Beaches from Brazil to Buenos Aires & Beyond

- 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 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

-Day 22-

Hellooo, after many years of a long distance love affair, I am so pleased to finally meet you Mendoza. We have at last arrived at holy grail of the bottle. Ian and I, and several girlfriends back home (you know who you are!) should be proud to hear we are largely responsible for keeping Argentina as the 5th largest wine producer in the world.

Not that you’d have known I was pleased to be here if you’d seen the state of me this morning AFTER I DISCOVERED MY SHOWER GEL HAD LEAKED OVER MY BRAND NEW (was) AMAZING LEATHER HANDBAG. Not cool, much stomping in mediocre hostel room ensued. But things inevitably got better when wine got involved.

We decided to go on a self-guided bicycle tour around the Maipu wine region. Against our better instincts, we went to ‘Mr Coco’s’ - the first bike rental shack we saw after getting off the bus. We were handed a map detailing ten vineyards staggered along the 7km Urqroadulza Road. Brilliant! And off we went!

We straddled our clattering “mountain bikes” and cycled along, dodging squashed tomatoes on the road which had fallen from the top of an overstuffed produce truck, which we also narrowly avoided. We then jealously passed smug tipsy cyclists coming in the other direction, depositing their shiny new ‘Mr Hugo’s bikes’ (complete with baskets) only two minutes further up the road than Coco’s. Damn. We decided we’d cycle all the way to the end and work our way backward through the vineyards, knowing that after a few wine flights, a 7k pedal through wine country wouldn’t be half as appealing.

We turned into Familia di Tommaso and were greeted by a gorgeous little courtyard overlooking rows of vines. We decided to tuck into a delicious lunch of cannelloni and an obligatory tomato mozzarella salad. And then the Canadian couple cycled into the courtyard! Was it possible they’d planted a tracking device on us?? After bumping into them four times in three different countries in remote or obscure locations, yes, we very much think it is possible, if not likely.

Together we did the tour of the oldest winery in Mendoza, it is still run by the same family it was started by in 1869. They produce just 40,000 bottles a year, exporting very little and exclusively selling to individuals (like us!) or through a small number of retailers. By keeping their vines and production levels small it allows them to continue producing the same top quality wine they have for all these years. It was absolutely fascinating to see them filling the french oak barrels by hand. It was also an insight into the past to see the old fermentation tanks fashioned from brick and concrete and lined with wax. Today they are used as wine cellars as the winery now have to employ newer controlled methods to comply with health & safety, but the original tanks have been given protection as historic monuments.

Of course the best bit was the tasting! We tried three different Malbecs; one non barrel oaked, and two aged in the barrel for 6 and 12 months respectively. Then there was a 17% walnutty desert wine which was to die for, sods law they don’t export hey!

We got back up on the scrap metal tied together by two wheels and realised it was already 4pm (time flies when you’re drinking wine!) We only had time for one more winery before they closed at 6! With Ian’s broken chain, we got to the Trapiche winery as slowly as humanly possible.

In contrast, Trapiche is the largest wine producer in Argentina (owned by an investment bank. It would be, wouldn’t it). As we turned our bikes off the dusty track, we were faced with an impressive modern brick structure flanked by sculptural olive groves, vines and fountains. Much to our dismay, we’d missed the last tour of the day, but they let us jump in halfway and tag along for free. Once again it culminated in a wine tasting. First off a Sauvignon blanc, for which they grow their grapes much closer the the foot of the Andes mountains as it’s cooler. We then tasted two reds, a Malbec and a Cabernet Sauvignon. Similar to the previous vineyard, they were both aged for a year in french oak barrels. Absolutely delicious, and I believe Laithwaites in the UK stock Trapiche, so go and grab yourself a bottle!

Ian’s bike chain had completely broken so it was a lengthy journey to return the bikes. We received a shrug rather than a refund from Mr Coco, but after the wine we didn’t seem to care much!

We were still on Buenos Aires time and headed out for supper in Mendoza at 11pm. We were met with quizzical looks from the hostel staff, as they told us the places we’d chosen to go will have finished serving for the night. Nevertheless, after browsing through a late night artisanal market, we managed to find a cute restaurant called Quinta Norte around the main town square, Plaza Indepencia. Satisfied our grape fuelled hunger with a yummy rotisserie chicken and rice, and a bottle of Trapiche Malbec no less!

- By Cass

- Day 21 -

One of the pleasures of spending 3 or 4 days in a city is that you get to backtrack and reexamine the areas you’re already covered and ticked off the “Must See” list. Having hit San Telmo on our first day for the market, I thought as it was our last day and our Hostel’s neighbourhood, we should have a mooch and check out the streets we missed due to the crowds, making our way back up to the centre.

Although I’m not sure when the “perfect” handbag become the holy grail of accessories, I’ve learnt over the years to keep my “helpful” observations to a minimum - why do some women shackle themselves to what is effectively a piece of luggage for daily use, groaning under the weight of filling their Mulberry with “essential” items. Rant over…

Despite Cass coping without a handbag over the last 3 weeks ( instigated by Brazil’s wise women avoiding muggings and my deep pockets) , I knew acquiring an Argentine “buttery” leather bag was high on her priorities for BA. She’d ear marked one in the mall yesterday but felt a cheat to select one from VitaminA, a Brazilian brand. I knew what she meant, as I, similarly eschewed a pair of loafer Hushpuppies as I wanted an Argentine brand - if your going to go with clothes as a souvenir, you at least want some sense of authenticity to justify them. Although we pored through every boutique in San Telmo, keeping our energy up with empanadas, it wasn’t until we reached the centre and a veritable Aladdin’s cave of outlet stores that we came upon THE bag, proudly displayed in the centre of the shop window. With a bit of haggling Cass become the proud owner of a Cul de Sac cream snake skin pressed and natural calf leather bucket bag, complete with “Hace en Argentina” stamped inside. I was equally pleased to complete this seemingly Sisyphean task as well as find my own pair of handmade leather loafers, with a half price matching belt thrown in.

Dashing back to the hostel to collect our less fashionable rucksacks, we discovered that although our 1st class seats on the overnight bus to Mendoza were all set, Lao Hostel had apparently double booked and we were now without a bed for the following night. In what felt like a repeat of our experience for Ilha Grande, we then had to chase around for an available double room, Cass keen not to repeat her Colonia dorm experience. Thankfully we managed to get two hostels booked for the 3 nights, minutes before we needed to head out to catch our ride to wine country.

Now I had been told that Argentine long distance buses were the cream of the crop in South America, and for only an extra £7 each, not choosing the first class cama suites seemed churlish. Other friends who had done the journey had remarked how incredibly spacious the fully reclining seats were and that some even served up a steak and glass of malbec to ease you into sleep. On the comfort side, Andesmar delivered and even my 6ft 3 frame was just about accommodated with some knee bending. The food however, was interesting. Served in what I can only describe as a Fisher Price sealed plastic puzzle tray, each compartment offering a “surprise”. Gelatinous cubes whether sweet or savoury I couldn’t tell, a just about edible potato tortilla and another triple deck crustless white bread sandwich. Strangely the waiter whisked this away after 5 minutes, seemingly familiar that little would be eaten, and followed it with a microwaved chicken fillet in sauce. Andesmar, on behalf of your countrymen, bring back the steak, as it will go perfectly with the delicious Norton Cabernet Sauvignon you provided. Only the free bubbly rescued the meal but it was shame after being tempted by a showcase of classic cinema, the Zookeeper was the night’s film feature.

- By Ian

- Day 20 -

There’s nothing like powering up on boiled eggs for a day at the cemetery.

Graves are weird things. On the one hand they are objects which allow the deceased to retain a physical presence in the living world and provide a focal point for loved ones to visit and grieve. But on the other hand, graves are equally temporal as life. They too will crumble and return to dust, and beyond the immediate family generation eventually become forgotten and replaced. It makes me quite sad to think about it. So, anyone who is reading this, please ensure I’m cremated and you can keep me on the mantelpiece!

To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to visit the biggest cemetery ever, a labyrinth of sarcophagi so big you can get completely lost inside. But as we arrived at the famous Recoleta Cemetery, I’ll admit (while feeling a bit wrong for saying so) it certainly did have the wow factor. This necropolis is certainly not a place where people are buried to be forgotten. A woman was even buried alive by accident there. With a guestlist of writers, political and military heroes and Argentina’s rich and famous, it is a tourist destination to not only pay their respects to the likes of Evita, but also to admire the architecture within this maze of mausoleums.

Each has a basement, on average housing about six coffins, and at ground level above, an enclosed altar area which you can look into through a small window or door from it’s grand exterior. Perhaps to represent their ‘owners’, or at least their wealth, some are simple and functional, others beautifully ornate, and some just hideously ostentatious. Since some are about the size of our flat in London, what I really want to know is, how much does each of these plots cost? We sat and pondered this at a cafe afterward, and were equally perplexed by our first dry microwaved empanada and watery coffee in South America to date. We made up for it with an alfajores afterwards (duce de leche sandwiched between two biscuits!)

After jetting through the huge Galleria Pacifico mall (this time on a hunt for leather - shoes for Ian and a handbag for me) we stepped out to an ominous sky, the air thick with humidity, dark bruised clouds looming low in the sky. We jumped on the Metro back to the hostel and reached it just in the nick of time as the heavens opened for a cracking electrical storm.

When it rains it pours. Coming from the UK we ought to be familiar with the phrase, but I haven’t seen rain like this for a long time. Big fat sheet rain, sideways upwards rain, and it didn’t stop till morning, which pretty much bamboozled our plans for the evening. We managed to get a cab to Gran Parrilla del Plata, a steak restaurant just down the road in San Telmo. Our waiter was fantastic, and I’m not just saying that because of the four free glasses of champagne he gave us! He took an immediate liking to Ian because he’s Mancunian, and because he thought he looked like Sting? He recommend we share a ‘lomo’ steak rather than getting one each, it must have been 600g or so, god knows how they consider it to be a dish for one!? I’ll stop saying how amazing the steak is… just look at the pictures.

- By Cass

- Day 19 -

As you may have noticed, Cass and I have not been maintaining the rigorous backpacker moneysaving discipline of cooking our own pasta in the hostel, before venturing out. In fact we freely admit we are what some call flashpackers. Many of our best travel experiences have been enjoyed over a great meal, and thankfully Buenos Aires has plenty of restaurants on offer.

On a blisteringly hot day we decided to spend the morning cycling through the city parks, picking up an Orange bike in a great sponsored collaboration with the Dutch airline KLM who now fly direct from Amsterdam. Thankfully these were a lot more reliable than those in Colonia and we quickly headed out from Palermo (bizarrely bumping into the Canadian couple once again), past the Zoological park and melting track runners, before finding ourselves (no pun intended) in the beautifully tranquil Japanese gardens. These were a gift from the Japanese emperor to the city and are some of the largest outside Japan. Order and calm are maintained while BA’s frenetic pace fizzes at its borders; the apartment blocks towering above giving the only indication another world exists outside.

When I was last in BA, after 5 days of steak, I had craved broccoli. Similarly this time, after our previous night’s carnivorous exploits and a heavy bread diet over the last few weeks, we both craved a salad. Strangely our lunchtime hunger always seems to coincide with being surrounded by great shops. However, after my “hangar” ( Hungry +Anger) kicked in and we couldn’t find the recommended café amongst Palermo Hollywood’s labyrinth of boutiques, we settled on La Salamandra, pulled in by the temptation of spoons of Dulche de Leche served with your coffee and home made Alfajores. We forced ourselves to initially stick to our good intentions and were rewarded with delicious bowls of crisp peppery arugula (rocket), torn mozzarella, meaty tomatoes and generous portions of pan fried chicken. The energy kick from the coffee and postres (dessert) though was what powered us round on the hunt for replacement leather sandals for Cass’ flapping gold ones and another obligatory stripy T-shirt for me.

After an early evening siesta to keep up with BA’s vampiric night scene, and Cass enacting a cliché by slipping on a banana skin in her new shoes, we caught the 67 bus to head out. I had hoped to repeat a night I’d done two years before, showing Cass the wonderfully characterful El Cuartito pizza restaurant, but sadly it was closed on a Monday so we headed to my second venue and dined instead at Milion. This beautifully restored terrace mansion has a Soho house feel with sweeping staircases, a delicious cocktail menu and courtyard garden where stylish Porteños relax. Opting for salmon stuffed ravioli and seabass we continued our exploration of epicurean delights, saving home cooked boiled rice for another day.

- By Ian

-Day 18-

Nobody told us that we were meant to get a Uruguayan “entry stamp” in our passports. Nobody told us that we would incur a fat fine for not having said stamp, or where one might acquire one of these illusive stamps. Even Lonely Planet failed to mention this mildly crucial point. And we weren’t the only ones. A special queue of other ignorant English speakers stacked up behind us at port immigration, running back and forth to the cash machine looking bewildered.

But, all things happen for a reason I suppose. £100 lighter, we boarded the ferry bound for Buenos Aires and started chatting to a nice Australian girl called Stephanie who’d been caught out making the same mistake (ahem, money making scheme). It didn’t take long for us to discover she was friends with our Aussie mate Chongi- she went to school with him in Avoca in Australia & we know him from London. What a tiny bloody world we live in!!

We arrived at the wonderful Pax hostel in San Telmo, and couldn’t believe the size of our double bedroom, which randomly came wrapped in a complete vintage medical library.

My only previous experience of Buenos Aires was looking at Ian’s beautiful photographs from his trip here two years ago. One particular shot captured me, of old seltzer bottles made from vividly coloured glass. I want one, or five, they look so scrummy. So we headed straight out to the famous San Telmo Sunday antiques market. Before we even saw a seltzer bottle, we bumped into the Canadian couple (Dana & Oliver) we’d met on the Parati boat trip, two countries ago in Brazil. Small world indeed, twice in one day!

Alas, next to the couple dancing tango on the corner of the square, we spotted the seltzer bottles. Pink, blue, green, red, yellow… gorgeous, and only about £5 each! Then I realised we had no way of bringing them with us in our already bursting backpacks. We could post them home- but wait, we’re homeless! Doh, epic fail. So we left empty handed, but spent the rest of the afternoon feasting our eyes on more incredible antique silverware (which we couldn’t buy), pocket watches, panama hats, and strange dolls with missing eyes!?

We ate lunch at an adorable cafe called La Poesia. Ian had been before & photographed bars of soap stacked higgledy piggledy among jars of pickles, cheeses and wooden crates of coca cola bottles. Once again, Ian grossly over-ordered a sandwich, which you’d think would be hard to do, right? They have a thing about cutting crusts off sandwiches here, which anywhere else would mean you have a sandwich large enough for a 3 year old’s lunchbox. But in Argentina the solution clearly is just to bake MUCH bigger bread. And make sandwiches with three layers of bread instead of two. Which resulted in another sandwich bigger than his head. It was pretty impressive.

Armed with a doggie bag containing half a loaf of oversized bread, we headed for La Boca, home of the Boca Junior football team. The Argentine passion for this game is visible in all corners of this city; street art paying homage to Maradonna beside kids of all ages kicking a ball around, extremely skilfully I might add. And for the third time this holiday some kids called out at Ian - “David Beckham”, ha ha, Ian dislikes this likening more than I do!

La Boca has a bit of a bad reputation for safety, and we did cross the invisible ‘safety’ line once or twice, though we were quick to return to the popping colourful streets of La Boca center. Tango dancers, a bit saucier this time, were framed by this insane multicoloured backdrop, it felt like being inside some sort of Willy Wonka creation!

That evening we were ready for some world famous Argentine steak. We waited till about 11pm (when in Rome…) and headed for Palermo, the ‘trendy’ part of town, to the highly rated La Dorita de Enfrente restaurant. We devoured two enormous steaks (I was starving but couldn’t finish mine, I nearly cried), chips, garlic butter spinach, accompanied by a stunning bottle of Malbec, all for about £25. Priceless.

- By Cass