its drier.


Over 12000 years ago there was twice as much rain in the region, and so more river flow from the surrounding mountains filling large lakes. Between 8000 and 6000 years ago there was an intense drought that dried the lakes to produce the salt flats we see today. Further climate change around 3000 years ago brought about the current climate experienced in SPDA. The town sits in the Atacama basin surrounded by the Andes with elevation ranging from 2300m to 6000m and so even when it's dry at lower altitude snow melt higher up is a continuous source of water for the settlements at lower levels. The mountain ranges here are called Cordillera de la Sal and Cordillera de Domeyko.

The first evidence of human settlement in the Atacameno territory dates back from 9000 to 6000BC. Both the states of Tiwanaku and Inka made pre-Hispanic contact with the Atacamenos influencing the culture of the region. The state of Tiwanaku (500-100AD) predates the Inka period (1450-1810AC) and had its' centre near Lake Titicaca in Bolivia. It is considered one of the first states of South America. They imposed a hierarchical state leadership over the chiefs of the ethnic groups in parts of Bolivia, southern Peru, N.W. Argentina and N. Chile. They introduced gold and bronze to these regions.

After their collapse the Inka state dominated from Equador to central Chile. Their conquests ranged from violent to peaceful depending on the resistance met by local tribes. They imposed their religious ideals which emphasised a solar cult and veneration of the Inka emperor, as well as imposing cultural and social customs. They introduced economics and politics and new technologies such as mining. The centre of their empire was located in Cuzco in Peru.

It was 90 years after the arrival of the Inka that the Spanish invaded Atacameno territory. With them they bought Christianization further cultural mixing and introduction of new animals like cows, sheep, goat and horses.

The history of Atacama is just as interesting as the geography. We felt like we only had the tip of iceberg though. Not being able to speak the language fluently can be frustrating when trying to learn about a country, you always feel like you're missing out on more when you don't fully understand what's going on around you. Since we have arrived in Chile the run up to local elections and presidential elections has been very apparent everywhere we have been. Economically Chile is the most stable of the Latin American countries at the moment. The risk of violent crime is very low. It is a very family orientated society. Chileans are renowned for the sense of hospitality and sociable nature. Machismo is not as prevalent here as other Latin American countries, women are very much respected. The president at the moment is the first ever female Chilean president, Michelle Bachelet.

The Chileans too are traditionally late and whilst the buses we´ve been on over the past few weeks have been for the most part punctual we had our first experience of the renowned South American tardiness the morning we were due to leave on our scheduled 9.40am bus. We sat on the side of the road with all the other gringos waiting to get out of town. There was no bus stop so we sat in the sun slowly cooking and getting more and more impatient. Buses came and went but none to Salta.

As if organising the passage out of SPDA into Argentina wasn´t hard enough we now had the added insult of waiting some more! At 11.30 a bus pulled up with Salta posted in its' windscreen. It wasn´t the company we booked with but at that point no one seemed to care. Backpacks were piled in the boot before the bus driver had a chance to protest and we all gathered around eager to get the hell out of there. After much confusion with border papers we finally left just after midday. James and I by some luck had the correct papers and so crossing the border was painless and we were back aboard and ascending the Andes once more.

The road snakes west in a gradual rise from SPDA towards the Andes, and before we knew it we were twisting and turning through great valleys and up and down steep roadways towards Salta. On the Argentinian side the colours of the rock formations were spectacular greens and shades of red.

The journey was probably the most scenic we have done to date. We pulled into Salta just after dark and fell gratefully into Las Rejas Hostel.

Lagoa Cejas

Later that afternoon we embarked on a second excursion into the desert. This time we bumped our way for about two hours towards Lagoa Cejas, a beautiful salt lake with shimmering reflections of the surrounding peaks. After the stuffy bus we fell out onto the cracked mud and practically sprinted towards the shore. I´ve never swam in such heavily salinated water..it was amazing. The top layer was quite warm but within a few feet it got very cold. It was impossible to dive down more than 7 or 8 feet, and it was freezing so I gave up on that fairly quickly and just floated around. We couldn´t even swim properly because our legs were sticking up out of the water..it was bliss! After a quick wash in freshwater we had brought along with us to scrub off the salt we were back in the bus and heading towards our second stop of the evening..the ¨eyës of the desert¨.

These are two circular freshwater oases out in the middle of the nothingness. They only appear on the horizon from a few hundred metres away and are a truly bizarre natural phenomena given their proximity to each other and almost identical size and shape. They are about 12 metres in diameter and the water level rises to about 5 feet from ground level. They are perfect for jumping in and out of..which we did like big 3 year olds for about 20 minutes before tiring ourselves out.

The last stop of the evening where we watched the sun going down while sipping pisco sours (national drink) was another huge salt lake with lumps of crystals all along the shoreline. It was like snow. We took some amazing photographs of the lake and surrounds as the colours of the mountains changed in the receding light. Just after sunset we packed up and rattled our way back to town, absolutely knackered but satisfied with our day.

San Pedro de Atacama, Chile - the driest place on earth apparently

We arrived feeling surprisingly fresh after the 17 hour bus journey into San Pedro de Atacama (SPDA) J and I slept loads, but woke just in time to catch some of the fantastic scenery coming up to the town. At 11am it was already 39 degrees celsius, a very dry heat. We made our way to our hostel Neuvo Amancer, not a bad spot, a little bit out of the town but nice communal areas and a good shower.


We got a recommendation from some fellow hostel mates for a tour company so we headed off down the town to see what was on offer. Having parted ways with Alex and Jeanette at the bus station (they were camping) we were laughing when within a few minutes of walking we bumped into them again. We decided to use our collective bargaining power to see what kind of deal we could get and secured ourselves three tours for 30,000 pesos with Corvatsch one of the big tour operators. By 4pm that afternoon we were back on a bus and en route to Valle de Luna (Moon Valley).

The landscape is spectacular, unlike anything I´ve seen before. One can see the mighty Andean range from the town. Licancabur the tallest in the range at 5920m is in fact a conical, active volcano. We stopped off a couple of kilometers outside the town to look over the Moon Valley with it´s rocky outcrops and massive sand dunes all different shades of brown. It is so dry here that the dust and sand gets up your
nostrils and into your eyes with ease, it takes a little getting used to. We´ve experienced this kind of heat before but never so dry, it leaves you gasping for water on a regular basis. Further down the road we got out of the bus again and did a short trek to the top of Death Valley. This has jagged rocky peaks and large dark brown dunes and the view from the top down is impressive to say the least. There are more rewarding views of the Andes from there too so it was hard to know which way to point the camera first. Our guide proceeded to bring us down over the edge and descend into Death Valley. After a few minutes of walking along the ridge of a large dune, he turned around and said "follow me" and started to run directly down the sand dune to the valley floor. We looked in shock and amusement, I think Jeanette was
one of the first to go careering after him. It was great craic as we were running yelping and screaming like big kids. There was a group of sandboarders over to our far left skimming along the dune surface and I felt it was all quite surreal! At the bottom we all caught our breath and poured the sand out of our shoes!

We walked on from there along the valley floor and past more tall dunes and rock formations which against the clear blue sky are abreath-taking sight. Back on the bus shortly after that and onwards to some salt caves and passages which again were more awesome geographical formations for us to get our heads round.

Before the sun set we made our way to another part of Valle de Luna and climbed up onto the mountain crest to sit and wait and watch the sun go down. It was fantastic, 100´s of people were all spread out along the mountain ridges watching and waiting. As the sun went down it cast beautiful purple and pink colours ofver the Andes in the
distance and into the canyons. J and I shared our beers with our Alex and Jeanette and savoured the moment. The only downfall was as soon the sun was down our guide was trying to get us to go back down to the bus. ¨Vamos chicos!¨ We held out for as long as we could not wanting to miss the best part. We arrived back in the town before 9pm and hadan early night. Geysers tour up next!

The geysers tour meant a 4am start so as to reach them before dawn when the temperature and light is best to view them. We were warned of cold weather as they are at an altitude of over 4500m, so we dressedas warm as our wardrobe allowed! As we drove around the town and picked everyone up I remarked how some people looked like they were prepared for snow! They had the last laugh however, after a very bumpy
ride up the mountains for two hours we arrived and were met with minus 7 degrees celsius as we stepped off the bus! Holy God! I can´t remember the last time I´ve ever been that cold! I thought my nose might fall off! Our guide who was a bit of a shambles didn´t make his alarm and so we were guideless wandering around the geysers. Jeanette and Alex tagged onto another English speaking guide who showed them around and warned them of the dangers, whilst J and I wandered aimlessly taking pictures and lamenting how cold it was. It was most impressive just as the sun began to rise and the light illuninated the long plumes of steam coming from some of the geysers.

Having already had a geyser experience in NZ we had a fair idea of what we were looking at. The remarkable thing here was that there was 50-60 geysers all in the one area. They lacked however the safety precautions that are abundant in NZ. Perhaps that´s what the guides are for! Feckin Gonzalo, messer! Our bus driver made every effort to please us in fairness to him, but he only spoke Spanish so we weren´t
too sure what he was saying and it just so happened no one on our bus spoke both Spanish and English.

We all stood around and had breakfast near the geysers, the bus driver boiled the eggs and heated our milk in the geysers steam much to my amusement. After brekkie it was straight over to the thermal pools and a reluctant strip off in the cold before a quick dash into the warm waters. ahhhhhhh. So we soaked there enoying the warmth with geysers steamin´in the distance and mountains all around. And of course a few
onlookers standing in their jackets, hats and scarves contemplating
whether they wanted to join us or not!

We made our way back down the mountains after that, this time able to take in the scenery we missed out on during the dark ascent. We spotted vicuna which are part of the camelid family (the other members native to the area being guanaco´s, alpaca and llama) They are the largest group of indigenous Amerian animals and are only found in the Andean region. We stopped here and there on the way down for snaps and to stretch the legs. One such place we pulled into was a small village with a beautiful white church on the hillside. James, Alex and Jeannette tucked into llama kebabs as we wandered aroud. It tastes like salty mutton fyi.

We were back in town by midday. James and I planned to siesta like the rest of the town but our plans were quashed when our hopes of organising our passage out of SPDA didn´t work out so smoothly, we spent some time trying to organise bus tickets back over into Argentina to no avail. Putting that to back of our minds we joined our
group once more for our final excursion. More to come on that...........

La Sereña, Chile

The bus journey from Valparaiso to La Sereña took about 8 hours, and we arrived in relatively good shape at Hostal Casa Maria in mid afternoon. We had hugged the coast on the way north, passing fairly arid landscape consisting of scrubland strewn with cacti to our right, and dramatic views of the cliffs and shoreline to the left.

Casa Maria turned out to be the nicest accommodation we have had so far in South America. Our room was in the back garden of the house occupied by the owners and set amidst lemon and cherry trees. It was a lovely spot to chill out in for a few days, and since Sarah was coming down with the flu it turned out to be a perfect place to convalesce.

Mauritio and his mam (Maria) run the place, and they are quite a pair. Mammy clucks around, scolding poor old Mauritio (in his mid 30s at least) for spending too much time on the computer and not enough cleaning and scrubbing. We awoke one morning to the sound of a blazing row between them, the culmiation of which had Mauritio on his hands and knees scrubbing out the under decking of one of the raised rooms at the back of the garden, Mammy standing triumphantly akimbo smiling sweetly at the guests in between firce glances towards her offspring. Alex, our Safrican buddy is a Calvinist Minister back home, and hates any sort of conflict especially one in which he cannot understand enough of what is going on in order to intervene in. He was cowering in the corner while all this was going on. It felt like you were at a friends house when their Ma went off on one at them..hilarious.


La Sereña is a sleepy old town set about 2km back from the seafront. The beach is nothing spectacular, a long wild strip that would be great for surfing and windsurfing but it certainly is not for swimming. I went for a run down along it one day and could see the rip pretty clearly.

So we relaxed for the afternoon, wandered around town and decided to take a trip out to the astronomical observatory at Mamalluca about 70km inland near the town of Vicuña.

Northern Chile is one of the best places in the world to observe the night sky, and we were treated to a few hours of star gazing by an excellent and abundantly knowledgable local guide. We were lucky enough to have arrived on a full moon. I have never seen the moon rise with such clarity as I did that night, its rays peeping over the surrounding peeks until its light burst over illuminating the entire observatory site. At a brief lecture afterwards the guide used an amazing programme called Stellarium (free to download) which is sort of a Google Earth for the cosmos.

Next day was a lazy one. We had planned on trying to find a decent beach for a swim but the weather was overcast in the morning so we resorted to a few hours of wandering about town and catching up on emails. Mama Maria was in full fettle again. Our laundry was hanging out to dry and a bird had shit a pair of Sarah's shorts. Panic. It's Mauritio's fault of course. "Loco Mauritio". We have to catch our bus in half an hour. Tears well in Mama's eyes. What will the foreigners think of us? Sending them off with wet shitty shorts! "Lo siento ...ohhhh lo siento Saraaaa!'. Sarah did her best to assure her that the sky wasnt going to cave in, and that the famously high standards of Chilean hospitality had not just received a fatal blow. As we were on our way out Mama saw the guitar..."ohhhh me guuusta Jimiii Henrix..me gusta Rolleen Stone....ooooh Meek Yaaaager...y Los Beeetos....ahhh". A rare old bird, quite the sweet old character!


We had booked ourselves on a night bus to San Pedro de Atacama and together with our South African travelling companions set off for the station.

CHILE

Crossing the Andes





We followed the same route west as we had a few days previously on the Alta Montana trip, yet the journey was still as breathtaking as the first time. So once again through the vinyards and lush Uspallata Valley onwards and upwards throught the monolithic peaks of the Andes. We caught a glimpse of Aconcagua to our right this time..the day was much clearer.Again the altitude was quite apparent, and at the border crossing, which took over three hours, we were knocked out with the effects. I will be taking medication for our crossing back into Argentina, which we plan to do from San Pedro de Atacama, a route that crosses a path at a height of over 4000m.

The colours of the mountains constantly change..greens and reds to bright sandstone to huge quartz rock faces. Around the border there is still plenty of snow on the nearby peaks, and once we were finally underway again the descent began through much of the same kind of terrain. One cant help but feel miniscule in the midst of such a range. At one point the road twists for a couple of kilometres down a dramatic decline to a valley floor like a leaden snake winding its way towards Santiago.

It became verdant quite quickly, and there were plenty of horses in the fields right up to the outskirts of the city. We passed through slums that reminded me of the wooden shacks that make up much of the outer ring of Ulan Batar, and after about 3 hours from the border found ourselves in the heart of Chile´s capital.

Santiago

I would recommend the hostel we found ourselves in, the comfortable and homely Hostel Forestal, which is beside the park of the same name and a ten minute walk to Pio Nono, the bridge that crosses a sludgey Rio Mapocho and leads to a street lined with numerous watering and feeding holes. We had tapas and a beer in a restaurant inside a modern development called Patio Bellavista. The food in Chile is plainer than Argentina, and seems to consist mainly of empanadas and chorillana (mentioned below). In terms of prices, the current euro rate is 750 chilean pesos to the euro. That tapas meal and drinks cost about 6,000 pesos, and the place is very upmarket. Wandering further up Pio Nono and past the scores of lively bars we had a quick drink before heading back to the hostel, deciding to be sensible for once and get some rest before seeing the city properly the following day.

So up early and refreshed we made for the tree lined bustling Plaza de Armas. Then to the site of the darkest moment in recent Chilean history, the presidential palace at La Moneda where Pinochet and his forces ousted the first democratically elected Marxist president in history, Salvador Allende who allegedly committed suicide during the coup here in 1973.

A few blocks away is the Museo de Arte Precolumbiano which has an amazing collection of indigenous art from all over Latin America. There are great displays on the role of the shaman across a lot of different cultures, who were at one point described as "little hallucinting men who resolved difficulties" After an hour of so wandering around we decided to take the funicular up to Cerro San Cristobal, on top of which stands a 22m statue of the Virgin Mary.

Santiago lies in a bowl between the Andes to the east and the Chilean Coastal Range to the west so the views from up here were pretty spectacular, looking out over ´Sanhatten´ the high rise financial centre and off to the snowy peaks in the distance. I bought myself a knock off Chilean footbal jersey, deciding that since Ireland will be a no show I may aswell support some other no hope long shot in South Africa.

Only 90 minutes from Santiago by bus, we arranged to go to Valparaiso that evening.


Valparaiso

Che Guevara fairly accurately dubbed Valparaiso a "madhouse museum" in his Motorcycle Diaries after spending a few days here in the early 1950´s. It doesnt seem that much has changed over the last half century. The streets are covered in grime, bottles, piles of twisted metal and hundreds of brightly coloured torn posters. Yet there were very few people about on the Sunday evening we pulled into town, gawping out the bus window at the chaos left in the wake of a long day of election campaigning (election to be held on 5th December). The city seemed to be breathing a sigh of relief after a hectic weekend.

A quick taxi ride from the bus station brought us up to Hostel Angel, perched on one of the many steep hills that run to their ends at the docks. Poor Sarah was very vocal about her displeasure at the unfolding situation..Cummings St looked like a bomb had hit it, ..a bomb full of little artists with cans of spray paint and a hatred for straight lines and tarmac.

We settled into the place quickly however, the very welcoming and friendly Marco giving us a quick crash course on the areas of interest, and those of danger. His father is the chief engineer on the city´s famous funiculars so we received expert advise on the ones to take and those not to bother with.

Valparaiso is Chile´s cultural capital, consisting of thousands of chaotic brightly painted adobe structures hanging on the hills over a busy and frenetic port. From the sea it must look like the arc of a rainbow hovering over an apocalyptic junkyard. We hadn´t eaten anything since breakfast, and it was approaching 7pm so I asked Marco to recommend somewhere to eat..he came up trumps.

Nobody does chorillana like JM Cruz´s. This little trinket filled haunt, covered of course in the ubiquitous graffiti of the city is a charming place to be introduced to Chile´s national dish - a huge helping of potatoes, onions, scrambled eggs and strips of beef drowned in gravy. We sat and watched re runs of a hilariously cringe worthy 70´s tv series called Operacion Rosa Rosa, washing down the chorillana with bottles of Pañana, a very tasty Bolivian brew. Then back to the hostel for a few drinks with an Austrian and a couple of Americans,..all of which I managed to insult very tastefully, much to Sarah´s be/amusement.

Next morning we had planned to go and visit Pablo Neruda´s house, but the place was closed. I was raging because we had missed out on visiting another of his houses in Santiago. Neruda is held in the same regard in Chile as Evita is in Argentina..a socialist hero of the people, and a winner of the Nobel prize for literature. So we walked down towards Plaza de Sotomayor, sat and had coffee on the square under the enormously imposing edifice of the Chilean Armada headquarters. Then up a nearby funicular to Cerro Concepcion and Cerro Allegre. This part of the city designated with World Heritage status in 2003 in recognition of the architectural and engineering wonders that are the city´s main form of transport up the hills. The funiculars are the oldest operating in the world, dating from 1883 and are for the most part in great nick. While the views out over the city and ocean are fantastic it is the architecture and rambling cobbled laneways, random stairwells and graffiti that are the real attraction. Valparaiso is a photographer´s playground, no matter where you look the potential for a postcard shot is there.

After a few hours of wandering around we found a restaurant whose balcony clung to a hillside, and sat drinking beer looking out over the harbour and at the sweeping vista of the city below.

That evening we took the short train journey to Viña del Mar, expecting the laid back beach resort we had read about. Unfortunately the place is just as gritty as its near neighbour, is chronically over built and resembles much of the ´holiday´ mayhem to be found on the southerm Spanish coast. We walked along the beachfront, where building sites were running drains straight into the sea amid seemingly nonchalant swimmers who fought with the rip to stay close to the shore. I got too much sun, and fearing sun stroke made for the trainstation, drank a few litres of water and fell gratefully into bed when we finally got back to the hostel. I surfaced a few hours later, and we spent a few hours chatting to a South African couple who too were on their way north to La Serena the following day. We arranged to stay in the same hostel, and bade them good night since our bus left at 8am the following morning.

Mendoza, Argentina - Nov 09

Mendoza has a population of one million people and lies in a valley 100km west of the Andes. Open irrigation channels orginially built by the Inca´s to divert snowmelt down from the mountains still give life to the greenspaces of the city centre. Siesta time is taken very seriously here and everything shuts down from about 1pm till 5pm.

In 1861 the city was almost levelled by an earthquake. It was rebuilt to plan with plazas strategically placed every few blocks and there are lots of beautiful leafy sycamore trees lining the streets which provide much needed shade. It was 35 degrees celsius when we arrived!

The wine was of course the big draw for us here. It´s not like us to pass up the opportunity to visit a wine region! However the petroleum industry is in fact the primary industry here. Luckily enough the nearest refinery is located outside the city, well out of sight.

We were a little dazed and confused when we first arrived stepping drowsily from the bus. We checked into Hostel Lagares to a very friendly Javier who spoke English and was more than helpful! We splashed out ten euro for own room with air con., yahoo!

We wandered off down Avenida General San Martin and instantaneously fell in love with the place. There is a very relaxed vibe and it was a welcome break from the previous two hectic cities. We strolled to Plaza Indepencia which is in the heart of the city, and from there to Plaza Espana which is far more charming. Lunch was consumed in La Barca on Espejo, nice cheap eats. At this point James was nearing siesta time and so we headed back to the hostel. So whilst everyone slept I spent a couple of hours researching what exactly we were gonna do with ourselves for the next few weeks!

Later that night we headed out to La Buque on Sarmiento for dinner, as recommended by the local wine magazine. It was all fantastic till a tour bus of people poured in and kind of killed the buzz. But great meal all the same.

We headed off on the Alta Montana route the next day. After about twenty minutes of driving outside Mendoza and the wine region the green trees disappear and give way to a dusty, rocky landscape. The scenery is truly spectacular. The Alta Montana route follows the former Trans-Andean railway and the Rio Mendoza into the Uspallata valley. There are many points of interest along the way. The first stop was a small settlement in the Uspallata valley for our morning coffee! Thank God! Incidentally it is all the location where Brad Pitt filmed the movie Seven Years in Tibet.

From there we climbed further up the mountains along winding roads and amidst truly unbelievable landscapes. We stopped to stretch the legs at Los Penitentes, a popular winter ski resort. Obviously it was closed this time of year but it is a popular climbing spot in summer.

Next on the itinerary was the site where a small bridge erected by Ambrosio O´Higgins is located. It´s very small but has alot of historical value. So many old buildings were flattened during the 1861 earthquake that the city has very little pre dating architecture left. The Incas used this bridge and it was the site where General San Martin camped with his army before crossing the bridge and heading over the border to liberate Chile.

Next up was Puente Del Inca. This is a natural stone bridge which traverses the Rio de las Cuevas at 2700m. Thermal waters seep from rocks above downwards creating streaks of colour due to oxidation of copper and iron in the rocks creating a multi-coloured rock bridge. There used to be a spa resort located there in the 1940s but it was destroyed by an avalanche in 1965 and never rebuilt. There is a strong lobby to rebuild however given the potential toursim windfall due to the therapeutic properties of the water.

Also along the Alta Montana route is Parque Provincial Aconcagua. At 6959m Aconcagua is the highest mountain in the west and southern hemispheres. Unfortunately it was a cloudy day and the summit was obscured. In 1985 an Inca mummy was discovered at 5300m. Unfortunately Aconcagua is only for the most experienced of climbers.

That day we ascended from the city of Mendoza at 750m to 3200m at the Chilean border where we stoppped for lunch. I certainly felt the effects of the altitude at that point. Everyone was definitely moving alot slower and it was more a trudge up to second floor of the restaurant we had lunch in. Anything above 2400m you´re likely to feel the effects.

The following day we had a day off! We strolled over to Parque General San Martin which is 4 square km of green space. It is filled with all sorts of clubs, regatta, horse-riding, tennis etc We very much had a swim in mind and hearing the regatta club had a large pool on the lakefront in the park we decided we´d check it out. After a bit of confusion (and a quick medical!) we gained admission to the pool area where we stayed for the day reading our books and jumping in and out of the water periodically. Heaven!

Back on the tourist band wagon once again we set off on a wine tour on our last day in Mendoza. First stop was Septima which is very much a commercial winery and they make no show of hiding that. We had a tour of the winery and got a very comprehensive explanation on the wine making process. That tended to be the trend for the day in each place we visited. None of the places we visited were in fact the ones we were told we were going to, but no surprises there. We´ve leanred not to get indignant or annoyed about such things after S.E. Asia. You just don´t always get what you pay for. It was however a very informative day and I actually learned more about the wine making process here than we did in Australia. We were only given two wines to taste in each winery which we were surprised about. After coming from Oz where they start with the whites and make their way through the reds until you stumble out of the place we half came to expect this in Mendoza. The wineries here export 70-80% of their produce and so making cellar door sales is not very important to them. In fact most of the wines we tasted were average. The highlight of the day was the lunch we were served in Cava de Cano restaurant that included plenty of free flowing shiraz! Two long wooden tables were spread with a multitude of tapas and the waiters came in and out serving empanadas and other hot pastry delicacies!

There are 1200 bodegas (wineries) in Argentina, approximately 700 of which are in Mendoza. The wine was mostly sold on the local market until 2001 and the a turn in their economy for the worst meant they started to export worldwide. The USA is their biggest market.

The other two bodegas we went to were Cecchin Familia Bodega and Bodega Carmine Granata. Both were family owned and run the latter being one of the oldest ones in the area. They were still using large concrete vats down in the basement.

The Cecchin family are operating one of the only organic bodegas in the area. Our tour there started off out in the vineyard under olive trees before wandering inside to see how they produce their wine. Two old women were chatting at a table as they hand labelled the bottles. It was a very charming little place, our favourite - you gotta love the personal touch!
A great day over all. We met two lovely Irish girls who we got chatting to for the day so we had a bit of craic with them.

That evening we had to cancel our dinner reservations and admit defeat! Instead we strolled around Plaza Indepencia through the night market. Parks in Argentina always seem to be full with kissing couples. They are quite a passionate bunch.

And so that was it, Mendoza, tick. We could have spent weeks there but with time ticking we packed up and grabbed the next bus out of town, out of the country!

Rosario

By the end of the first week in B.A. my digestive system was waving the white flag. Time to go! What a week though. All that alcohol, coffee, eating late and sleeping all hours has certainly not helped overcome the jetlag. Anyway we went to the main bus station which admittedly I was slightly nervous about. We had hear that it was mayhem, bus transport being the modus operandi of Argentinian domestic transport.

I had one phrase memorised in Spanish ´dos bileto, de ida a Rosario por favor´ so by the time we reached the top of the queue I spat it out quickly only to be told something in Spanish which I didnt understand... so then the fun began! Between the two helpful guys at the counter, some miming and our phrasebook we managed to purchase the aforementioned tickets, wuhoo!

We had heard about Argentinian buses and their relative comfort to other Latin America buses. Our curiousity was satisfied quickly and they met their reputation. It was only four hours to Rosario but we slept for most of it in our large reclinable seats.

We arrived into the city late and checked into Hostel Llanura which I have to plug here for the sheer efforts of it´s non-English speaking owners who go to every length to help you. It is also quite a new establishment and so our sheets came straight out of a new packet which made me very happy. There was a bunch of Americans in our dorm who informed us Manu Chao was playing that night in the city and tickets might still be available. They were living in B.A. and taking Spanish classes. After a quick shower we took advantge of them and their Spanish speaking ways in order to secure two tickets to Manu Chao. He is a French musician who has played all around the world, inlcuding Ireland where James saw him and he is particularly popular in South America. We were pretty excited about seeing him. We bought tickets at the door and as we queued to go in I observed the police everywhere all dressed in riot gear, helmets on and shields at the ready and couldn´t help think ´what the hell are we getting oursleves into here!!!!

However the atmosphere was jovial and so it made me feel more at ease. In hindsight the riot police were clearly scaremongering and also helping with crowd control.

On the way in the thunderous noise of drums and thousands of people chanting was resonating throughout the stadium and making the hairs on my arms stand on end even though there wasn´t a breeze in the air. The atmosphere was electric. At every entrance the doors were squashed with people. J pushed his way though to suss out the lay out and after a quick discussion we decided upstairs was better. The weather was pretty sticky outside, inside there was no air con., combined with alot of smoke made the place incredibly stuffy. It reminded me of gigs in the point back in the day when we all could smoke indoors. Glad those days our gone! The majority of the male contingency were topless in an effort to combat the overwhelming heat. The whole place was filled with topless, attractive, Argentinian males bouncing up and down singing at the top of their voice. It was a sight to behold let me tell you!! I think I stood with my mouth agape for a good five minutes we first got in! When Manu Chao came onstage the place went nuts, watching the antics on the ground floor was as entertaining as the gig itself. The whole floor seemed to move in waves, it was unbelievable. J and I were pretty happy we were above it all.

It was hot where we were I couldn´t even imagine what it would be like on the ground level surrounded by all that body heat too. That coupled with the fact that they were moshing and throwing themselves around the place like there was no tomorrow. Crowd surfing (long since banned at home) was a regular occurance here. Most people spilled over the barriers at the front where they were picked up by a bouncer and given a kick up the arse before being sent on their way. Only to get back into the crowd and do it again!

The crowd were very good spirited and there was no fights, when people fell others bent down to pick them up, when peoples faces met other peoples knees, it was all laughs and slaps on the backs, no aggressiveness at all which was the most amazing part. The gig itself was great. Really good dance/ reggae music, very cool. No alcohol is served either. A few very brave guys make their way though the crowds to try sell cups of coca-cola, holding their trays high above their heads. It was hilarious to watch them hesitantly make their way into the crowd on the ground floor, and then try scurry out with their wares intact when the crowd went nuts.

All in all it was a fantastic night. It was completely unexpected which made it even sweeter. We grabbed a quick bite to eat en route home about midnight (things were only kicking off at that hour) and fell into bed. I spent most of the night staring at the ceiling. Damn jetlag.

The next day we awoke and headed out to explore the city. It is infact the birthplace of Ernesto ´Che´ Guevara and so I was half expecting to see shops/ stalls everywhere selling Guevara badges, tshirts etc but that wasn´t the case. It was also Sunday, everything closes down on a Sunday in Argentina we quickly learned. We made our way down to the riverfront to where there is a large monument, Monumento a la Bandera, comemorating the spot where in 1812 General Belgrano first raised the Argentinian flag when they were liberated from Spain. We took the lift up this 70 metre tower for panormic views of the city and river.

It´s a big city, not as bigh as B.A. but lots of highrise and other similarities. It´s situated on a delta so there are many islands scattered in the river which have beaches and quite popular with the locals. The brown colour of the river did not however entice us!

We wandered around to other points of historical interest, the main plaza and it´s buildings down at the riverfront being very Stalinist in appearance surprisingly enough. We grabbed a late breakfast that day in a place called Newport cafe, nice spot with breakfast for less than five euro. We took a stroll around to the house where Che Guevara was born and lived in until he was two years old. It now houses offices and is not open to the public. A few blocks down the road there is a mural of Che´s face, so we had a quick gawk at it before heading back to the hostel.

We took it easy for a change that night, and got some much needed sleep! Our last day in Rosario was spent hanging around waiting for our bus that evening to Mendoza. Having pretty much seen all that Rosario had to offer we hung out in the hostel for awhile and strolled around Calles Cordoba for a few hours. The difference in the city from a Sunday to a weekday is incredible.

We also ventured into a supermarket out of curiousity only to be stunned by the prices. We had been spending what would be the relative equivalence of about 300 euro on meals in BA! The most expensive bottle of wine we could find in the supermarket was twelve euro!

Later that evening we boarded the night bus to Mendoza. Dinner, breakfast, blankets and pillows all inclusive in the price! The ticket was approximately 35 euro for a 14hour journey. They kicked off the journey with a game of bingo which was hilarious but it helped us practice our Spanish numbers, after that dinner was served and a movie switched on. Then lights out.

Argentina - No hablo espanol!

Buenos Aires - open 25 hours!

After a monster of a 13 hour flight we hit the pavement in Buenos Aires at 11 am local time fairly wrecked. We took a bus into the city centre. I slept for the whole journey and only really realised I was on another continent when the heat and dirt hit me during the taxi ride to our hostel. We had booked into Millhouse on Hipolito Yrigoyen. In an effort to put our body clocks on the right path we had showers and headed out to look around the city.

The hostel is only a block or two from one of the main drags - Av de Mayo so we strolled down towards Plaza De Congresso on the hunt for some asado (bbq beef). It didnt take long to find an agreeable place with streetside seating. We were served up a parilla por dos for about 9 euro. It consisted of about 2 lbs of beef, a heap of offal and basket of chips. Just what we needed...well maybe not..

Afterwards we waddled our way around the Congresso where there were protests afoot at the presence of Israeli prime minister Shimon Peres in the capital. We skirted our way around the crowds and made for Plaza De Mayo and the pink facade of the main government buildings at Casa Rosada. At this point we were too tired to contemplate anything but bed so reluctantly trudged back to the hostel for a sleep.


First impressions: it´s a very big, busy city. It´s dirtier than expected, the pavements are broken up and generally a lot of dog shit everywhere. After the clean towns and cities of Oz and NZ the differences in basic sanitation is stark I suppose. It´s very humid, about 60% at the moment. Normally in new places we´re constantly talking and observing as we walk about but that first day we were so tired we were barely able to string a few sentences together so we wandered, nodded and pointed to each other. No major consensus was reached that day, but as the week progressed we liked this city more and more.

The exchange rate is great to the euro, approximately 5:1. Breakfast costs as little as 15 pesos and a main course in a basic restaurant can set you back as little as 20 pesos!

We need to brush up our Spanish pronto though. Smiling and pointing will only get us so far!

We took a walking tour of La Boca the next morning from the hostel. This is the poorest area of the inner city but it has partly converted itself into a tourist haven of a few blocks where colourful buildings mix with locals and con artists of all shapes and sizes in a neighbourhood called the Caminita. Home to the tango - which originated between drunken sailors and prostitutes here on the site of the original Spanish port - the streets are lined with restaurants and bars offering live music and tango shows. The area is equally as famous for its football team of course - Boca Juniors, and we went into the museum at the Bombarino. This is Maradonna´s stomping ground, and garish statues of him abound around the cobbled streets. Unfortunately there wasn´t to be a game for about a week so we missed the experience.

After lunch in a small restaurant near the stadium we bussed it back to Millhouse. If you are up for drinking and dancing till dawn, then Buenos Aires is the place for you. If you are up for drinking and dancing past dawn, then stay at the Millhouse.

We took a free tango class later that evening there and after a few beers five of us jumped into a taxi in search of one of the best steak houses in town. An American in the group had been to Restaurante La Cabrera a few months previously, so on his recommendation we sped towards the upmarket Palermo for some beef.

I have never tasted steak like it. I was in heaven. You could cut this stuff with a wooden spoon. Washed down with a few bottles of Malbec (possibly the finest wine on the planet) we struggled to get through 3 main courses between the five of us. The bill came to about 70 euros all in, including a generous tip. If you could find an equivalent standard of service, food, wine anywhere in Europe you would be doing well to get away without dropping more than four or five hundred euro. I can´t rave about this place enough. Go there. Save. Catch a flight to Sao Paolo, connect to Buenos Aires, eat steak, go home. Say no more.

So suitably delighted with ourselves (ourselves being myself, S, a Yank, a Danish journalist and a spaced out Swiss fella who had spent the last 10 months in Bolivia) we fell in and out of numerous bars on the vicinity until 6am. I love the light and the emptiness of big cities at dawn, and apparently I shouted as much repeatedly with my head out the window in the taxi all the way home, a big shit eating grin on my face. Viva la vida. Viva beef!

4pm- sore heads, discombobulation. Walked though the beautiful San Telmo, along Defensa to Plaza Dorrego for coffee and food (again..yes..) We sat on the plaza for about two hours watching a couple tango and taking in the atmosphere. Later that night (at about midnight - restaurants generally wont serve dinner until at least 8.30pm and don´t stop until maybe 1 or 2am) we found Museo de Jamon - another excellent restaurant. Very underdressed, and still slightly ´confused´ from the night before we were seated and made our way through another beef/Malbec combo spectacular. Ahhhh, its tough..it really is.

Determined not to turn into absolute messes and to educate ourselves a little on Argentinian history, we set off bright and early the next morning on a mission. Unfortunately the museum that we were aiming for was closed, so we ended up walking along the pedestrianised Calles Florida through to Recolletta. The cemetary here has about 5,000 mauseleums where the great and good of B.A have been entombed for over a century. Among the most prominant of these are two Irishmen, Fr Antonio Fahy and Admiral Brown. The former was a missionary, the latter founded the Argentinian Navy and both did tremendous work for the Irish community here. The interesting thing about the Irish in Argentina is that they are amongst the only emigrating Irish who were proactive colonisers, and not the displaced colonised. The bulk of the population came from Westmeath, Longford and Wexford and established significant land holdings and estancias (ranches) in the Pampas within 20 or 30 years. There are 70 year old men out on farms here who are third generation Irish, have never left the country and speak broken Spanish but great English in broad Westmeath accents.

The most famous tomb here though is that of Eva ´Evita´ Peron, the subject of much controversy and national emotion of which I wont go into here. Next to the cemetary is the second oldest church in the country, the Basilica de Nuestra Senora del Pilar which stands on the corner of a leafy square where we paused for coffee and a bite to eat. Then on to Puerto Madera, which was a fairly big walk in the heat. This is a regenerated dock land area which is fairly upmarket and full of bars and restaurants. We hung around there for an hour or so before strolling back to the hostel with the intention of taking it easy for the evening. Ha.

I bumped into a friend I hadnt seen in about 5 years - Ben. A Canadian who I´d been in college with on Erasmus in Copenhagen, we immediately made plans to meet for a beer. We had played a gig together in a dump of a bar in Denmark and when he found out I was travelling with the guitar..well you can guess where this is going. A few hours later we grabbed another ridiculous dinner in a nearby restaurant, the Swiss spacer and Ben´s mate from Toronto in tow.

Then back to the hostel where there was a DJ and bar set up for a few hours of gyrating, then on to a nightclub (Club 69...cheese haha) for more of the same. Driving in Latino countries is great - you have to have completed Mario Kart to get a licence over here. There is a 14 lane highway stretching through the centre of the city along Av 9 de Jullio (the widest boulevard in the world) and nobody pays any attention to lanes, indicates, or bats an eyelid at almost certain collision. Its marvelous. We got to the club in about 45 seconds. It reminded me of clubs I have been to in Madrid - with painted and feather bowet clad tranny hosts/hostesses running around to Samba techno. The kind of place a typical God fearing Guinness loving shirt wearing Naas man would faint in. Tommys to Club 69..taxi! haha! We lasted an hour or so before myself and Sarah ducked and dived home at about 4am, leaving the Canadians to their sordid devices.

Uruguay for a day!

Unfortunatey Millhouse was full for Friday night so we arose bleary eyed to make a move across town to the welcome calm and quiet of Hostel Arrabal. After showers we rushed to the docklands to catch a ferry across the Rio del Plata to the town of Colonia del Sacramento in Uruguay.

The ferry across was nice and smooth, apart from the giddy madness of the underage Uraguayan national rugby team who were clearly the worst for wear after presumably being hammered by their beef laden Argentinian counterparts. We slept and arrived in Colonia after about 1 1/2 hours. The ferry crosses the stretch of water where the Parana River and Uruguay River converge into the Rio de la Plata.

The Barrio Historico de Colonia is a world heritage site, and is a charmingly beautiful cobbled town with colourful buildings and a great atmosphere. Only having 4 hours to play with before returning to B.A, we made our way from the ferry port to the old town, through its stone gates, and explored the place. The town changed hands between the Portuguese and Spanish a number of times before finally being settled by the Spanish in 1777. The Brazilians had a go until the Uruguans took over in 1828. So we whiled away a few relaxing hours there, taking a break from the beef with a few burritos con pollo in a restaurant with a view of the water. The boat was running on South American time (ie anything between an hour and a week late) so we were late getting back to B.A were we were to meet my uncle Noel for dinner.

It was great to catch up with him and we had a fantastic meal (have a guess...) down at Puerto Madero before making it back to our hostel at a by now very respectable bed time of 2am.

Buenos Aires..jaysus!

moving

We had a 24 hour stopover in Sydney before we caught our flight to Buenos Aires. it was just enough time to catch up with a few friends for drinks and say final goodbyes. That we´re on the homeward stretch it further compounded the wonderful memories we have of Oz and now NZ and how sad we were to leave. The past year has been phenomenal.

It was a case of Christchurch one day, Sydney the next and then Buenos Aires the day after. We didn´t know what to think or what to feel, we were all over the place in terms of emotion as well as physically.

But hey South America baby, here we come, yahoo!!!

Queenstown

The lovely Queenstown, where to begin. The drive there from Te Anau is relatively quick (approx. 2.5 hours) the last stage winding along the lake side road of Wakatipu before coming the town centre is a beautiful drive. We stayed in the Southern Laughter Lounge, another nice spot. The level of backpacker accommodation in NZ is probably the best we´ve come across in terms of cleanliness and general services offered. Better than Australia I would even say.

The adrenaline pumping in the town is infectious. By this stage I was actually keen to get involved. The long and the short of it is James and I signed up to do the Nevis Arc and enquired after more sky-diving opportunities only to have them all cancelled due to high winds. We even got so far as getting to the Nevis Arc, up what was a very dangerous, rocky road to have it all called off. It was very disappointing. We had really psyched ourselves up to do what was probably one of the bravest/most stupid things I would have ever done and then we were told we couldn´t.

James responded by signing up to do a bungy. Ilena joined us in Queenstown the night before and she decided to do ittoo. Myself, Debbie and Niamh went along for moral support. My heart was in my mouth watching them do it. We must have watched about 20 jumps before theirs. I´ve never seen James more terrified. It was the site of the first ever bungy which was the creation of AJ Hackett. It´s off a Kawarau bridge just outside Queenstown. It is 43 metres high over a river gorge.

On the drive back from that we got a call from a paragliding company imaginatively monikered 0800 FLY WITH US whom had cancelled on the girls that morning to say they were back in action and were we still interested. I at that point was eager to do anything adventurous and so off we all sped to have these guys who were parked at the base of Coronet Peak awaiting us.

Coronet Peak peaks at 1650 metres. We took off maybe a couple hundred metres below that. It was a tandem paraglide. Niamh and Debbie went off first and we drove down the road to a field to watch them land. They did so safely and soundly and were very enthusiastic about it so Ilena and I went off in the van with nay a bother! Bit of a funny set up though. In the van was the guy running the show, his wife who was driving, their baby in the front seat and a dog, which took a liking to me but whom which I did not take a liking to!
Anyway en route we picked up a guy from some random house who turned out to be my tandem partner, very reassuring! So arrived at the top of the peak more or less, covered in dog hair I jumped out all of a sudden feeling a little nervous about the take off.

My guy kept telling me ´´just keep runnning Sarah even if you fell we´ve taken off´´ and so I did. It culminated in me running in the air before he told me to stop, very exhilarating! The funny thing was at the top there were two very old women in their flowery frocks oohing and ahhing and taking photos as we prepared for take off. Once airborne I realised how high we were, sitting there with my legs dangling in the wind was a little scary I have to admit. At one point he let me steer but I was more keen to hold to my handles than have any part in the operation of the parachute. As he yapped on and on about the wind direction and the logistics of the whole operation I took in the view of Lake Wakatipu and some of Queenstown and the surrounding countryside. It was great. On a good day he travels from Queenstown to Lake Wanaka like that! The landing was the craziest part, we spiralled down at an alarming rate. It was nauseating and exhilarating at the same time. I pretty much screamed my head off much to his amusement. More running in the air before we reached the ground for a smooth landing. Great fun, I highly recommend it.

The rest of our time in Queenstown was spent in the many bars and restaurants there. Fergburger deserves a mention. James had heard about this place from friends so we checked it out and yes they are the best burgers I´ve ever tasted.

James and I also caught the cable car up one of the mountains for views over Queenstown and Lake Wakitipu. Absolutely spectacular. We also caught up with Aine, an old work colleague of James from AIB. It´s very much a party town and so there were plenty of options both evenings. It´s a great spot in general and not hard to see why it´s such a tourist trap. The whole town is centred around adrenaline pumping activities and beautiful views.

From there it was goodbyes to the girls and a long drive back to Christchurch the night before our flight.

New Zealand is an incredible country. We were there just short of a month, and it was the most varied few weeks I could have imagined. From beaches up north, to glaciers and fiords down south the abundance of things to do is overwhelming. We certainly did the place justice and covered good ground. I´d go back in a heartbeat, we had an amazing time