Salta : Pasty capital of the world

Salta, northern Argentina

Walking around the central plaza in Salta we knew we had made the right decision to come here for Christmas. Salta isn't so much a city as a large town. It was far more laid back than Mandoza, even in the build up to Christmas, and with some beautiful colonial buildings and alovely central plaza. There were also several nice restaurants, so we were happy. Mik actually felt like he had been transported home to the northwest of England and land of the pie. In his words the empanadas in Salta were the best ever, so he made sure he ate many! We also tried the local stews and LOTS of things made of corn. Tamales for example are made of cornmeal dough, add a bit of dried meat in the middle, form into a ball, wrap in the leaves of a corncob and steam. Not the tastiest things I have ever eaten but tastier than mushy peas! (sorry Mik)

As we had been having such a hectic time in the run up to Christmas (yeah right) we decided to take it easy in Salta. We had ideas of paragliding, more trekking, exploring the surrounding area but instead all we managed was a trip to the top of a hill in a cable car. And what a disappointment. Nice views but nothing else to speak of, we had been promised waterfalls and outdoor theatres. We returned to our hostel in disgust.

The shops weren't up to much either, bit like those you'd find in any UK coastal town (reminded me of Clacton!) and as we can't fit much more in our bags christmas pressies were a bit thin on the ground. We did however find a shop selling english books and so bought a couple for eachother - that brings Mik's total up to 7, yes 7, books that he is carrying. Good job he went for the 95 litre backpack then!! So instead we decided to treat ourselves over Christmas and stay in a posh hotel. When deciding where this would be we happened to look at the nicest hotel in Salta first, so our decision was made. We could only afford three nights and had to stay in possibly our worst room yet the four nights before to be able to justify it. It also meant we appreciated it all the more. We checked in as early as we could on Xmas eve, put our bags in the room, and immediately went out for supplies (we had already checked the size of the minibar fridge!). We bought vino tinto, champers, christmassy snacks and the obligatory cigars. Then fast-tracked it back to the room and headed for the leisure area where Mik, to give him his due, spent at least 5 minutes on the treadmill.

So in a nutshell, for the next 3 days we made use of the sun terrace and jacuzzi, slobbed about in the bath robes, (if only I had room in my bag!) watched TV, ate and drank. Quite a treat. We just about managed to leave our luxury pad to go out for steak each night but that was about it.

On Christmas day we got up early in the hope of a lovely breckie, unfortunately breakfast in Argentina seems to consist of bread and jam no matter what standard of accommodation you are enjoying. B*gger, could have stayed in bed longer.

We also spent some time talking/seeing our families via MSN messenger and webcam. What amazing technology. You sit in the internet café having arranged a time with respective relatives in England and sign in. Pow! There they are on the screen and they can see you. That may be obvious to most but it still amazes me. So there we were in our santa hats bought especially (others in the internet café had a good laugh!) hearing about Christmas preparations etc. It really made me miss lots about Christmas at home and I wished I had a tardis to whisk me home for a few hours. They have a few decorations and maybe the music in the shops was supposed to be christmassy but it just wasn't the same. Although I have to conceed that slobbing around, not having to go anywhere near the M25 and being able to go out in summer clothes did go some way to making up for it! We just wished you could have all been here with us.

Boxing Day was our last day in Salta and our posh hotel and all we had to do was buy a bus ticket to get us to the Bolivian border. It took us all day to manage just that. Talk about lethargic, or is it just plain laziness? Still Mik got to watch his english football and I got to have a soak in a bath so we left Salta with very happy memories.

It was only 7 hours north to the Bolivian border so no posh bus this time but also no overnight. Some stunning scenery and 7 hours later we had climbed over 2,200m in altitude. We felt fine getting off the bus, but bearing in mind that we had heard stories of people really suffering from altitude sickness we took it slow. Just as well as with the weight of our bags it was hard going walking to the border crossing. We were sad to leave the beautiful country of Argentina, I don't think either of us thought we would get so much out of it, but after 7 weeks it was time to leave behnind the easy life and take on more of a challenge. After a bit of a wait to get stamped out we found ourselves in the very different surroundings of Bolivia. NOW we felt like we were in South America!

Cara

Mullet Spotting and other hobbies

Mendoza, Northern Argentina

Typical Mendozans

Mendoza is a large city in the northwest of Argentina with lots of elaborate colonial architecture, large plazas and more shoe shops than I have ever seen. Mendozans must be some kind of wierd millipede people to need so many shoes. By lucky coincidence, it is also home to 75% of the country's wine production and most gringos passing through the city do some kind of wine tour. Mendoza is also the undisputed 'Mullet Capital of the World'. Almost every male between the age of 14 and 40 sports some kind of rat tail or shaved sides and perm. Couple this with fact that Argentina contains 67% of the world's remaining Ford Cortina Mark II's and whole place is like some crazy 1983 flashback. The feeling is only compounded by the fact that the only music you ever hear is 80's pop. If I have to listen to John Farnham's 'You're the Voice' one more time, someone might have to die. Both Cara and I have noticed Argentina also seems to have a staggering proportion of pregnant women at the moment, somewhat like Burnley, although none of them look fourteen so in that respect nothing like Burnley.

While we were there the city was exceedingly hot in a way that makes breathing a chore, so as a precaution we spent the first few days sitting in cafes, drinking beer and eating empanadas. Our room at the hostal looked out over a very small courtyard and didn't seem to get any air circulating around it, so most nights were pretty uncomfortable, sleepwise. It was a bit like trying to sleep in an oven. We did have a large fan at the foot of the bed but that just turned the room into a fan-assisted oven, staying the same temperature but cooking us that little bit quicker. Eventually, and after much procrastination that is a large part of our daily lives, we decided to get ourselves around a few vineyards and taste the local vino tinto. Our laziness attained a new level here as we booked ourselves onto a tour that took us around 3 different vineyards but didn't set off until 2pm. We all rushed the guides through the production process as best we could and on to the tasting rooms. At the third vineyard we were treated to a wine tasting masterclass by the owner. It turns out that tasting wine is a subtle and complicated process and you're not supposed to just throw it down your neck as fast as your gag reflex will allow. Who knew? After sampling few very pleasant reds, we were shown into a small room with a table piled high with plates of all kinds of tasty treats. More wine bottles were opened and we were left to our own devices to pass the next couple of hours as we so wished. A few of the party didn't really drink wine, which seemed to me a bit like showing a vegetarian around an abattoir, but what the hell. More wine for the rest of the dipsomaniacs. I carved my way across the table like a Tasmanian Devil and poured myself another glass. It was at this point I realised why the tour only started mid-afternoon. By the time we arrived back at the hostel I was fit for nothing and the rest of the day passed in a bit of a purple grape haze.

The day after our wine tour we had arranged to go horse riding out in the mountains. Obviously Cara had experience of riding horses but I had never been near the things in my life. Now I know that having never ridden a horse before would be an interesting enough exercise for most people, but not for this fellow. Just to make it that little bit more interesting I decided to give myself diarrhea that very morning (damn that wine tour!). What a fascinating 2 hours that was, Cara on 'Champion the Wonder Horse' and me on 'Old Gluestick'. When they first dragged him out I thought he looked enormous like an old shire horse, but as you can see from the photos, I look more like an orangutan riding a yorkshire terrier. And Gluestick wasn't too happy either. He took one look at me, rolled his eyeballs and crapped right next to my feet. Cara, knowing I had a dodgy stomach, just stared at the mess on the floor, gave me a nasty look and tutted some kind of apology to the rest of the group for her skanky boyfriend.

Before setting off on our adventure, the horsey fella gave me quick instructions on how to steer Gluestick, which essentially involved yanking his head to the right when I wanted to go right and yanking it to the left when I wanted to go left. With you so far, Zorro. To stop, I was supposed to pull his head back and say something assertive. Hmmmmmm. Now I have to admit that I never realised how expressive horses faces can be. For example, when I first climbed onto Gluestick's back, or was thrown on to be more accurate, he turned his big, hairy head around and looked me straight in the eye, and I swear he was thinking 'Holy shit, you weigh more than me! How the hell am I expected to carry your lardarse for 2 hours? And while we're on the subject, you can forget about that whole head yanking business. Three times a day I drag the likes of you around this bloody hill, you think I don't know the way already?' Except in Spanish, obviously.

The next two hours went off pretty much without a hitch, although having to involuntarily clench your buttocks the whole time is apparently not the most relaxing way to ride a horse. The scenery was excellent and we managed to cover quite a bit of ground in the time we had, but obviously galloping was never going to be on the cards. One thing I did notice was that men and women ride horses in very different ways. For example, women tend to look relaxed and have an 'isn't this a lovely way to see the countryside' kind of look on their faces. Men, on the other hand, can't help but squint their eyes and mentally whistle the theme tune from 'The Good, The Bad and The Ugly' the whole time. This is the same juvenile psychology that prevents a man from picking up a cordless drill without pretending it's a gun. If I'd been offered a poncho and some boots I'd have been there in a flash. Apparently it's impossible for a man to ride a horse without pretending he's Clint Eastwood. After the horse riding, we spent the rest of the afternoon in the natural thermal baths out in the desert, although being 106 degrees in the shade, we headed for the cold water instead.

We had initially planned on spending Christmas in Mendoza, but after a few days we had seen as much of the city as we really wanted to, so we decided to grab a couple of bus tickets and head north to Salta. We walked to the bus station, as it was only 3 miles away and 237°c in the shade. Besides, a taxi would have cost us 75p and we hadn't budgeted for that kind of crazy expenditure!

Our last night in Mendoza was spent sitting on the roof of our hostel, drinking excellent wines and leisurely watching thousands of drunken Argentines parade through the streets after Boca Juniors won the Copa America final to become South American Champions. Nothing like a bit of looting to celebrate that famous victory, eh!

Oh, and by the way, I have submitted for patent a new invention of mine called the 'Infallible Chewing Gum Detector'. I know that to the layman it might look remarkably similar to a pair of ordinary flip-flops, but that is just the beauty and ergonomics of the design. When wearing my new invention about town, it seems I can barely walk 5 paces without seeking out a lump of sticky gum lying on the path. As a free bonus, they are only slightly less effective as 'Sloppy Dogshit Detectors'. There you go, two for the price of one and only 50 Baht a pair!

We took a bus to Salta. It probably took 20 hours.

Mik

For the record, Mik's horse is the healthy looking one

and Cara's nag is the one on it's arse !!

This is too much like hardwork

"I'm afraid we have some bad news, Mr Threlfall. Our initial biopsy shows you have acute bovine ingestion saturation."
"And what does that mean, doctor?"
"Well, Mr Threlfall, it means that if you eat any more beef, your legs will drop off."
"Are you sure, doctor? It sounds a bit made-up to me."
"Oh we're quite sure, Mr Threlfall. It's a well known medical condition here in Argentina. One more steak and both your legs could literally fall off."
"Well, couldn't I just have the odd steak and hop a bit?"
"Oh no! That's not how it works. You could carry on as you are, pushing enormous, fat, juicy steaks into that big mouth of yours every single day for weeks and be alright. Or, you could have just one more steak and by the end of the night you'd be legless."
"Oh, I'm quite used to that, doctor."
"Indeed. So there you are, Mr Threlfall. Stop forcing undercooked meat into your fat, greedy face or lose both your legs. Any questions?"
"Just one, doctor. Do you know where I can buy a cheap wheelchair?"

True story.

San Carlos De Bariloche,

(just Bariloche to his friends)

Argentina

...

Bariloche is great. We've had a fantastic time there and I personally didn't want to leave. We planned on spending a few days here and spent about a week and a half. First, let me tell that San Carlos De Bariloche is a lakeside town in the Argentine lake district, popular with skiiers in winter and everybody in summer. They survive solely on chocolate and ice-cream and it is a stuning place to visit. Ok, got that bit out of the way, now let's get to the interesting stuff.

To get to Bariloche from Puerto Natales was a very interesting excercise. We had initially planned to fly from El Calafate direct, but a strike at just the wrong time by Aerolineas Argentinas kind of put a block on that. If we had wanted to wait around for a while we could have taken a direct bus up to Bariloche via Route 40, which on the map is a fairly simple, straightforward journey, but in reality offers a very expensive, unreliable slog along a dirt track with more pot holes and craters than the surface of the moon. Somewhat akin to sitting on a pneumatic drill while somebody smacks you around the head with a tray and throws dirt in your face. We'll pass on that one, I think. Only other solution was as follows : Local bus from Puerto Natales over the border to Rio Turbio in Argentina, change bus and head to Rio Gallegos, change bus again and head to Commadora Riviera, get yet another bus and fire straight to Bariloche. 2 tickets for option C, please. To give you some idea of the indirect nature of this trip, it is equivalent to travelling from Birmingham to London via Torquay! Only much, much further. So anyway, we set off first thing on Friday morning and arrived in Bariloche on Sunday afternoon. What fun. Snapshot of the journey : Wait forever at immigration at the border (On the Chilean/Argentine border there is a large sign reading 'Las Islas de Malvinas son Argentinas' which translates as 'the Falkland Islands belong to Argentina'. They're still not over it, are they?). We had to sleep over in Rio Gallegos, which as I described before is where concrete goes to die. We went to a steak restaurant and failed to get a steak, AGAIN. This town can fall into the sulphurous pits of Hades for all eternity as far as I am concerned. Scratch that, I think it already has. Other stuff happened too, but who cares? Anyway, we eventually made it to Bariloche. It was raining. And windy. And very, very cold. Great!

...

Our first couple of days were spent in a little Residencia, which is like a hotel only nothing like a hotel. It was a nice place and the owners were very friendly, but unfortunately they didn't speak a word of English. My Spanish is coming on a treat and I have an enormous repertoire of questions I can ask fluently. On the down side, I can't understand a bloody word they say in response. I'm sure it means something to them but to me it's just noise, so I've started getting very good at miming. On our second day in town we decided to rent a couple of bikes and cycle the 'Circuito Chico', which means 'small circuit'. They call it small, but they can't be very bright because it is in fact 64km in total, but we thought what the hell? It follows the lakeshore so it should be flat and I'm sure two healthy specimens like us can manage that distance. I mean, we've climbed mountains so how hard can it be? The next morning we were up bright and early and rented ourselves a couple of decent quality mountain bikes, stocked up on goodies from the supermarket and headed out of town. The first 15kms were a gentle peddle along the lakeshore, passing some spectacular buildings and even more spectacular scenery. This is where it starts getting a bit unpleasant. The next 30kms were spent cycling up and down enormous hills and mountainsides, most of it with a fairly hefty head wind. My legs started to wobble and at one point, my calf muscles got off the bike and started walking. I couldn't peddle at all without them so I had to get off and walk too. I only presuaded them to get back on the bike with the promise of a nice downhill stretch and some crisps. All along the route there are some truly fantastic views over the lakes and mountains of the area. We even managed to find a quiet little lake hidden in the trees to have our lunch. As you can see from the photos, it was nice and peaceful but a little cold, hence the silly hat (by the way I know I look like a tit, but I'm the tit with the warm ears!). After sitting by the lake for half an hour we had both seized up a bit and my calves refused to budge an inch until I promised not to do this again. The rest of the journey was exceedingly bloody difficult and by the time we arrived back in town and ditched the bikes, both Cara and I were about as knackered as I remember being. Back at the residencia we collapsed on the bed and didn't budge for an hour. Who said excercise was good for you?

...

The next day we packed up and shipped out to a new hostel called La Morada, which is a quiet, isolated place built on the side of a mountain. And what a place! Quite simply the best hostel/hotel/resort/tent we have ever stayed at. The views from out of the window were breathtaking, even to a cynical slob like me, and there was nothing else anywhere near the place. We sat on our arses for 4 days and did nothing but eat, sleep and sit in the sun. The weather had changed completely by this time. We went to bed one night and it was cold, cloudy and windy (outside, that is). We woke up the next morning and there was not a cloud in the sky. Result! Pack away the fleeces, hats and scarves and break out the flip-flops, Mik has got some pasty white knees that need sunning. The hostel was, as I said, perched midway up the side of a mountain. In addition to the great views over the lakes, this also meant we were a little isolated. There was a 4x4 into town twice a day, but apart from that we were stuck. One of the folk who runs the place told us that we could walk up to the top of the mountain though, and it shouldn't take too long as there was a clearly marked path all the way up. There was a cable car that ran from the lakeside all the way to the top of the mountain and our path just followed the cables all the way. So off we set, full of enthusiasm ready for our pleasant stroll. When we reached the path we realised that in fact there was no path. There was however a gravelly stretch of bare dirt that ran stright up the side of the mountain. A few degrees steeper and it would technically be a cliff.

...

We were about to start up the trail when my calves pointed out that I had promised not to do this kind of thing again. I mentioned that the lady in the hostel reckoned this would be a doddle, but they were having none of it. They both promised to give me cramp in the middle of the night and set off grudgingly. We set off up the slippery track, and the first few minutes weren't so bad. A bit further though, and we were almost on our hands and knees. We even passed a couple of mountain goats who had given up and were heading back down. Now Cara suffers from a bit of vertigo, and she wasn't too comfortable with how things were proceeding either. By the time we finally reached the top after an hour she was having a pretty crappy time and surviving by staring at my feet and nothing else. I thought she did fantastically well considering, and I would have turned back if the tables were turned. At the top of the mountain, we were rewarded with freezing winds and took shelter in the very tasteful rotating restaurant ant the top of the cable car terminal. A coffee warmer, many pesos lighter and two and a half rotations later we decided to take the cable car down instead of trying to climb down. At the bottom we ran into someone from the hostel who was waiting for a ride back in the 4x4 so we jumped in aswell and took the easy ride back. Lightweights! You'd think that after that I'd know better, but a few days later I agreed to head down the mountain with a young Dutch guy as we both needed some supplies from the supermarket. Being 18 years old, he suggested we run down to avoid any slip-sliding. Just get your head down and go for it, he said! Being 34 years old and conscious of the fact I was old enough to be his father, I agreed. We pelted down the hill and made it to the bottom in about 15 minutes. Out of breath and hot as hell, the Flying Dutchman dived for the nearest bus into town. I decided I'd walk the 6km into town along the lakeshore. Not because I 'm fit or tough or thought I needed more exercise, but because I just didn't want him to see me vomit and faint in the street. I'll just never learn, will I?

...

The next morning I climbed out of bed and fell flat on my face. My legs were officially on strike and I could barely walk for the next three days. What fun. Walking down the road I was cringing and groaning so badly I looked like I had a nasty case of hemorrhoids. And I've done so much exercise recently that I can now crack walnuts between my thighs! This makes crossing my legs especially dangerous. Anyway, we had a great time at La Morada and after 5 days there we headed back into town to stay at their sister hostel called 1004 for some reason. This was located on the 10th floor of an apartment block on the lake edge and also had some cracking views. Especially on our second night when a thunder storm rolled in across the lake and we sat on the balcony drinking beer and watching the lightning flash across the sky. I'm embarrassed to say one of the main reasons we came back into town was because both Cara and I wanted to revisit a restaurant we had been to when we first arrived. I know I promised I would not talk about food again but I'm sorry, that is a promise I cannot keep. The restaurant was called El Boliche De Alberto and of course, it was a Parilla. Our reasons for wanting to go back were because we had, on our first visit, had simply the best meal ever! Ever, ever! The serve the greatest steaks I could ever imagine eating. Couple that with the largest plate of chips I have ever seen and some cracking wine and we really had to give them a second visit. And it was just as good second time around. Fortunately for me, my legs didn't drop off.

...

We decided it was time to go so we bought a couple of bus tickets to our next destination of Mendoza, to the north. I don't think I need to tell you how long the journey was. The bus wasn't especially comfortable but we were very lucky and managed to bag the front two seats on the upper deck. At least, we thought we had been lucky until 15 minutes into the journey when a pigeon exploded on the window right in front of us. Staring at his insides for the next few hours was a very pleasant experience and didn't put us off our sandwiches at all. We later realised why nobody had wanted the front two seats. Above our head was a small red light and a big speaker. Whenever the bus driver went over the 90km speed limit the red light would come on and a very bloody loud buzzing noise came out of the speaker. He speeded a lot. We slept a little.

...

Mik

Camping, hill climbing and other stupid ideas

Torres Del Paine National Park,

Southern Chile

.

Having described the scenery around El Chalten as stunning it is hard to find the words to describe what we saw of the Torres del Paine National Park. I'll start with the jumping off point for the park, the small town of Puerto Natales.

It is here that people catch the bus to the park after kitting themselves out with sleeping bags, tents, waterproofs, food and anything else they might need. It is also where tour companies can book the hostels, or refugios as they are called in the park. When we went to do this however we were told that all refugios were fully booked for the next week and that the only option was to camp. After a few minutes of deliberation the decision was made. We wouldn't do the full 4 day trek as originally intended but just go for one night to see the main towers. We didn't think we would manage 4 days trekking and 4 nights in a tent. I don't mind holding my hands up to the fact that I'm just not that hardcore.

The bus took us into the national park and, after several photocall stops, we reached base camp. A couple of guys from our hostel decided to join us on our route which was great. As it turned out one was from Raleigh, North Carolina in the US where I lived as a baby and my brother was born, and the other was from Braintree in Essex, just round the corner from Colchester. Who says it's not a small world! Anyways we had a great laugh with them, despite nearly asking Niall the English guy to leave us when we found out he was just a baby at 20! Feeling old, me, nah!

Hi ho, hi ho.....

So off we all set, the guys with massive backpacks me with a small daypack (sometimes it's nice to be a girl). The sun was shining which made for beautiful views but also made it harder work. Layers were being stripped off left right and centre. We stopped for many photocalls and also to fill up our water bottles, with water fresh from the mountain springs. No need to bring all your water with you. At first we used the water purification tables but they turned the water a disgusting brown colour so in the end we decided to risk it, it couldn´t be any worse than London tap water after all, and we were fine. Deliciously clear, cold mountain spring water.

It took us about 2 hours and quite a few water stops to reach our campsite for the night where we dumped out bags and then continued onwards and upwards. As we clambered up for the last 45 mins over massive boulders, following a vague series of red dots on the larger rocks, we were silent. It was really hard work and we were all knackered. Brian the American reached the top first. His exclaimation of what he saw was enough to spur us all on. With my last step up I was greeted by such an amazing view that it literally took my breath away (what little I had left anyway!). It was absolutely staggering. The 3 towers in all their splendour complete with an aquamarine glacial lake at their feet. The photos just don't do it justice. The sun was shining, the sky was blue and the wind was calm. We were very lucky. We all sat up there for nearly 2 hours taking it all in. And of course taking the obligatory 100 photos! It was a beautiful place to be.

Once the sun had disappeared behind the granite towers we descended back to camp. It had been worth every single step, and more. Having said that the hot shower at the refugio was very welcome! I'm sure the boys would have welcomed one too but they weren't quite so lucky - their showers were freezing cold. Oops!

Pasta for dinner, surprise! The kitchen provided was no more than a closet big enough for a cooker and one person to stand in front of it. Even Jamie Oliver would have struggled to cook up a feast in there! Our pasta was, however, devoured very quickly along with a couple of cartons of wine that we had carried up there. A backpack is never too heavy for some wine. And a mountain should never be climbed without some, well that´s according t us non hardcore trekkers of course! It didn't even get dark until 10.30 but by 11.30 it was cold and we tucked ourselves up in our tent. Mik had very kindly given me the thicker of the sleeping bags we had hired.Despite being so thickI did however discover that mine had no zip,(much to the amusement of everyone else in the campsite as I swore quite vociforously about the people who had lent them!) but luckily I was still toasty - god bless M&S thermals! During the night I turned over to see Mik asleepwith his new hat pulled down as far as it would go, scarf and gloves on. I'm thinking he was a tad cold. Bless. We both survived though and I for one would be up for doing it again. I'm sure Mik will be too, once he has thawed out.

The next morning we walked back down to the bottom to catch the bus back to Puerto Natales where we rewarded ourselves with.......yes you guessed it, a massive steak.

...

Cara

El Chalten, a one horse town

El Chalten, Patagonia

Argentina

We arrived late at night in the tiny town of El Chalten and it was chucking it down. Of course it was, we had both packed our waterproofs at the bottom of our bags! We ran the 150m to our hotel dodging massive puddles in the gravel roads, and trying not to get blown away by the howling wind. A lovely toasty welcome in our hotel though, a double room all to ourselves complete with heater and blankets, worth every extra penny we had spent on it.

Our reason for coming to this tiny town in the middle of nowhere is that it is situated at the base of the Argentinean Andes and has become known as a trekkers mecca. Now you may wonder why we of all people chose to come here. Well, as Mik said we thought we should have a practice with a couple of single day treks before heading to Chile.

The night before we wanted to go trekking the weather closed in again and as the wind howled and the rain lashed down I was secretly hoping it wouldn't change by morning and we would not be able to embark on the 8 hour trek we had planned. When we awoke at the crack of dawn, well 8am, the sun was shining. Damn! So off we set, Mik in his proper traveller zip off trousers and a sarong for a scarf, me with my Top Shop cargo pants and my pashmina (don't scoff it has many uses!) , a packed lunch and a couple of pack-it raincoats.
We passed many people who had the full kit - top to tail in waterproofs, proper hiking boots and even trekking poles. We did think they looked a little foolish as we were going great guns in our Blue Peter, double sided sticky tape mountain trekking outfits.



It was hard work and as neither of us are exactly 'outdoorsy' I think it was a surprise to both of us that the first 3 hours passed with relative ease. That is until we hit the steep climb to the top and the view that was keeping us going. So steep was this climb that half way up I realised there was snow on the ground and a few minutes later it actually started to snow. I was ready to give up but we made it, having trekked through about 2 foot of snow to get to the top of the windiest mountain in the world! Now who was feeling foolish as those with full kit sauntered past us.....! To top it all the mountain we had come to catch a view of was enshrouded in cloud and snow so we could barely even make out it's silhouette. Mount Fitz Roy - where? We were also informed afterwards that there is a lke too - well we didn´t see any sign of that whatsoever. DOH! We took a couple of photos, Mik scoffed a sandwich and then we legged it, or rather slid our way back down to a drier and less windy spot. As one who suffers from vertigo I found it particularly hard and was so very glad to get back down onto flatter ground.

Eight hours of hard trekking, a quick practice of my german with a 73 year old from Cologne, who could walk faster than us, and we were back in our hotel and feeling very pleased with ourselves! Big steak dinner to celebrate and an early night. Well it would have been early had I not spotted something on the floor of our room which turned out to be a scorpion. Only a tiny one luckily but enough to have me stood on the bed and Mik reaching for the camera. In a placky bag and out the window thank you very much. The next morning we both checked inside our boots before putting them on!

The following day we managed another 6 hour trek and this time we were rewarded with great weather and fatastic scenery. A backdrop of snow capped mountians with rivers, forests and wetlands in the foreground. Not to mention the glacier and lakes. The water in the glacial lakes is a wonderful creamy turquoise colour, difficult to describe but beautiful. An absolutely stunning place, you can certainly understand why those with a passion for trekking would come here. Mostly older generations from Germany it would appear.

Dinner was consumed in the hostel that night, cheese and ham sangers once again, as we were unable to walk as far as the nearest restaurant once we had stopped. Luckily the next day we only had a bus to catch back to El Calafate a mere 5 hours drive away.

So while El Chalten is still a one horse town I'm sure it has grown substantially in recent years and will continue to do so. It is the perfect place for novice trekkers like us to start out. So it was with an element of sadness that we left this beautiful place, but also with a feeling that we would be able to cope on the longer treks in Chile. Once our legs started working again that is.

Cara

Foxes, Glaciers, Mince

El Calafate, Patagonia

Argentina

From Puerto Madryn we had decided to head to a place called Puerto Natales in the Chilean Andes, famed for it's breathtaking scenery and excellent trekking. We thought it was about time we experienced the great outdoors proper, although 3 to 4 days in a tent and trekking over 60km, through trecherous terrain, in unpredictable weather and carrying everything including the kitchen sink could well be considered jumping in at the deep end. As you well know, my experience of 'outdoors' is usually limited to what I see walking home from the pub. If you can't get a pizza delivered at 2am then I don't want to be there. How would I cope eating beans out of a tin and bed by 9pm? Well fortunately I've not had to find out yet, and the reasons why will be dragged out below.

To get to Puerto Natales, we would first have to reach Rio Gallegos in the deep south of Patagonia, a mere 20 hours away by bus (it seems that in this country, every town is 20 hours away from it's neighbour). From there we hoped to head straight into Chile. Being the dingbats that we are we left it too late and couldn't get a big seat on the bus, so we had to travel upstairs in the small seats. The journey itself wasn't actually that bad, even though the food had been imported specially from British Rail (although it didn't look like it had already been eaten once) and the toilets were bought in secondhand from Vietnamese National Railways, complete with toxic aromas and unidentifiable stains. Although a bit narrower and shorter than previously experienced, the seats turned out to be quite comfortable. Put Cara in any moving vehicle and she almost instantateously falls asleep, because of some wacky Pavlovian reflex she's acquired. I also have a conditioned response to long bus journeys, but mine tends to manifest itself in restless fidgeting, sleeplessness and mental challenges where I count in how many languages I can threaten the young boy who keeps jabbing his feet continuously into the back of my chair.

As we left P. Madryn the landcscape out of the window was of the flat, dry and haunting looking Patagonian Steppe. 20 hours hard driving later, a glance out of the window showed the same flat, dry, dusty expanse. Either this place is enormous or the driver was lost and had been driving around in circles for a day. We finally arrived in Rio Gallegos the next afternoon, two hours late, by which time our bus to Chile had gone. The next bus was not for another 2 days, so we made an executive decision and bought a ticket to El Calafate, 4 1/2 hours to the west on the Argentine side of the mountains and the jumping off point to see the Perito Moreno glacier. The El Calafate bus was not leaving until 8.30pm so we took a taxi into town to find an internet café, try and arrange a room for the night in Calafate and get some food. Rio Gallegos is where concrete goes to die and that's the only nice thing I can say about it, other than the bus left on time.

El Calafate is a pleasant enough place, built on the southern side of the valley formed by Lago Argentina, the country's largest lake. We spent the first day there mooching around, eating and trying to figure out how to get to Puerto Natales. We had dinner in yet another parilla restaurant, and back at our hostel we polished off another bottle of wine chatting to an Irish guy we were sharing the dorm with. I'm really not handling this dormitory thing very well. It's not so much that I mind having to share a room with a stranger, but rather I feel sorry for them having to share with me. I don't know how but my body can produce a spectacular range of unctious odours. After a day in walking boots my feet smell like decomposing haddock and I fart in my sleep as a matter of principle. Now would you be happy to pay hard cash to experience that? Didn't think so. I still don't understand how Cara puts up with it without having her nose surgically removed. She needs nose plugs, not ear plugs! Sometimes I think I'm lucky to have no sense of smell.

First thing the next morning we were up bright and breezy for our trip out to the glacier. With our winter woollies on, packed lunch and thumping hangover, we were ready for anything. On the way to the Parque Nacional Los Glacieres, our bus took a gravelly back road so we could see the local wildlife and get a bit of a geology lesson from our guide, Mariano. We managed to see eagles, flamingos (!), condors, vultures, a little brown thing, rheas (which are similar to ostriches), guanacos (similar to llamas and members of the camel family), hares, Patagonian grey foxes, a small red thing and lots and lots of sheep. The soil here is so dry and barren that each sheep needs 5 hectares of land to be able to graze. I have no idea how big 5 hectares is, but apparently that's a lot.

Once inside the park we drove on for a little while. The hills turned into mountains and forests sprang up on their slopes. All of a sudden we turned a corner and there was the glacier before us and it was enormous. It is, so I read, 24 kilometres long, 2 kilometres wide at the mouth and 150 metres deep when it reaches the water. That is a lot of ice. I did a quick mental calculatiuon and I reckon there was enough ice to make something like 500 to 600 ice cubes !! Maybe even more. And that's a lot. We drove to within a few kilometres of the base, then walked the rest of the way around the shore of the glacial lake into which it eventually melts. At one of the observation points, just a few hundred metres from the leading edge of the ice, we saw a huge chunk of ice break off from the glacier and fall into the lake. The noise was immense, as were the waves in created when it hit the water. Obviously, I had just seconds before switched off the camera and put the lens cap back on. Bollocks ! We had lunch looking out over the glacier then drove back down to the lake edge for our boat ride along the south face of the glacier. While we were on the boat, Cara was taking a picture of the glacier face when right in front of her, an even bigger chunk than before broke off and dived into the water, like a bus off a springboard. Fortunately for us, she was more successful at getting a picture of it than I had been earlier. Once back at our hostel we made ourselves dinner in the hostel kitchen for the first time. Patagonia is quite a bit more expensive than northern Argentina and the sightseeing was taking it's toll on the budget. We popped into the local supermarket to buy the obligatory tomato sauce and beef mince that by law must constitute the majority of hostel dinners. When Cara asked at the meat counter for the mince, the fella behind the counter just grabbed a huge lump of steak and threw it in the mincer. I almost cried. Back at the hostel I whistled up a quick gnocchi with bolognese, washed down with a couple of litre bottles of Quilmes beer. The whole lot cost around four quid. Who needs fabulous steak restaurants when you can knock out that kind of slurry every day and save about a fiver !

While in El Calafate we met up with a Canadian couple, David & Lisa, that we had met in Puerto Iguazu. We spent the night in a local bar with them, getting plastered and having a great laugh. We made it back to the hostel in the early hours of the morning desperately trying not trip over every obstacle we could blunder into in the dark and wake up everybody else. We had to be up early the next morning to pack up and check out as we were heading to a place called El Chalten 4 hours away at the foot of the Andes. It was apparently a great place to do day treks up the mountains and still be back in your comfy bed by evening. We wisely thought this would be the best way to ease ourselves into the trekking habit without our legs falling off.

Mik

Watching Whales in Wales in Patagonia

Peninsular Valdes, Patagonia

Argentina

Patagonia is an enormous area pretty much covering the southern two thirds of Argentina. Predominantly flat and dry, there is very little that can grow there and prosper. Much of the land is covered by a thin coating of small, thorny bushes and rough grasses and most of the indigenous wildlife has taken to drinking bottled water. Its eastern edge is fenced in by the steep rise of the Andes mountain range and the western edge is buffeted by the cold South Atlantic. The winds come mainly from the west and drop any moisture they carry over the Andes. By the time the air reaches the atlantic coast it is so dry you will be licking you lips every other second and spending more time than normal thinking about cold beer. The roads stretch away across the seemingly endless steppe to distant horizons on all sides and you can drive for hours without seeing another living thing, save for the scavenging condors. Eaking out a living here is hard and as such not too many people live in the region. The main cash crop here is dust, which is harvested in huge quantities and shipped all over the world to be spread over bookshelves and under beds. You can also buy gravel there much cheaper than back home, which is a handy tip if you're thinking of getting that driveway done. It can be an incredibly bleak place, somewhat like Burnley, but it is also extremely beautiful, so actually nothing like Burnley.

Lets go there, we thought !

(Patagonia that is, not Burnley)

As you may or may not know, I am utterly fascinated by wildlife and natural history. I will be glued to the TV whenever there is a documentary on about any kind of fauna, be it the migration of the wildebeest or the gill parasites of atlantic salmon. Many years ago I saw a David Attenborough programme called Life on Earth showing Orcas, AKA Killer Whales, almost beaching themselves to snatch young seal pups directly off the beach. Those scenes were filmed on the Patagonian coast of southern Argentina and ever since then I have wanted see it.

Our first port of call then was to be Peninsula Valdes, where these programmes were filmed. More specifically, we were to stay in Puerto Madryn, a few kilometres away from the peninsula. Puerto Madryn was originally a Welsh settlement at the end of the 19th century, presumably founded by people sick and tired of the crap they had to put up with at home simply for 'being Welsh'. The influences are still visible in the street names and the fact that almost every local claims some degree of Welsh ancestry and proudly displays Welsh flags on their walls and photos of the national rugby team circa 1983. Now the town is built on aluminium mining and tourism (those obvious bedfellows) and pretty it certainly is not. It looks a bit like Hull but without the class!

What generates the tourism is the nearby Peninsula Valdes, which from June to December is the calfing ground of the southern right whale, so called because no left-handed specimen has ever been found! It is also the favoured breeding grounds for southern elephant seals, sea lions, magellenic penguins and home to the famous orcas. Unfortunately the orca/seal/ouch-that-hurt season is only during high tide from Feb to March so I guess we'll have to come back for that one. You can also scuba dive here, but it is expensive and the same effects can be achieved by donning a wetsuit and climbing into a bathtub of almost defrosted vegetable soup. Save your money and grab a tin opener.

The distances between the various spots we wanted to visit within the Peninsula Valdes national park were fairly hefty, so we booked onto a day tour of the park and a boat trip to go whale watching in the enormous bay created by the peninsula. On the day, we were outside our hotel at 7am sharp as instructed, waiting for the bus. Unfortunately the lady who ran the hotel forgot to mention to us that the tour company had called to say they would not be there until ten past eight. It was okay though as we only waited in the freezing cold for 45 minutes before going back inside and having breakfast.

First stop was at a beach on the northeast tip of the peninsula used by southern elephant seals and sea lions for breeding, battling, basking and barking. From what we could tell seals like to sleep, eat and fart, which makes them not unlike me. They also have big eyes and make people go 'Ahh' so in that respect they more resemble Cara. Watching a four tonne bull elephant seal flop its way across a beach at speed looked very much like me trying to get to the chip shop before it closes. The next stop was to see the penguins.

Magallenic penguins are hilarious. Of course, all penguins are funny, but these seem doubly so. Penguins are built for swimming and 'fly' through the water using their wings, which are shaped as close to fins as you could imagine. When they are swimming, legs are an incumberence and as such they are very small. What makes these daft birds so funny is that they like to nest in burrows on the sides of vey steep hills. Watching a small penguin scramble and hop up a gravelly hillside is pure entertainment and I could watch them for hours. See them in the water however and it's a completey different story. They zip through the water like torpedoes and they can turn on an exclamation mark. So essentially penguins are walkers like we are swimmers: awkward, ill-adapted and comical. By the way, penguins are cute but by crikey they whiff, or at least the beach does when they are on it. And what does it smell of? Shit. Fishy shit to be precise. Fascinating animals, terrible house guests. While we were here to see the penguins, we also had a couple of quirky little armadillos running around our feet scrounging for scraps. If you knelt down in front of one it would immediately run over to see what goodies you were about to dish out, so I can only assume people are feeding the little buggers, which ultimately does them no good whatsoever. Apart from allowing them to forget how to fend for themselves, quite a few keel over from heart disease or colestrol problems by the time they are 6, which is about 35 in armadillo years (or maybe I made that up, I can never remember). Howdyhoo, armadillos are even funnier than penguins, if such a thing is possible. I imagine if a chihuahua ever mated with a slinky, then put on a hairy suit of armour, it would look just like an armadillo. They also wear flat caps, which proves they are originally northerners!

On our way to the next vantage point we were very lucky to see a pod of orcas swimming together near the shore. On the east coast of the peninsula there is a thin tongue of land which runs parallel to the mainland for several kilometres, leaving a long, thin channel for all sorts of wildlife to live protected from the open ocean on the other side of the tongue. This is where we saw the orcas and apparently they visit regularly to train the youngsters in beach snatching techniques (although I was suspecting our guide was making up more of this than I am). We had lunch overlooking another beach coated with elephant seals and sea lions (although pinnipeds, they are not true seals because they have external ears, although I had stopped believing a word he said at this point). Then onwards to Puerto Piramides for the whale watching.

Once there, Cara, myself and a freakishly tall Dutch fellow were segregated away from the rest of the group because we had special needs or something. We were put on a different boat from the others and with hindsight I'm glad we were as we had a fantastic experience. The boat we were in was quite small and the whales seemed a bit more comfortable coming close to check us out. We also had a couple of whales breaching the surface close to us as well. As you can see from the photos, having a 40 tonne right whale leaping out of the water a few yards from you is a darn sight better than a getting kicked in the shins. We were out at sea for a little over an hour, and we saw quite a few whales up close and personal and many more leaping out of the water off at a distance. Back on shore we discovered the rest of our group had gone out on a big catamaran and hadn't been able to get too close. Result! As an aside, if any of you think it's cruel to bother these animals and that they should be left alone, the following makes interesting reading. Once upon a time the whales would breed in both the north and south bays created by Peninsula Valdes. When the southern bay became a rather busy shipping lane thanks to the nearby aluminium mine, the northern bay was made a protected marine reserve and no shipping or powered craft is allowed in the bay. All the whale watching boats are centred on the southern bay. Now here's the rub, almost all the whales that once to resided in the northern bay have moved to the southern bay and nobody has the faintest idea why. Maybe they are just insecure and crave the attention, who knows? As you can see from our staggeringly impressive photos we were able to get very close to the whales and they are very impressive animals to be around. I had an excellent viewpoint on a raised platform at the back of the boat to get some photos. At least I thought it was a good spot until the above whale vented his blowhole right in front of me and covered both myself and the camera with whale snot.

Whilst in Puerto Madryn we attempted to visit the Oceanographic Museum and tramped across town to see it. Unfortunately, this being Argentina, it was a museum that was closed to the public. This seems to be happening a lot in this country. Supermarkets closed on Sauturday afternoon, museums not open to the public and restaurants closed at normal meal times. It can be quite frustrating trying to get anything done when every town essentially closes down from 1pm to 5pm and restaurants are deserted 'til 10pm, bars deserted 'til midnight and nightclubs empty until 2am. It's almost like somebody took a census and asked 'when would you like to use these services?', then chose to be closed for the hours requested. Seemingly following the great buiness maxim 'This job would be easy if it wasn't for all those customers!'. There, got it off my chest. With the museum closed to the masses, we hopped on a bus to the next town of Trelew to visit their world famous paleaological museum, and that was fantastic. Our first hour there was spent watching a BBC Horizon documentary in English, which was quite odd. But the displays at the museum were great, as Patagonia is famed throughout the scientific world as having some of the most fertile fossil beds on the planet (or artificially created tests of your faith, if you happen to be a wacky creationist!). From Trelew we took the bus back to Madryn, where we took a coach back to Trelew on our way to Rio Gallegos. There's expert planning for you.

ghgggh

Off to Chile next to do some trekking, which apperantly means walking long distances without the aid of motorised transport. What a bizarre concept!

ghggh

Mik

Woof!

I've died and gone to carnivore heaven !

Buenos Aires, Argentina

"The food here is terrible, and the portions are too small."
Woody Allen

After the crappy time we had in Rio, Buenos Aires was like a breath of fresh air, metaphorically speaking of course as 67% of the city is car choked roads and every man and his dog chainsmokes, the dogs often more than most. In typical Cara and Mik fashion, we didn't bother to arrange any accommodation before arriving, and as I mentioned previously, we had to spend forever trying to find a bed for the night. Eventually we found a couple of dorm beds in a fairly crappy hostel that hadn't finished being built yet. It could have been worse though, and by midnight we were so exhausted we slept like logs.

As has already been written, Argentina is famous for its beef and here was no exception. Something else we discovered while in Iguazu is that the Argentines do like a pie. They are called empanadas, they come with various savoury fillings and cost just a few pence. Technically they are not pies at all but small pasties, but I was prepared to overlook the error on this one occasion as I was just so happy to have discovered them. We ate like kings every night, and in some damn fine restaurants. The wine here is also excellent. For five pounds you can get a great bottle of red from the supermarket and even if you only spend 2 pounds you can find a perfectly drinkable bottle. One of the more surprising discoveries we made was that the restaurants only mark up the price of wine by about 20-30% from what it costs in the shops, as compared with restaurants in the UK that like to charge 100-200% more for the same bottles you find in Oddbins. After a night out in the city we were walking back to our hotel when we decided we'd buy another bottle of red to drink back in the room, so we called into our friendly neighbourhood 24hr café across the street from where we are staying. Being a bit bleary eyed already I just pointed randomly at a bottle on a shelf and asked for one. The guy behind the counter handed over the bottle and said something incoherent in Spanish. I couldn't make out whether he said 14 or 40 pesos so I handed over a 50 peso note and waited for my change. Turns out the bottle was 4 pesos, which is 80 pence. When we got back to the room we opened it up and were surprised to discover it was not weak piss at all. Actually, it was the vilest tasting filth I have ever had the misfortune to put in my mouth. 10 minutes later, after we'd finally stopped coughing and choking, we thought it best to leave that one alone and call it a day. We left the bottle on the floor and in the morning there was a large patch of wallpaper hanging off the wall above the bottle and 2 dead cockroaches next to it. Good vintage! Out of interest, the cheapest bottle of wine we've seen so far was in a supermarket at 1.89 pesos a bottle, about 38 pence. It was sat beside a 1 litre bottle of coke on offer at 2 pesos a bottle, which I think says more about the profitability of the Coca Cola company than it does about the costs of wine production in Argentina.

I don't want you thinking that all I ever talk about is food (although clearly it is) but I have to tell you about a restaurant we visited while in Buenos Aires. It is called Siga La Vaca (translates as follow that cow) and it is in the recently redeveloped docklands area of Puerto Madero. We heard about it from a girl in the hostel we stayed at in Iguazu and thought we'd give it a try. Now the good people of Bs. As. have the crazy habit of not going out for dinner until after 10pm and often staying in restaurants until way after midnight, even on a school night. If you were to go to almost any restaurant in the capital around 9pm it will probably be empty. However, we had heard this restaurant was very popular with the locals so we decided to get there for around 9ish and beat the crowd. By the time we arrived, the place was packed and dozens of people were waiting for a table (the restaurant is enormous and probably seats over 300). We put our name on the waiting list and took a stroll around the docks for 20 minutes. When we got back to the restaurant even more people were queuing outside. We took a seat inside and waited for our name to be called out. As we were waiting, a waiter started walking amongst the queuing customers with an enormous tray of empanadas. Now this was a good start. Any restaurant that hands out free meat pies while you wait gets my vote for president. After a while I wandered over to the front of the waiting throng to find out how long it would be only to find out our name had been called and we missed it. I can only assume this is because we had put our name down as Cara. In Spanish, Cara means face and some people find this a little confusing and assume we had meant to write Carol or Carla. Or maybe they just wouldn't feel comfortable shouting out 'table for face' in the restaurant. So now, to avoid confusion we just write B A Baracus. The restaurant itself is what they call a tenedor libre, which essentially means all you can eat. So we did. They had an enormous parilla, which is a meat grill, that you wandered up to, pointed at various types of meat and the chap on the grill would carve you off a huge lump of whatever you fancy. The meat was fantastic and we made a point of letting the chap on the grill know what we thought. He was so happy he cooked us a couple of perfect steaks and had them sent over to our table. We started to get a bit full at this point but soldiered on nonetheless. I just don't understand how they get the steaks so big and tasty here. To give you some idea of what they're like, imagine the cross section of an entire cow, this would most resemble the huge slab of meat that will arrive on your plate. If, like me, you like your steak rare, the expression they use here is 'vuelta y vuelta' which literally means 'turn and turn'. Throw it on the grill, turn it over and slap it on the plate. Fantastico ! The price was 27 pesos each, which equates to £5.40, and included a bottle of wine EACH and all the starters, salads, chips and desserts etc. I really love this country, but I have to admit I'm starting to feel like I'm walking around with an IV drip in my arm and the other end stuck in a cow. A waiter asked me what I wanted last night and I just mooed at him.

If you're a vegetarian, I apologise if any of this makes you uncomfortable. But if you were here, you'd be tucking in as well. And why wouldn't you, because what is a vegetarian but a failed omnivore? So go on, what could possibly be better than chewing on a cows arse? By the way if you call yourself a vegetarian but you eat fish, buy a dictionary.

The weather was perfect for the whole time we stayed in the city. Hot and sunny every day but not humid or uncomfortable. We had a great time wandering the streets, seeing the sights and drinking in the bars and we were sorry to leave the city. But leave it we must so we bought a couple of bus tickets for a 20 hour ride down to Patagonia.

Ganging up on Mik to snaffle his empanadas

Mik.

Iguassu Falls : Big and wet

Iguassu Falls, Puerto Iguazu

Argentina

Our first 2 nights in Argentina were spent in a decent hotel as we still weren't 100%, but the pleasant town of Puerto Iguazu made us feel a whole lot better. The sun was finally shining and the town felt so much safer, quieter and more laid-back that we knew we were going to like Argentina. When we eventually made it out for dinner our love for the country was further compounded when the waiter served us 2 of the most enormous steaks I have ever seen. Fan-bloody-tastic.

The beef here is unbelievable, and cooked on big open grills, which has us looking forward to every meal even more than usual! You may think we are splurging by having steak but they cost less than 3 quid - result!

Now aside from the food the reason for coming here was of course to visit the Iguazu Falls. You can view the falls from both the Brazilian and the Argentinean side but due to our loss of love for Brazil we decided to stay on the Argentinean side. On this side you can get much closer to the falls. They are very impressive, wider than Niagara and due to the high rainfall they had had recently the amount of water coming over them was tremendous. A truly fantastic sight.

After a couple more days hanging out at our hostel we made the journey to Buenos Aires. I should just mention that whilst we didn't witness it ourselves a Canadian guy staying at the hostel had a shower with a tarantula!!!! Yes a big, fat, hairy tarantula. He even took a photo (I didn't ask why he had a camera in the bathroom!). Had I seen it then you wouldn't have seen me for dust. Anyways we left soon enough.

As air transport in South America is very expensive the main method of getting around is by bus. Now bearing in mind the size/length of Argentina alone, this means some serious journeys. We had however heard great things about the buses and so were almost looking forward to our 16 hour trip to the capital. It was great, seats like those in a first class cabin food served to you and films to watch - brilliant. What a difference to those bus journeys in Asia although the bureaucracy seems to be the same as we stopped at many check points, had to show ID despite not leaving the country and had our possessions checked out by sniffer dogs. And thus we, well I at least - Mik doesn't sleep well on buses - arrived well rested in Buenos Aires.

Cara.

Rio - Copacabana beach in the rain!

Rio De Janeiro & Buzios,

Brazil

We tend not to book our accomodation in advance as we prefer to see it first but we did do for Rio. So having arrived much earlier in the morning than expected, due to changed flight, we were glad we had booked. Until that is we pulled up outside a rather shabby looking building in Cocpacabana at 6am. We went in, still shabby, and dark.....! Anyway, room was clean and we needed sleep so we stayed. Glad we did as the guys working there were brilliant and made our stay in Rio a lot more fun than it would have been without them.

Whilst we were waiting for Mik's bag to arrive (2 days) we had a wander along Copacabana beach, although as the sun wasn't out there weren't many chicas in string bikinis for Mik to oggle.

We did however see some rather well toned men playing volleyball, so I stopped to watch and pick up some tips - they weren't doing the usual and using their hands and fists but their chests and heads and backs - most entertaining I can assure you! Anyway, true to form food has continued to feature strongly and with the all you can eat churrasco restaurants we were laughing. All you can eat restaurants may conjure up images of a buffet with semi cold bits of beef and chicken - oh no, in Brazil they know how to do it. For just 5 quid you can load your plate with salad from the buffet, we're talking sushi and quails eggs, not limp lettuce and bacon bits, and wait for the men with their skewers of all types of meat to visit your table. We were in heaven - and went back several times! Another other type of restaurant they have is a pay by weight, which if we were people of small appetites could be a cheap option. What it meant for us however was that we piled as much different stuff on our plates as possible and experienced the utter disgust of the people weighing our plates at the end!

We spent most of our time eating in Rio as the weather was lousy. We did have a wander along Ipanema beach in the drizzle though but this meant it wasn´t the people watching spot we had been looking forward to. We did however get one beautiful afternoon which we took full advantage of and went up the Corcovado mountain, atop which is the famous statue of Christ the Redeemer, arms outstretched. The view across Rio is amazing. The Brazilians have been known to claim that God took 6 days to build the world and saved the 7th day just for Rio. Stunning though it is I personally would argue that he may have spent some of that 7th day on Cape Town too. Rio itself is wrapped around the base of several granite pinacles with long sandy beaches wherever it hits the Atlantic. It´s a sprawling city of so many high rises that it must rival Singapore, but punctuated by the jungle covered pinacles makes it far more beautiful and impressive.

Having said all that we didn´t really warm to the city. I´m sure the rain affected our perception but we were keen to get out of the city and so headed north east up the coast in search of sun. Buzios is a peninsula with no less than 25 different beaches. It is a place which came very highly recommended by all those who had been there. Unfortunately for us the rain continued, for about 40 hours non stop at one point so we didn´t get to see it in it´s full glory. Coupled with the fact that both Mik and I came down with some flu/virus thang it wasn´t the most positive experience. Luckily we had found a decent, and massive, room in the centre of town. It even had a TV, although the fact that the owner downstairs controlled which channel was on did prove a little frustrating. Especially when he´d change channels 10 mins before the end of a film! Again we had one afternoon of sun so I dragged Mik out to walk along the beach, and it was beautiful, but that small amount of exertion landed Mik with a fever for the night. Needless to say by this stage we were feeling like every sliver lining had a cloud!

The following day we headed back to Rio, stayed with our friends at Newtons Hostel and the following morning caught our flight to Foz do Iguacu(portuguese spelling). Happy to leave Rio behind us. Foz do Iguacu is the town on the Brazilian side for the Iguacu Falls, which lie right at the point where Brazil, Argentina and Paraguay meet. We were, by this stage, so desperate to get out of Brazil that we paid 12 quid for a taxi to take us straight to the town on the Argentinian side, Puerto Iguazu (spanish spelling). Such extravagance, but the best decision all round.

Cara

How not to travel : Volume one

A brief trawl through any internet search engine will find you a glut of information on how to travel. Some of it will be professionally written, some of it will be intelectually stimulating, some of it will be practically useful, and even more of it, like this particular passage, will be the mad ramblings of a half-deranged holiday-maker labouring under the false delusion that anybody cares a slugs fart what they think about the world at large. What the great majority of these millions of words will not be however, is a lucid account of what you should not do whilst away from your native soil. A practical guide to avoiding the many pitfalls of the naïve, the gullible, the unlucky and the just plain stupid traveller.

First up, make sure you are not trying to travel on a damaged passport. This might sound obvious, but you would be surprised how many people think they can bluff their way through immigration in some South American country with a passport that looks like a yak has shat on it, only to find out that they need to have it replaced on an emergency same-day service at a cost of £1,247 plus travel card and valium. These are usually the same people who have a hissy fit when they are wordlessly handed a piece of paper telling them that their damaged passport has been considered a national security risk and whisked off to the nearest incinerator to be blasted into oblivion, along with all those much prized visas and immigration stamps they had collected for the last 7 years.

Secondly, don't leave your passport replacement so late that you end up having to fight your way through London rush hour to get your bags, then rely on the kindness of your friends to whisk you straight to Heathrow airport so you don't miss your flight. When you try to pack your case in 7 minutes you will forget half the things you need and take twice the crap you don't need.

Third in our really useful list is that if you are dashing hell for leather to the airport to catch a Varig flight to Rio De Janeiro via Sao Paulo, make sure this flight hasn't been cancelled. When you run breathlessly to the check-in desk only to be told that the plane you are supposed to be flying on is still in Brazil, you will probably have some kind of minor mental breakdown and start giggling maniacally at the check-in attendant. More likely than not, the next thing you will do is think back on the previous crappy 48 hours and look for a puppy to kick.

Next up, if your airline packs you all off to a local hotel for the night, you'll probably want to make sure the hotel isn't being managed by some kind of thoughtless idiot. How will you know if he is an idiot ? Easy, he will probably do something like wait for all the passengers to form orderley queues at the reception desk, then he'll take a big box of room keys from behind reception and start walking to the opposite side of the lobby with them. As he's walking across the lobby he may very well say something like the airline has made a mistake sending you all there and that they do not have enough rooms for everybody and that several dozen of you will have to make your way back to the airport. After telling you this, the mindless tosser will ask you to form an orderly queue in front of him and wait to see if you get a room. He will have no idea why this will instigate a stampede and near riot.

If you have ordered foreign currency online, for collection at the airport on departure, under no circumstances should you enter an incorrect expiry date for your credit card. This will only void your entire transaction and the smiley lady at the Travelex counter will just stare at you sympathetically, but adamantly refuse to give you those thousands of dollars at the vastly superior exchange rate you originally hoped to enjoy. You will be forced to buy your cash at backstreet loanshark prices.

When you arrive in Rio De Janeiro, make sure your luggage has travelled to the same country as you. If, for example, you were to sit at the luggage carousel until every other passenger on your flight has taken their bag and left the airport, and you still have no rucksack when the baggage handlers switch off the conveyor and come out to where you are still sitting to smoke cigarettes with the security people and have a good laugh at you, then your bag is probably still in London. Don't get too concerned about the apparently unexplainable disappearence of your entire worldly belongings, though. Chances are they will turn up after 3 days and you will only have to wear the same travel clothes in the searing tropical heat for 5 consecutive days.

Finally, don't wait until you are on the opposite side of the world before both you and your girlfriend contract a nasty bout of some flu-like lurgey. You will find that having to travel cross country on rickety public transport is not best undertaken with a fever in the low hundreds and nothing to eat for 4 days. Also the raging sore throat, continually streaming nose and hacking cough will not make you especially popular the night you have to spend in the dormitory of a hostel.

If you decide to treat yourself to a few days relaxing in an unspoiled beach paradise to make up for a fairly shitty start to your trip. Make sure the place you are visiting, Buzios in Brazil for example, isn't in the middle of a 6 day, non-stop, torrential storm that will have you wandering the nearly empty streets in boots, fleeces and raincoats.

Finally, if you decide not to bother prearranging any accommodation before arriving in a large city like Buenos Aires, please do try and ensure it is not during large-scale political demonstrations when every hostel and hotel in the entire city is booked up for the day you arrive. You will only have to cart yourself and your luggage around the sweltering city for hours desperately trying to find a bed for the night. Your sense of frustration will only be exacerbated by the fact you will have just stepped off a 16 hour bus journey with almost no sleep and all you want to do is lie down for a few hours.

So there you go. Avoid these obvious pitfalls and you too can enjoy weeks of trouble free travelling with nothing to distract you from the glorious delights that your chosen destination has to offer. Tune in next week for an update on our 'How to find the world's hardest bed' competition.


Mik ´Of course I know what I´m doing´Threlfall

And finally.....

...we have finished updating the Asia part of our journey. All photos can be found as before at http://www.flickr.com/photos/ourtravels/. We will of course soon be starting our updates from South America. All I can say for now is that Brazil is very wet!
Cara x

Singapore : Futurama on steroids

Cara on phone : "Hello, can we book 2 tickets for tomorrow's coach to Singapore please ?"
Operator : "I'm sorry, but all our coaches are fully booked for tomorrow."
Cara : "Your website says you have free seats for the 8am departure."
Operator : "Yes, we have 6 seats available on that coach."
Cara : "Oh right, can I book two seats then please ?"
Operator : "I'm sorry, but we cannot take bookings over the phone. You will need to book them via our website."
Cara : "We've been trying to do that for 2 hours and it keeps crashing on us before we can complete the booking."
Operator : "Well you can come down to our offices and we can book the tickets for you."
So we jump into a cab and race round to there offices in downtown Kuala Lumpur.
Cara : "Hi, I'd like to book two tickets for tomorrow's 8am departure to Singapore please."
Operator : "I'm sorry but all our coaches are fully booked for tomorrow."
Cara : "Oh right. But I spoke to you on the phone 10 minutes ago and you told me there were 6 seats still available."
Operator : "That's right. We have 6 seats available on the 8am departure."
Cara : "Okay, so can I book two of them please ?"
Operator : "I'm sorry, but you will need to book them via our website."
Cara : "Really ? You told me on the phone I could book them here, as your website isn't working."
Operator : "That's right. I can book them for you here."
Cara : "Excellent. Can I book two then please ?"
Operator : "Certainly, madam. That'll be 420 Ringit, please ?"
Cara : "Excuse me ? Your website says it's only 70 ringits per person."
Operator : "That's right. 6 tickets at 70 ringit per person comes to 420 ringit."
Cara : "But I only want 2 tickets."
Operator : "Oh, but you just mentioned 6 tickets."
Cara : "No, I said you told me there were 6 tickets still available."
Operator : "That's right. We have 6 tickets available on the 8am departure."
Cara : "So can I book 2 tickets please ?"
Operator : "Certainly madam. For which departure time ?"

…and so this went on for what felt like hours. We had spent half of our budget on internet cafes, telephone calls and cabs, and all to book two bloody bus tickets. To be fair, the coaches themselves were fantastic. It was just the teensiest bit more comfortable than most of the bus journeys we have taken. Seating was 3 abreast on the upper deck of a double decker with each seat being a large, reclining, leather armchair, and even I had enough legroom (almost). The following morning at the stroke of 8am, off we went down the main highway towards the border. 4 hours later and through Malaysian border control, we crossed the very long bridge which constitutes the official border crossing and into Singapore. Being officious, efficient Singapore, we had to collect all our bags off the bus and go through immigration and customs on foot. Of course they don't provide luggage trolleys ! Whilst putting our bags through the X-ray machine, we noticed the guy in front of us was getting a bit of a grilling by one of the officials. Having a quirky legal system, there is no permitted duty free allowance between Singapore and Malaysia on their land borders. Arrive by plane or boat and you're fine. Arrive by bus and you're screwed ! This guy had the audacity to try and bring one, yes one, bottle of wine through customs. The 'smuggler' was attempting to explain to the official that he travelled between the two countries all the time and had never been pulled up for the odd bottle of wine before. What he thought he was saying was : I do this all the time and nobody has told me I can't. What the official, who looked like he exited the womb on time and by the rule book, was hearing however was : I smuggle things into Singapore all the time ! The businessman continued to protest his innocence but it was no good. As the customs official held up the offending bottle of wine in much the same way as he would handle a large bag of illicit drugs, you could tell he was already mentally putting on his rubber glove. If the couple immediately behind them were watching this unfold whilst there bags passed through an X-ray machine, and desperately trying not to look like they were smuggling 114 pirated DVD's across the border, I imagine they might have been getting a little nervous at this point. I imagine they would have also considered themselves very lucky if they managed to walk through without so much as a raised eyebrow just as the 'wine smuggler' was being dragged off to a side room.

Once back on the coach, we carried on into central Singapore city where we were met by my friend Rob. He took us by taxi back to his apartment in a nice, old colonial building, down a very funky side road near Chinatown (How can you have a chinatown district in a country where 77% of the population are chinese ? That's like having Cockneytown off Leicester Square). As soon as we arrived, we dropped our bags and darted straight out of the door again. Rob was flying back to Malaysia that afternoon on business so we only had a few hours to get lunch and a few beers before he had to shoot off to the airport. So Rob, his girlfriend Rina, Cara and I spent the afternoon in the bars of Boat Quay. A bit touristy but it was great to be able to drink draught guiness again. However at £15 for 2 pints and 2 halves it was a bit of a shock to be back in the real world once more. Fortunately for Cara and me, Rob was letting us stay at his apartment while he was away so we saved a fortune on hotels, which we put to good use in the food courts and bars of the city.

I don't imagine you'll be reading this in any tourist pamphlet, but one of the greatest thrills of staying in Singapore was that we were able to use a real washing machine and have clean clothes again. This might not sound like much to many of you, but anybody who's spent time on the road will know that not having to apply the 'smell test' to what you wear can be quite a giddy experience (not to be confused with the 'smell test' itself, which will just make you dizzy !) So, most of our first full day in Singapore was spent doing laundry. Not particularly exotic, but quite necessary ! Cara was starting to give off fumes and I was attracting flies. It's staggering what a really clean pair of pants can do for your state of mind. Once done with domesticity, it was time to pound the pavements again and explore the city. Obviously, when I say explore I mean go shopping. Cara wanted to hit the clothes shops again and I had discovered that Singapore had an entire 6 floor shopping centre devoted entirely to gadgets. I was in heaven !

One of my favourite aspects of Singaporean life is that they have more places to eat than they have people to eat there. Every road seems to have a food court, which is essentially a large collection of food stalls under one roof, as well as a trillion restaurants and take-aways. It seems like you could eat in a different place every meal for years without ever visiting the same place twice. Needless to say we ate. Continuously. Cara favoured the barbequed stingray but the Singaporean laksa with raw cockles had to be my top choice.

Singaporeans' attitude to climate control is an interesting one. They don't have air-conditioning, they have refrigeration ! Taxis, shops, restaurants and underground stations are all blasted with a stream of air cold enough to make you look like you're smuggling tic-tacs up your shirt. Singapore is the only place I've ever been to where you can sweat and see your own breath at the same time. It was also nice not to have to haggle for everything any more. The downside of this however is that everything in Singapore costs much more than anything we ever haggled for elsewhere, with the possible exception of taxis. Singaporean taxi drivers are the only exception to rule 13 in our Rules list below, as they are far more likely to tell you about the best places to eat than they are of ripping you off. Some people believe the Singaporeans are a naturally polite, law abiding bunch but I happen to think the fact you can be shot for chewing gum might have something to do with it. They apply the death penalty to everything from drug smuggling to wearing flares, and even farting in public can land you with some pretty serious jail time.

One of the places Rob recommended we visit during our stay was a bar on the 70th floor of the Swissotel. He reckoned it had amazing views of the city and was THE place to have a drink and see the sunset. What's more, happy hour was from 4pm - 9pm so even scruffy plebs like us could afford a few drinks. On the downside, they had a dress code and my uniform of shorts and flip-flops was not welcome. Cara had a new dress she'd acquired that very afternoon, and she did look fantastic in it until she stood next to me ! The only things I could find to get me through the door was a pair of hiking boots that had last been worn on a muddy mountainside (and still had half of it stuck to them), and a pair of skanky combats with zip off legs. Nice ! So off we set. Cara looking like a party girl and me looking like a scarecrow. We took the lift and shot up to the 70th floor, only to find there were actually 2 bars and a restaurant there. Bugger ! We looked into one but it was packed with after-workers and didn't offer much of a view of the sunset, so we moved to the other bar. It was almost empty but the far wall was built entirely from glass and the view was incredible. It all looked a bit posh and I stuck out like a sore rhinoceros, but Cara charmed us a good table. We settled into a couple of armchairs right in front of the window and browsed the cocktail menu. The price list looked like the blackboard in a physics laboratory but they were half price during happy hour so what the hell. Cara ordered a silly double entendre and I had something effeminate. The waitress called me "sir" and pretended not to notice my muddy shoes, so I knew we were somewhere posh. We spent the next hour or so watching the sun set over the harbour and the skyscrapers light up. Singapore is a city of high-rises and it looks at its best at night. We took a few cheesy, touristy photos and asked for the bill. It was at this point that we realised the bar we were in was not the bar with the happy hour, and that the price list had not included service or government tax. Priceless ! Our 3 drinks cost us the same as 8 night's accommodation had cost us on Koh Phagnan. Was it worth it ? Well actually yes, it was. How often do you get to drink on the 70th floor of a skyscraper ? Especially after you just spent a month living in bamboo huts. And to be quite honest with you, being a skinflint gets pretty tiresome after a while.

We didn't get a huge amount of sight-seeing done as we spent half our time in the shopping centres and the other half in the food courts. I spent hundreds of pounds on electrical gadgets I don't need, Cara filled her bags with more clothes and Rina showed us where to find the best food stalls. I had a stinking cold, Cara had found out our flight was overbooked and we were flying on standby, so we decided to bail out a day early and come back to the UK. We took a taxi to Changi airport and spent the next 3 hours sat on our arses waiting to find out if we would get on the flight to Frankfurt. We did, and the kind people at the check-in waited until 20 minutes before take-off to issue our tickets, so we almost had to run all the way to the plane. By the way, our final baggage check-in came in at a whopping 50 kgs (we left home with 32). So our extended trip slumming it around southeast Asia ended in a couple of Business class seats to Germany. Cara flattened her bed and went to sleep, I helped myself to the airline's supply of shiraz and watched some seriously cheesy movies until the early hours. I woke up an hour before landing with a very ropey hangover and a rather fetching red wine crust around my mouth. I don't think the business lady next to me appreciated waking up next to the creature from the black lagoon, but there you go. After a few hours waiting in Frankfurt we were off again and soon we were coming in to land at Manchester. It was raining. And cold. This was England alright !