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