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 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 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

-Day 16-

Goodbye chi-chi Punta, hello Montevideo! For a short two hour bus journey costing about £4 each, we were overly chuffed to discover that the bus had free WIFI! Back home, a few hours in an internet cafe would cost the same as the bus journey itself!

After some to-ing and fro-ing, a local bus and a lot of help, we found our hostel El Viajero at the top of some very, very steep stairs. Off a pretty square in the old town with an antiques market in full swing, the first thing we noticed were the awesome vibrant murals! Unfortunately we weren’t able to find out the name of the artist, but his colourful street art could be found not only in the hostel & our bedroom, but adorning the many nooks and crannies of the surrounding Ciudad (old town).

Other than my tripping over every five minutes (nothing unusual there!), the other thing we noticed about Montevideo’s uneven pavements were the sporadic colourful mosaic tiles which punctuate the ribbed grey concrete every block or two. We’ve not found out much more about it since, but we were told that there is a local artist who scouts out the loose or broken paving stones and replaces them with these handmade ‘tiles’. What a beautiful idea, cleverly escaping the ‘graffiti’ label given to other street art found around town whilst pleasing the council at the same time. I found this great article about the Montevideo street art, it’s worth a look at the pictures because we sadly didn’t get many photos as it didn’t always feel safe enough to get our cameras out. 

An artistic vibe has been woven into the fabric of this city for many years. Perhaps it started with Joaquín Torres Garcia, probably Uruguay’s best known artist, you can see his constructivist murals dotted around the city in prominent positions.

All this looking had given us an appetite, so we headed for the Mercado del Puerto. This had been recommended as the ONLY place to go if you were after some meat- and it did not disappoint! We meandered around what used to be a meat market, now brimming with parillas (barbecues) and little bars serving “medio y medio”, a rather potent half white & half sparkling wine drink unique to the mercado. We grabbed a bar stool at El Palenque, took a sip, and ordered two of the fattest juiciest steaks (entrecôte and pichane) with meat so tender you could have cut it with a spoon. This is a whole meaty world I never knew about! I don’t think I can ever look at a supermarket steak again, perhaps the only thing I’ve ever had that came close was steak at The Hawksmoor- for more than 10 times the price!

As we worked hard to digest our larger than usual lunch, we wandered the streets of Montevideo. Got rained on by churning air conditioning units jutting out of buildings, admiring the large statues and architecture against the cobalt sky & watching complete strangers play impressive street side games of speed-chess on their way home.

After a siesta back at the hostel we ventured out for a late supper at Bar Fun Fun. It turns out Google doesn’t know everything. Particularly not where we wanted to go. It sent us into dark roads in a shady side of town, where we were accompanied only by street scavengers collecting rubbish and recyclables onto their horse & carts. We later found the bar, 8 blocks in the other direction and it was closed. Damn. We were lucky to find a row of bars with people spilling onto the pavements, and a bustling pizza joint across the road called Bar Tasende. Given the low prices & empty plates scattered around people, we guessed you ordered by the slice, so by the time we got a table, we got stuck in & ordered 6 plates. Our waiter pretty much refused, and let us order 3 which we thought was odd - until they arrived. Each was about 9 inches square, thick herby focaccia smothered in cheese, olives or ham. So delicious, but we couldn’t even finish it all… not bad for a fiver, including beer!

- By Cass