Beaches from Brazil to Buenos Aires & Beyond

- Day 32/33? -

After 4 weeks travelling via coach in South America, we were ecstatic to be under our own steam and incredibly grateful to have won Coco and take her on the longest but not necessarily hottest date; circumnavigating New Zealand’s sub tropical north over 8 days and 1000Km. Although the mixed weather stifled some beach fun, we made the most of it and fell in love with her charms. Saying goodbye was tough but we know we’ll be back as we’ve only just scratched the service of our Kiwi affair.

Crossing the international dateline mid-air was a little mind-boggling. We touched down just 15 hours - but two dates later than we’d left Santiago. One thing was for sure, we needed some R & R. The second mind boggling moment of the day was meeting Coco. Having never been in a campervan before, Cass’ first thought was, with such a slim figure, where does Coco tuck away all her trimmings? But within moments we were whisked on a tour of the no-frills-spared lady in purple . Cass quickly came to the realisation that this week, she’d be sharing her man with a lady who was far better endowed than she. With SatNav poised, a digital camera at the ready, an iPad connected to on-board WIFI and a dressing up box, she was ready to roll. Ian was particularly impressed, given this was not his maiden voyage in a Jucy lady.

We had no set plans or destinations and decided to ‘do’ a brown sign a day. Aware this could not only throw up some beautiful sights, but some unusual ones too, we arrived at our first – The Honey Centre. It was incredible to see the bees busy at work making honey behind the safety of a perspex viewing pane. After tasting a variety of New Zealand’s finest honey, we drove away with a big pot of Manuka honey, famed for it’s antibiotic healing qualities.

Next was the Goat Island Marine Reserve. As Ian swam out amongst the inquisitive snapper fish in the (freezing) water, Cass lay out and applied SPF30 in the scorching heat. But within minutes, out of nowhere the sky blackened and there was a mass exodus from the beach, so we too scurried toward Coco, sensing impending doom. Just as we’d finished preparing lunch the heavens opened but we sat happy and dry, dining at Coco’s pop-up table.

A little further North after a frolic in Coco’s dressing up attire at the wild Pakiri beach, we got to our campsite Waipu cove cottages. Coco’s stove was fired up and we feasted on some hearty burgers, they too looked like Jucy provided them with the green avocado, red tomato and purple onion.

As darkness fell we got to experience another of Coco’s fab features; transformer style, the back seats folded out into a comfy double bed, complete with a fluffy duvet and pillows. Heaven.

- Day 34 -

With an early dawn rise to surreal silvery light, Cass whipped up our healthy breakfast of muesli and coffee. Prepared in Coco’s compact but fully fitted boot kitchen, we then scampered down to the beach to watch the sunrise and a paddle in the surprisingly warm sea.

Soon enough the morning dew burnt off and with the sun high overhead, we were easily tempted to check out today’s brown sign diversion at Whangarei falls. The gushing triple waterfall spills dramatically down a rocky 50ft drop and leads into a lush scenic forest walk. Taking advantage of the quiet clearing at the base, Cass re-enacted the Timotei shampoo advert, a classic 80s bit of cheese and an activity we’d joked with in Brazil’s many waterfalls.

The winding roads around the heads, although easy to drive in Coco’s nimble body, made us feel a bit queasy and so we were too easily convinced to explore the straighter tourist route out to Marsden point. Suffice to say the oil refinery discovery centre didn’t spark our imagination, so we instead headed out to Whale Bay after being recommended a safe parking spot by the great team at Dive! Tutukaka. They advised diving was off the agenda for the next few days due to impending storms, so we consoled ourselves on Whale Bay’s secluded tree fronded beach and tranquil lapping waves, complete with a backing beat of clicking cicadas.

Pulling into the panoramic view of the bay at Oakura Beach holiday park for sunset, we feasted on a tasty tuna niçoise before bedding down in Coco’s cosy interior.

- Day 35 -

Awaking to squally sullen skies, our plans for an early morning canoe trip were literally blasted out of the water. This weather called for breakfast in bed, and even grey skies couldn’t spoil the serene bay view from our bedside window.

We navigated the winding but scenic route to Russell, a quaint little town with a colourful history, and New Zealand’s first sea port and European settlement. Coco tightly hugged the roads, but she was clearly more used to it than us, as we had to invest in some motion sickness wristbands on our arrival!

We put Coco on the ferry to Paihia, and were lucky to have crossed the water at all, as we later found out all boats out around the Bay of Islands had been cancelled due to bad weather. Not allowing our spirits to be dampened, and determined to go on a boat, we boarded Shippey’s, a fish and chip restaurant in a dry docked old sail ship. Tucking into battered bluenose and chunky chips we were thankful for our timing as once again the heavens opened. Because of the rain, in hindsight we wished we’d also visited the Kawiti glow worm caves nearby.

Hihi, a small bay at the base of the peninsula was our final stop for the night. We arrived to bright skies; somehow it hadn’t even been raining here! A large group of ex-Hell’s Angels greeted us at the campsite, surrounded by hundreds of empty beer bottles and a boombox blaring old school rock anthems. Awesome. We cooked up some juicy green lipped mussels, cracked open a bottle of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc and sauntered across the road with Coco’s wig & parasol to perch on driftwood and soak up the sunset over the bay.

- Day 36 -

The drum of heavy rain on Coco’s roof awoke us and we cautiously rolled back the curtains to reveal a grey sky, but this hadn’t deterred the campsite rockers who were up early and powering up to rock on – Ian hopes he has their energy when he becomes a grey nomad.

The sub tropical climate and shelter of the shower block had brought in some giant cicadas, and although slightly gross, they are incredible to see and listen to up close while they generate their booming clicks – although perhaps not what you want when taking a shower!

The last time Ian was in New Zealand a huge storm had prevented him from reaching Cape Reinga at the northern most tip. This time we pressed on upwards from Hihi with the land transforming into Africa-like open plains and with the weather clearing up, we had a lunchtime stop and skimmed stones at the breathtakingly prehistoric looking Henderson Bay.

The lighthouse and supposedly some incredible cliff top views called us to the end of the Cape but as we approached, ghostly fog poured in over the hilly terrain and we were guided blindly by Coco’s GPS. Not ones to be deterred we continued on and with comic results, trundling down the “scenic” path, only finding the lighthouse when we practically walked in to it. Even the bright yellow distance signpost pointed blankly in the mist, marking out world capitals and our former home London, some 19271 Km away.

Again it seems the Maori spirits didn’t want Ian to capture the crashing waves with his camera and so keeping our own spirits high, we headed back down the peninsula on the west coast to Te Paki and its giant sand dunes. Amazingly the sun burst through and energised us to take up the sand board challenge from the somewhat intense master of the dunes. After bartering a $20 fee for Cass and I to override his very clearly signed “NO SHARING” policy, we hit the slopes. Now Cass is a bit of a scaredy-cat and took on the baby slope with trepidation, digging her toes in to inch the board down, while Ian practised at full pelt before climbing the “PSYCHO” slope. On reflection, Ian should have perhaps examined what looked like soft shrubs more closely, because when he hit them at 30mph after plummeting down the practically vertical gradient, the barrel roll he had to do to almost avoid them scrapped his feet. He was luckier than the next challenger though who somersaulted, head over heels when he struck a root – ouch!  This didn’t deter either of the silly boys from a second attempt though, although not before a rest to explore the Sahara-esque untouched snaking dunes.

Our evening pitch at Waganer Houhora Heads holiday park provided some much needed relaxation as Coco’s Jucy charms earned us free use of the Jacuzzi spa. The sheltered bay composed of millions of crushed seashells, offered the perfect spot to stretch out in the heat, read and idly watch the fisherman cast out their lines.

- Day 37 -

Ninety Mile Beach beckoned as sunshine burst through the clouds for the first time in days! We turned onto a tree lined gravel road, bizarrely (and disturbingly) passing a dead horse in the middle of a roundabout. Luckily the breathtaking beach shunted this image from our minds; a beach so long it disappeared infinitely in both directions. It is hard therefore to believe the name is a misnomer, the beach is only 55 miles long and the name originated by misinterpretation by explorers. Golden sand, a gentle but continuous swell, and not a soul in sight… bliss. The best part was that you can drive on the beach! We gave Coco a short spin over the sand for a photo op, but we were slightly unnerved by the incoming tide, so parked her safely and returned to the shelter of the dunes to catch up on some rays and reading.

Reluctantly we left the beach and drove on to catch another ferry over the Hokianga Harbour. We stopped in Kohokoho village for a picnic on the pier and a browse in the local art gallery. Then to Opononi with it’s tale of Oro the friendly dolphin who made home in the estuary, becoming so tame the village children used to ride on its back! Our ‘brown sign of the day’ was Arai Te Uru. As you can see, the Maori name gave little away. It was to be the most stunning view on our trip so far. We trundled along the manicured path of the Southern headland to overlook the mouth of the estuary. Giant rolling sand dunes opposite created north headland, turquoise waters swirled beneath us and the prehistoric rocky coastline took our breath away. We weren’t the only ones who thought so; a photographer and couple were rehearsing their wedding photo shoot alongside us.

The scenery quickly changed as we drove the winding roads into the Waipoua Forest. We parked Coco and delved under the cool of the canopy; via a tropical pathway we reached the famously enormous Tāne Mahuta Kauri tree. Looking up we swayed in his presence, in awe of the height and thickness of his trunk. We eventually escaped to the safely of Coco, berating ourselves for our lack of insect repellent. Our campsite was also in the midst of the forest, so the bug situation did not improve. Attracted to Coco’s shiny bright lights, she turned into a bloody battleground as we spent most of the evening swatting mosquitoes who’d sneaked in before we shut the doors!

- Day 38 -

Although Coco’s camp stove can’t quite deliver a Michelin star meal, Cass and I are keen foodies, with Heston Blumenthal, the chef/scientist a big favourite after we enjoyed our anniversary at his restaurant Dinner back in London. Therefore when we heard his method to make the perfect boiled egg on a Daily Bacon podcast we’d downloaded via Coco’s Wifi, we tried it out on Coco’s camp stove. We can report that we were rewarded with delicious soft-boiled eggs for breakfast, a welcome change from muesli and a good start for the long day ahead.

Surviving on a drop of petrol out of the Kauri forest, we made it to the Katui Gas station before looking for surf at Bayyls beach. Sadly the blustery onshore wind was killing any possible swell and so we took in the view and greedily tucked in to some double chocolate cookies.

As we’d missed out sailing the bay of islands and with the weather report improving for the following days, we took the chance to cross back over to the eastern coast seeking advice at the excellent Whangarei tourist information centre. They booked us in for the Perfect Day experience for the following day to sail, snorkel and canoe at the Poor Knights islands before directing us to Ocean Beach to enjoy the afternoon sunshine. This wind-swept but magnificent stretch of sand has a decent surf break and also hosted a junior Ultimate Frisbee contest, keeping us entertained as we enjoyed our lunch.

Escaping the beach just before the heavens opened once again, we headed to the superb Tutukaka Holiday park, ideally placed right next to the marina and dive centre, ready for our following day’s aquatic expedition.

- Day 39 -

Bright sunshine awoke us, perfect weather for a boat trip out to the Poor Knights Islands! We eagerly ate our breakfast, in the company of two equally eager ducks waiting for handouts.

The cruise out took about 45 minutes and was pretty choppy (the motion sickness wristbands coming in handy once again!) but once we arrived the conditions were perfect. The calm, glassy aquamarine water was inviting for snorkelling in the shade and caves of the wild cliffs above. Cass (a wimp about cold water) sealed herself into a wetsuit, and Ian donned board shorts to really get in touch with nature! There was so much wildlife under the surface, dozens of species of fish large and small, colourful and camouflaged. They floated and darted beneath us, gathering in the shade, hunting and feeding in the jungles of seaweed. We were exceptionally lucky to see shoals of Starry Toado, a bright blue tropical fish. They arrive at the island on a tropical current, and only live a day or two each year because they’re so tasty, they get eaten by the Snapper, wiping them out. You’d think they’d learn to change course, but I guess none live to send back the message!

After a delicious lunch onboard, we did some paddle boarding and then kayaked into the echoey depths of the largest sea cave in the world, Rikoriko, which only recently became the resting place of a dead floating dead sperm whale. The boat cruised around the islands as the very entertaining skipper recounted the history and tales of the Poor Knights.

Back at base we enjoyed an ice-cold shandy at The Schooner Bar and the last few hours of sunshine before making our way for dinner at the Mac Brew Bar in in Takapuna. In the retro stylish but relaxed atmosphere, we tucked into some delicious scallops and king prawns, savouring our last night and New Zealand’s fantastic seafood.

As we crept back through the holiday park to awaken Coco it was dark, most happy campers were in the land of nod- but Ian nearly awoke them all with his scream as he gashed his toe open on a speed bump, which he insisted had come out of nowhere. Coco’s new role as a mobile hospital came into play as Cass patched him back together again.

- Day 40 -

“And now the end is near…and so I face…” blub blub blub. Our final day in Coco, our Jucy dream machine and Takapuna’s harbour view didn’t disappoint. The sun was up and blazing early and I jealously surveyed a sister of Coco’s parked up, their owner’s just about to begin their own Jucy adventure. Although they may have envied Coco, who cheekily shouts on her side “Don’t you wish your campa was free like me”!

Driving back through Auckland’s urban city felt strange after a week in the rural Northlands, but Coco easily fitted in, drawing admiring looks at her striking outfit. Saying adieu, not goodbye, as we know we’ll be back to see her again, we kept our teary farewell brief and kissed her goodbye. We then quickly popped by the fabulous looking and centrally located Jucy Hotel to see the one and only “Jucy Lucy” and give her the low down of our trip.

It feels like we’ve only just scratched the service of New Zealand’s magnificent scenery, and we are already eager to explore the South Island and take up the Jucy ski4free offer when we return in July.

Coco, you’ve been a dream date, and – no offence – a cheap one at that! xxx

- By Cass & Ian

- Day 31 -

Not a lot happened in Santiago on Day 31.

Pisco Sours followed by several long neck beers the previous night took their toll - we’re not getting any younger - so we took the “opportunity” to relax in the hostel’s roof garden and catch up on our blog before succumbing to a healthy burger to shake it off.

We were very glad to have saved our last Chilean pesos for a taxi to the airport rather than navigating the bus and underground again, and as we took in the panoramic mountain view and waved goodbye to South America, we reflected on all it’s marvels. Incredible varied natural beauty, delicious food and wine and some very special beaches.

Now for Australasia… I’ve seen it before but I’m sure Cass’ artistic eye will bring new things into view.

- By Ian

-Day 30-

We made a final descent on a Valparaiso ‘ascensor’ and got on our very last bus journey through South America, sob sob! A couple of hours later we were in Santiago. The first thing that struck us was how modern, new and shiny the city was in comparison to the other South American cities we’d been through. Encompassed on all sides by towering mountains, every surface looked considered, polished & manicured, although we were later told there are older parts of the city which don’t have quite the same allure. The natural bowl shaped landscape means the city acts as an inescapable trough for stagnant pollution; apparently the general rule of thumb is the more money you have, the higher up you live because the air is much cleaner at higher altitudes.

We checked into our hostel in a trendy part of town known for its’ nightlife, BellaVista. Passing boutiques, burger bars and fresh fruit juice vendors, we were surprised at the number of city workers rushing around in the blistering heat wearing suits. Moving to Australia, this is something we would need to acclimatise to! Craving some greens (and a beer) we grabbed an artichoke and prosciutto salad nearby.

We were unfazed to stumble across a plethora of artisanal market stalls next door, but thought we’d continue the eternal search for the perfect pair of earrings (by the way, these earrings are purely an image in my head, they probably don’t even exist, and if they do we’d be unlikely to find them for a fiver in a market.) But we went in anyway. I do think we’ve encountered more artisanal markets than dodgy toilets in the last month, and that’s saying something. But this market actually had a really lovely selection of jewellery, and although they were made with cheap materials, I was pretty chuffed with the two jangly pairs of earrings I got for £2. They were not ‘the ones’, but they could keep my lobes pretty till pigs fly.

We’d planned to meet up with Sophie and Kieran that evening, friends of my old friend Aurelie back in London. They too had taken the plunge and moved to the other side of the world. They had just arrived in Santiago a couple of weeks prior, but had already landed themselves jobs and were in the midst of flat hunting. Santiago may not be Sydney, but it made me realise we weren’t the only people doing something so nutty, and gave me hope for the future! They were taking us for a surprise… we slid into an elevator, then into a second, as our ears popped and we rose to the W hotel rooftop bar on the 27th floor. The doors opened and we fell out into tanned fashionistas poolside soaking up the last few rays of the day. I scolded myself for my creased backpacking wardrobe, at this present moment it didn’t feel like we were ‘flash-packing” as we’d joked earlier. We settled into a white leather lounger and our waitress brought over some Pisco sour cocktails. We caught up and exchanged stories of our travels, as the Pisco went straight to our heads! We admired the astounding views over the city, and it felt as if we were parallel with the mountain tops as the city’s lights began to flicker awake beneath us.

Wobbling back to the elevator, Sophie and Kieran took us out for the best pizza we’d had in South America. Ok, the pizza we’d had in Montevideo was good, but it was on doughy focaccia - this was thin, wood fired crispy, and all topping. Inside were vibrant turquoise and red walls, and we sat in a breezy canopied garden out front. The entertainment was an unexpected “bonus”, as a woman accompanied by a portable karaoke box and children jingled around the perimeter. We felt obliged to give her money, if only to encourage her to move on to the some other unsuspecting diners.

Fuelled up with pizza and beer we returned to the W for a few more cocktails, this time lounging on a big white bed, and scolding myself for not having brought something warmer to wear. As the DJ cranked up the pop music and an influx of high heels arrived to eye up the well heeled, we made our exit. Kieran was keen for a night out on the town, and we were keen to see BellaVista in action, so we grabbed a cab to a different world. The three of us resisted Keiran’s begging pleas to go into a caged karaoke club. We all saw it doubled as a male strip club and heard the girl’s shrieks from within, but he’d thought it would be fun. We did not concur, and after a thorough exploration of the area, settled for a curb side table to have a beer and watch the (drunken) world go by. We continued onto another bar afterward, and things get a bit hazy from there… but I do remember two things. One, I smoked a lot of cigarettes for the first time in a month. Bad. Two, I remember seeing a guy enter the bar with an enormous model of a boat with sails and everything. Somehow, he sold it to people at the table beside us. It could have easily been to us because anything seemed like a good idea by that point. Luckily Keiran hadn’t seized the moment to suggest we return to the karaoke strip joint, or this blog entry would not end here.

- By Cass

- Day 29 -

After a quick change over from our twin single room to a more comfortable ensuite double in the Casa Kultour, we headed down the hill via our Southwalk made ascensor and caught a local bus for a day-trip to Valparaiso’s prettier seaside sister, Vina del Mar; the garden city. Although we’d caught a glimpse of the Pacific at the port yesterday, I was keen to complete our coast to coast voyage with a swim in the ocean, although I can’t claim I completed any strokes.

Our genial host at the Casa Kultour had told us there was a great exhibition on Easter island in Vina, and as the mysterious Chilean island is surprisingly still some six hours by flight away, we thought this might be the closest we ever come. Housed in an old colonial building, the natural history museum sports a 10 ft Moai statue, one of only two not on Easter island; the other as with many “recovered” antiquities is in the British Musuem and is even larger. Standing guard outside, it’s wide forehead and nose shade its uncarved eyes, which solemnly survey the small block of surrounding gardens. Though the museum is well designed to investigate, we were incredibly grateful to Diego, a young English speaking student who worked there and offered up a free tour of the Easter island section that was only in Spanish. He brought the exhibition to life, explaining the meaning of the carvings and how incredible it was that the largest Moai, weighing many tonnes, were constructed of two types of volcanic rock, carved and then hauled into place to protect the island from evil. It was from within though that the islanders’ civilisation was toppled. The increasing decadence of the ruling kings led to their undoing, with many Maoi statues overturned or destroyed by a people fearing starvation on the inhospitable island.

Museums always build up a hunger in me and so we were also glad of a recommendation for empanadas, conveniently located on our stroll to the beach. These were much more like Cornish pasties than others in South America, and although the spiced chicken with chilli (confusingly called aiji in Chile) was delicious, I nearly cauterised my tongue and singed my flipflopped feet on the piping hot sauce. Striding down the promenade and dodging the crashing swell against the protective boulders, we reached Vina’s attractive main beach, completely occupied with families on the sand. Large signs strangely indicated no swimming and then we realised why - the swell further up had not dissipated and enormous waves lept up 12ft close to shore, dumping on the sand with a tremendous crash, annihilating anything in their path. A few kids towards the decaying pier braved it, playing dare on how deeply they would go, but soon enough jet skiing life guards deeper out shouted them back on megaphones before zipping off with a pack of dogs pursuing, parallel on the beach.

Sporting a topped up tan and ignoring the less flattering reviews on TripAdvisor, we hit Allegretto, a snug little pizzeria a lazy stroll from the hostel. Served up on a wooden platter and washed down with a full bodied Chilean Cabernet Sauvignon, the delicious thin crust pizza with ample toppings of salami, garlic, olives and fresh avocado proved a simple but tasty treat for our penultimate South American cena.

- By Ian -

-Day 28-

Bleary eyed we awoke to a dark early morning in Valparaiso and caught a taxi up the hills of the town to our B&B. The taxi driver assured us that we were in the right place, although nothing about the steep blocked off alleyway looked very right at all. We paid our fare and tentatively toed our way through the dark down the stairs to find Casa Kultour.

We were met by locked gates and dark windows, but after ringing the bell a few times to no avail I was still relatively unconcerned, the seagulls were squawking and soon it would be light and they’d let us in. We huddled on the front step and tried to keep warm until someone in the B&B awoke or arrived, and within half an hour someone turned up the street. The closer he got, the clearer it became that this dude was not the hotelier, he was about 17. The grubby flip flopped feet should have given it away, and then he stopped in front of us and spoke Spanish. Ian being more trusting than I leant forward to try and correspond with him, but soon enough it became clear he was not after a conversation, but rather something out of our pockets. At this point I cursed having given up smoking as one, or twenty may have appeased him, but we had neither these, nor small change, but did have EVERYTHING we owned in the bags at our feet… and then it dawned on us that we were about to get mugged. As he became more persistent, edging closer and eyeing up our bags, Ian stalled him and I went mental ringing the doorbell and trying to wake up the street. Making enough of a racket eventually scared him off, and a hostel nearby was kind enough to let us kip in their communal room until it got light.

Once Casa Kultour opened it more than redeemed our unfortunate start to the day. With a quaint cottagey feel it was decorated in bright crocheted flowers hand made by the house keeper, and vintage chocolate and milk Nestlé posters adorning the walls. We set out immediately to enjoy the sunshine and meandered around the famous ‘cerros’ hills. Every winding turn revealed a colourful street, scattered with graffiti, boutiques and bistros. And yes, more artisanal shops, where we both picked out some handmade copper jewelry. Busking musicians created the perfect soundtrack to frame the steep but stunning views to the ocean below.

Traveling down to the sea level part of the town involves either going down hundreds of steep stairs, or boarding an ‘ascensor’. In most places, this would be a lift/elevator, but this was a fusion of a streetcar trolley with the aforementioned, and had me scared sh*tless! Two wooden boxes traveling in opposite directions on pulleys on metal rails, these things are manually operated and practically hand pulled. Funnily enough the ascensor parts were made in Southwark, London - perhaps I should have felt in safer hands, and maybe I did until I saw they were made in 1887…

The lower town of Valparaiso was a different experience altogether, and perhaps the reason behind some of the more unsavory reviews we’d read. We went hunting for the old fish market, but the only fishy thing we found was a derelict building and homeless drunks sprawled out amongst rubbish on street corners. Feeling a little vulnerable and very touristy all of a sudden, we quickly turned on our heel and returned to the main square overlooking the port, flanked in pretty buildings and statues. We watched giant pelican diving to catch fish amongst the tug and tourist boats, dwarfed by the giant naval vessels which tourists are banned from photographing for security reasons.

Up the ascensor (scary as it was, there was NO way I was climbing those stairs instead) we retreated to the cosy colourful streets of our cerros for a drink and a relaxing game of cards at The Brighton hotel as the sun set.

Supper became quite an unexpected event, and a pleasant one at that! Many of the restaurants that were highly rated on Tripadvisor were closed that evening, and as we walked around to choose somewhere to eat we were lassoed by Claudio and ushered into restaurant Paparazzo. With a name like that, it’s somewhere we’d normally not consider, but Claudio was quick to convince and we were given a fantastic seat by the window. Over an ice cold bottle of Sauvignon Blanc we salivated over the menu and devoured a sea bass cevice amuse bouche, then settled on sea bream with gnocchi and fresh octopus for main course. We tipsily headed back to our hotel, key in hand, we weren’t sleeping rough tonight!

- By Cass

- Day 27 -

Although tipsily galloping along the beach in Uruguay had been incredible fun, boy did we suffer the next day from sore thighs. Getting back in the saddle and recreating our first Valentine’s day on horseback, two years previous, in London’s Richmond park, may therefore not have been the best idea. The spectacular views Uspallata offered though, paid off, but we felt sorry for the horses heaving our gourmand lumps in the heat.

Wisely choosing the half day ride to save our rumps, Damian, the young gaucho arrived early and we quickly inhaled our dulche de leche breakfast before being led to our steeds. Being proportional to our height, rather than our skill, I was somewhat perturbed mounting a huge stallion which towered over Cass’ pony sized mare. Diego assured us they were well seasoned though and would happily carry us on the trek to the Copper mines. What we hadn’t appreciated was how steep the assent was going to be. Climbing quickly but steadily up the ochre coloured earth out of the lush farm plain, we negotiated standing armies of giant cacti that added to the wild west feel of riding in the dry heat. The horses coped amazingly, with the deep sheep skin saddle absorbing the bumpy terrain. At several points though with the slope near vertical, Cass’ horse resisted and had to be coaxed up with Diego’s clicks, while my own took a breather and I rubbed his sweating muscular neck.

At the summit of the hilly outcrop though we were afforded a panoramic view of the Uspallata plain stretching out to the foot of the Andes. Too cool to harvest grapes for winemaking as in Mendoza, though rarely seeing snow, the farmers specialise in more hardy produce. Filling the land with emerald green in contrast to the harsh copper stained soil, all life is supported by the continuous glacial water flowing down from Aconcagua that we’d seen the previous day. Pausing to explore an abandoned copper mine tunnel, on our emergence in to the unrelenting sun, we bumped into some Argentine girls who we had met over dinner at the hostel and who worked for Green Peace. They had walked the route and looked pretty shattered so we were glad to once again mount up for the descent. Thankfully the return road was a much gentler, though less scenic. I felt sorry for the horses though, who must realise this path is available rather than the other steep climb and curse lazy tourists such as us under their whinnies. Circling round the back of the hostel via a bubbling stream, they lapped up a well earned drink before we jumped down, feeling a little roasted and ready for lunch.

Soaking up the hostel’s isolated charms by sharing a hammock in the garden and reading, we were pestered by the coy playfulness of the youngest labrador, who would implore us to play fetch with a rock. However, it didn’t seem he was too familiar with the rules as although he jabbed us with the rock in his jaws, he only reluctantly let it go and was easily fooled by my dummy empty throws.

Escaping washing dishes and making beds to pay for the hostel when we realised they didn’t accept MasterCard, the friendly assistant dropped us in town instead to use the ATM and pay. This gave us time to enjoy a final Argentine steak and glass of malbec at the El Rancho where we’d visited two days before. Although not the most salubrious of restaurants, with a vicious fly catcher buzzing like an electric chair overhead, the steak was consistently good and drew admiration from the table of sunburnt mountaineers who were just about to settle in to their well earned dinner.

Grabbing a final beer in the Tibet bar to sedate us for the overnight bus to Chile, we then almost missed it! Incredibly we were rescued by an unknown women who appeared in the parking area and ushered us to the front of the station as the bus would do a pit stop for us on the main road. We had thought as in the border crossing from Brazil to Uruguay the passing into Chile would be a formality. We were wrong. The abrupt wake up at 2am, out of my cosseted sleep induced by a full belly of steak, sedated with beer and wine and secured with ear plugs and eye mask, felt particularly unpleasant. Through groggy consciousness, we plodded to the dual passport stamp lines - Argentina Out, Chile In - inexplicably taking far too long at this wretched hour before we had our bags sniffed for fruit and could be on our way. We really hoped Valparaiso in Chile looked better in the morning as our Valentines day cheer had faded in the cold Andean night.

- By Ian

-Day 26-

It wasn’t the greatest idea to read a book about a woman who’d traveled to Tibet and suffered altitude sickness just days before today’s outing. We were about to ascend 4200 meters above sea level to the site of Cristo Redentor, where Argentine and Chilean soil meet.

We took a private bus so we could see several sites in a day, and it paid off. Over four hours we watched the mountains grow from already impressive to astronomically astounding, changing colour from rust to charcoal and everything in-between. We took the smooth concrete road beneath our bottoms for granted, until we took a turn onto the bumpy old route 7. Once upon a time, not even long ago, it had been the only passage from Argentina to Chile through the Andes mountains. It ran alongside the now also defunct Transandine railway, both tracks dwarfed by their surroundings and prone to landslides, flooding, and avalanches in winter. After a repeated battering, eventually both became casualties of the elements, and a more modern road was built alongside, but teetering on cliff sides the narrow passes, bridges and tunnels are still visible today.

We stopped at an old bridge & battle site called Puente Colonial de Picheuta which is miraculously still standing, and continued our ascent to Christo Redentor- our second Christ the Redeemer ‘viewing’ in South America. We were blessed with crystal clear blue skies and were lucky to see the snow capped peak of Aconagua, the highest peak in the western hemisphere! It is 7000 meters above sea level, and takes two weeks and £5000 to climb it (including all your food, a bargain we were informed!)

The climb up to Cristo was not one for the faint hearted. I’m not sure anybody was at all reassured that Christ was looking down on us (he was actually checking out the awesome views over Chile instead). Our ears popped during the rapid ascent, our tyres rolling just centimetres from the edge of the track which gave way to a sheer drop & a red dusty death.

All was forgotten however when we peaked the mountain at Cristo’s feet. The initial shock of the cold temperature and high speed winds wore off as we soaked in the view. It was almost impossible to comprehend the scale of our surroundings. Aconcagua and it’s glaciers loomed above us glistening in the sunshine, and mountains stretched into the horizon on all sides. Jaws dropped, skin numb and ear drums assaulted by howling winds, we bundled back into the minibus thirty minutes later and descended the mountain. Surprisingly the incline on the descent was a lot more stomach churning than the climb had been!

Soon we arrived at Punta del Inca. Deceptively named, this is not a bridge built by the Incas, but was first used by them. It is thought to have naturally formed in layers during the ice age, the natural hot spring beneath it forming a passage underneath turning it into a bridge. On arrival we meandered through market stalls, vendors selling their wares and usual trinkets. We were however mystified by an array of trainers and bottles that looked like they’d been involved in a chicken escalope recipe. Several strides closer, and we saw the whole area looked like it had been dipped in glue and then coated with sand. Every surface was coated in these rust coloured deposits, which we learned actually form naturally from sulphides, calcium and other minerals in the hot spring water. So rich are they, that once upon a time a hotel and spa was built here for its’ guests to take advantage of. Sadly, as with numerous destinations in this area, these were flattened by an avalanche, though miraculously the small church sitting adjacent to the hotel remained untouched. Cristo must have been looking in this direction on that day.

-By Cass

- Day 25 -

In one of life’s strange coincidences, our next destination, Uspallata, turned out to be where they filmed “Seven years in Tibet”. Being on the Andean edge of Argentina would make that strange enough, but I had spent the previous week reading Cass’ copy of “For Tibet With Love” by Isabelle Losada after running out of novels to keep me entertained on 14 hour bus journeys. The fun and informative book is about an English women from Battersea trying to prove that one person can make a difference and culminating in her meeting the Dalai Lama. With the chance alignment of the film, the book and our location, it felt His Holiness was calling us on our road trip through South America!

To say our hostel was in the middle of nowhere doesn’t really do it justice. We had taken the coach for 2 hours from Mendoza to Uspallata but had been told to tell the bus driver to stop at the Hostel Internacional. Tripadvisor described it to be in a beautiful rural location outside the town and as we were dropped at the side of the road, towering copper mountains above, we were a little nervous of its isolation. The friendly owner and his pack of slobbering Labradors soon made us feel welcome though, and the smell of an entire beef flank roasting on the BBQ distracted my attention.

Wanting to take it easy, we decided on a stroll into town along the old tree lined road, passing idyllic farm land and paddocks of horses that Cass eyed up longingly. We had been given a map and instructions to reach town but somehow missed the turn and ended up passing the less scenic but interesting Argentine mountain military school and brutal looking assault course. Finally arriving in Uspallata after at not so casual stroll, the T-shaped town that really is the last stop before Chile, roughly caters for 3 types of visitor: extreme mountain climbers who have just finished hiking up Aconagua and now want a steak and Malbec after only eating glucose and rice for 14 days; truckers taking a break before or after the Chilean border control; site seers who’s first or last opportunity it is to buy Argentine trinkets after a tourist drive through the pass. Now I’d like to have been in category one, but I think Cass may have baulked at scaling an icy cliff face, and as we left our plaid jackets at home, lazy category 3 it was, although I did devour another juicy tenderloin.

For those who it may have passed by, “Seven years…” stars Brad Pitt doing a remarkable impression of Peter O’Toole in “Lawerence of Arabia”; super Aryan/Ken doll blond hair and windswept/spray tan. Apparently Aconagua,the largest mountain in the Western hemisphere passed for those in the Himalayas, the largest in the East, and so commemorating the filming, and proudly adding to the town’s attractions, along with the somewhat out of place Casino, is an Asian bar, cleverly entitled “The Tibet Bar”. Lonely Planet lovingly describes this as “for those with a fondness for the “bizarre” - how could we resist.

With help from the girl at the tourist information shack, we grabbed a private car with an old local - rather than an apparently expensive taxi - back to our refuge. Cass still suffering with a stomach upset boiled up some rice but was easily persuaded to try some of the delicious salt crusted steak prepared by our host. I needed no such arm twisting to carnivorously consume steak number 2 for the day as well as some delicious morcilla blood sausage - honestly make sure you try it!

Content (read stuffed) we made our way outside to our room to hit the hay but were immediately compelled to look up and admire the shimmering stars overhead and the gossamer strands of the milky way which Cass had never seen before. London’s own bright lights hide this spectacle and so, at least for the next few nights, we were glad to be out in the wilderness.

-By Ian

-Day 24-

Mora Hostel’s pastries were scrumdiddlyumptious. Under the bow of Ian’s raised eyebrow, I demolished five in quick succession, fuelling up for a day of relaxation at the Cacheuta natural spring spa. Then realised I’d peaked too early, when they brought out the duche de leche crepes, oops.

Our exuberant and rather toothless bus driver gave what we assumed was an entertaining speech in theatrical Spanish; we chuckled along with the other passengers, wondering if we were missing any vital information about our trip? We’d find out soon enough…

From Mendoza, our bus climbed 2000 meters above sea level, passing through valleys of vineyards cocooned in barren chestnut coloured mountains. We reached a dusty “village” (though I’m not sure that’s what this was) it was a dust bowl with a couple of tired wooden shacks selling the usual trinkets, cold drinks, and fly-covered pastries. Then everyone got off the bus. Were we here? This wasn’t exactly what we’d imagined when we’d heard about the famous Cacheuta springs?

In it’s heyday, Cacheuta was home to one of Argentina’s most luxurious spa resorts. The Transandine Railway used to stop in Cacheuta, and a special lift would transport the guests and their furs & gold, directly from the platform to the hotel. Today all that is left of the resort is this very lift shaft, after it was devastated by a glacial flood in 1934. Since the train line stopped coming here, the town sadly never returned to it’s former glory. However more recently a new spa has been built on the same site, and adjacent a natural spring water park was also constructed.

Unable to extract a word of direction from Mr Funny Driver, we followed a trail of people and found we were indeed at the springs. And they were fabulous! Waterfalls cascaded into about forty different pool sections, staggered at various levels down the face of the mountain. The water blue and crystal clear, the sun blazing; today was a day for topping up our tans and not much else!

Choosing a pool was like russian roulette, some were scorching hot, others luke warm and some were freezing cold! So after making a circuit of the whirlpool and Ian convincing me to go down the waterside (which was much scarier than it looked) we sprawled out in a cool shallow pool for the afternoon. It was a busy day at the springs, and as midday crept up strings of people arrived and set up camp in the sounding barbeque picnic areas. We were envious of the racks of ribs and scent of barbecued chicken floating by our noses, as we’d come equipt with an unimpressive selection of apples and bananas. But then I discovered the alfajores ice cream sandwich, and all at once, equilibrium was restored.

We got back to the hostel later than expected, but just on time to take part in the empanada making course with two Australian girls. Over a glass of Malbec, the fantastic hostel cook and her translator guided us through the surprisingly simple steps of making her delicious Carne (meat) empanadas. Try it at home, here’s the recipe:

Carne Empanada Recipe

Ingredients (in order of appearance):
2 eggs
Olive oil, drizzles
2 onions, finely chopped
1 red pepper, finely chopped
Green olives (approx 15) roughly chopped
Pack of mince meat, 250g
Chilli powder, 1 teaspoon
Cumin powder, 1 teaspoon
Salt & pepper
Empanada pastry - either make your own, recipe here or ready made puff or filo pastry cut in the right shape should do ok too!

How to make them:
Pre-heat the oven to 200 degrees celius.

1. Hard boil 2 eggs (for about 9 minutes). Once cool enough, peel and chop them up roughly into lots of small pieces, put to one side.

2. Drizzle some olive oil into another pan, when hot add the chopped onion and red pepper and cook slowly until browned through, add a few big pinches of salt and pepper.

3. Add the mince meat, cumin and chilli powder to the mixture and cook until browned through and smelling delish.

4. Take off the heat and mix in the chopped eggs and olives

5. Make the empanada pastry or lay out and cut the ready made stuff

6. Grease up or line a flat baking tray

7. Put a large table spoon or two of the meat mixture into one side of the pastry round. Then fold over the send half of the pastry, wet the edges with your fingers and pinch to ‘crimp’ the two edges together and seal in the mixture in a pretty crescent moon shape.

8. Bake for approximately 20 minutes (or however long it says on the pastry packet)

9. ¡Buen apetito! They should look something like this!?

-By Cass

- Day 23 -

It’s amazing how although you’ve not done something for years, you can miss it. These were my idle thoughts as we lazily stretched out on terrace overlooking the regatta lake in General San Martin park, sipping a shandy in the hot afternoon sunshine, catching up on our blogs and watching crews warm up in their boats. It’s fair to say that our last few weeks have not been filled with rigorous exercise - the occasional body surf and long beach walk have not offset the cake breakfasts and dulce de leche treats. Although I don’t feel we’ve been lazy, my muscles felt twitchy watching the rowers, remembering the same pain/pleasure of being put through their paces on the Thames.

The morning had started migrating from the convenient if uninspiring Savigliano hostel near the bus station to the welcoming and centrally located Hostel Mora.

After picking up some picnic provisions, we marched up Mendoza’s elegant boulevards to the main park, reminiscent of Hyde park in London with tree lined avenues, shady trellised walkways and an enormous artificial lake with its own Andean mountain backdrop. Perfect for us to took into a Scooby size sandwich of ham, avocado, tomato and lettuce.

What we hadn’t been told either in the guide book or from the helpful receptionist at the Mora was that the park had an amazing Regatta centre on the lake complete with swimming pool. Sadly we hadn’t brought our cozzies and so instead we retired to the terrace to sip our cerveza and 7up and watch others exercise in the increasing afternoon heat.

Strolling back into town, we tried to grab an afternoon alfajorez and coffee at a Havanna café, but the service was so slow, we skipped off our table and continued back to the hostel for a siesta.

We didn’t venture far in the evening with Cass still suffering a stomach upset and settled on a parilla in the main precinct where I could grab a delicious Bife Chorizo and Cass some digestible pasta. The live music and entertainment complete, strangely, with a rendition of the pink panther theme offered up a lively distraction, before we hit the hay, ready for an early start to the mountain water parks of Cacheuta.

- By Ian