Argentina

After completing our longest coach journey to date of 18 hours, we arrived a little weary in Salta, which was to be the beginning of a ten-day pre-organised trip of this northern Argentinian city, San Pedro de Atacama, the tourist hub of the Chilean desert, and a 3-day tour of the Bolivian Altiplano and Uyuni Salt Flats.

After the hustle and bustle of Argentina´s capital, it was strange to once again arrive into the midst of a small and slightly less glitzy town by comparison. In the taxi from the bus station we were to discover Salta´s mildly odd traffic system. Set up as square blocks, none of the almost blind crossroad junctions bother to employ signals or give-way markings, and entail only one simple rule: If you arrive there first, you have right of way. This works splendidly, unless of course two vehicles manage to hit the junction at exactly the same time. Road-rage and collisions therefore seem to be a daily occurance.

Luckily, our driver was more than skilled at bombing straight through without any regard for whoever may think they have right of way, and we entered the room of our hostel to be greeted by Mick, a slightly eccentric man from Bristol who had been cycling through South America, and had just recently taken a nasty fall, injuring his ribs and putting him out of action for a number of days. Someone in the hostel had kindly offered some medical advice to our new room-mate, who was quick to proudly display a fine selection of raw sliced potatoes strapped strategically to his mid-rift. We didn´t really have the heart to tell him that this kind person may have been pulling his plonker... if anyone knows this to be an approved medical remedy, then by all means write in on a postcard...

We went for a quick drink in the bar (just to accustom ourselves with the layout obviously) and the tender soon brought our attention to a local restaurant reportedly serving "the best steak in Argentina". A bold claim, of which I was only too happy to confirm after our long journey. As it turned out, this was a complete blag, and simply proved to re-establish my life motto that quantity does not make up for quality.

The city of Salta ("The Pretty One") was founded in 1582 and it still bears a distinct Hispanic character that sets it apart from other cities in the country. The skyline is drawn by colonial houses, narrow streets and pavements, and the brownish green of the surrounding hills.

For our free day, we headed first for the Teleferico, a cable-car which takes you to the top of the nearby San Bernardo hill overlooking the town. With its small cafe and man-made waterfall structure at the top, this was pleasant, but quite uninspriring. Next, we walked to the Plaza 9 de Julio where we waited patiently for the Museo de Arqueologia to open. Here we were able to look at a collection of exhibits from Inca high-altitude shrines, video material of discoveries and the preserved bodies of 3 mummified Inca children. Discovered some 7 years ago in a random archeological dig on the Llullaillaco Volcano, the story goes that in 15th Century Inca times young children were especially selected for a ritual which involved parading them around in a month long ceremony before being wrapped in bandage and sacrificed to the Gods by means of being buried alive in air-tight tombs. The kind Inca people would either knock them out, or ply them with a few cheeky brandy´s before sealing them in. Of course, the Inca´s believed that they were simply sending the youngsters on to the next life. When the bodies of the children were discovered, they were still in almost perfect condition, something which is no longer the case now that the scientists and historians have got their hands on them and put them on display. An interesting and eye-opening exhibition however.

At 06:00 the following morning we were up for our scheduled ´Safari to the Clouds´. Usually, there is a train to make this journey into the mountains but this is currently undergoing renovation, and so 20 sleepy hopefuls were herded onto the waiting mini-bus which would be our means of transport for the next 15 hours.

The opening part of our journey took us alongside the train tracks, through deep gorges and valleys before heading into the hills and our first stop in the mountain village of Santa Rosa de Lima where the local women attempted to farm out their Lama-wool knitwear to unsuspecting tourists. Having none of it, we were next transported to some quite unspectacular Inca ruins, which after abandonement actually just looked like a few strategically placed rocks. We did however take the opportunity to cuddle a giant cactus which soon made up for the mild disappointment.

Next was a stop in the small mountain village of San Antonio. During the journey we had got talking to a Canadian guy called Kevin, who spoke much more reasonable Spanish than we are ever likely to, and he introduced us to an eight year old boy named ´Jesus´ (because of his birth on Christmas Day), who via our new interpreter, strategically talked us into buying one of his fathers´ miniature salt carved houses for two pesos. He then sold one exactly the same to Kevin for one peso. Feeling slightly robbed, we headed for our underwhelming lunch...

After a little afternoon nap during the two hour ride through winding mountain roads, we arrived at the Salt Flats in Jujuy. Here, small sections of the top layer of rock hard salt had been cut out to reveal the water underneath. The reaction with the fresh air then turns the water to industrial salt, and this is then harvested by the locals and sold at a ridiculous price of 12 pesos (2 quid) per tonne. Hard graft for little reward.

Frantically chewing Coca leaves which supposedly help battle altitude sickness, are used in the production of Cocaine and Coca-Cola, and more importantly, taste vile, we travelled onwards again to the highest point of our day, 4170m (approx 12,500 ft). Most of our party stood admiring the view and taking photo´s.

Sarah seized the moment and crouched behind a large rock for some bladder relief. Back in the mini-bus, and it was time to descend ear-poppingly for an hour or so until we reached our final stop in a small village whose name has escaped us. Again, we were given to opportunity to purchase some hand-made garments. With an up-coming Uyuni tour in mind, where we were told the temperature can become exceedingly chilly, we bought a couple of pairs of gloves, and some silly looking bobble-hats.

The journey back to Salta took another 3 hours, and by the time we got back to the hostel we had to energy to have a quick couple of night-caps in the bar and listen lethargically to the tunes coming from the three local guys playing their greatest hits selection on a number of bongo´s and guitars. It wasn´t long before we were defeated however, and just about able to tear ourselves away, we headed to bed in preparation for our early bus to Chile the following morning.

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After crossing the wide estuary of the River Plate from Uruguay, Buenos Aires greeted us with a spectacular natural lightning show, and the heaviest downpour of our trip so far. This made catching a taxi almost impossible, and luckily, someone jumped out of one right in front of us after we'd waited almost 40 minutes. The Hostel El Firulete we had booked seemed clean and centrally located but at this point we were just happy to finally be in the dry.

The following morning we headed to a tourist office we had been recommended to take a 3-hour City Tour with. This was mainly so we could get our bearings a little and also take a look at the things we would be going back to see in more depth during the coming week. Showcasing outstanding public buildings, pink presidential palaces, beautiful European-style residences, and an artistic and cultural abundance, coupled with boroughs which have kept their traditions and customs throughout time in an attempt to preserve their roots, we knew that this was a city with style, and that we would need plenty of time if we were to experience it's many qualities.

After a pretty dull saturday night in the hostel, we decided to try our luck elsewhere for accommodation. We had heard good things about Millhouse, so we headed there to see if they had any room. In the reception area we got chatting to an English bloke called Sonne, who told us what a great place we were inquiring about and upon the arrival of his friends, invited us to go to the Sunday street market with them.

On a Sunday in the arty San Telmo district, the old cobbled streets are lined with sellers offering anything from jewellery and clothes, to old records and antiques. It´s a great place to spend the morning, browsing the many stalls and watching the live Tango Dancing shows in the square.

That evening we had booked to see one of Buenos Aires' biggest football clubs River Plate take on Colon. The atmosphere in the 80,000 seater stadium was electric, with one end swathed in red and white banners. The crowd did not stop singing, chanting, jumping and banging their drums for nearly two hours, despite the disappointing 1-1 scoreline. Later in the week, we spoke to a fan who stands amongst the hardcore "Fanatico's". He told us that generally they barely watch the game and just catch it on TV the following day. Would have been nice to be up there amongst it, but for safety reasons, probably best that we weren't.

And so we moved to Millhouse hostel the following morning. They could only give us a four-bed dorm, but we were pleased to discover (much to my amusement and Sarah's embarrassment) a guy called Kirk who we had met in our first hostel in Rio, fresh from the shower and vigourously drying his under-carriage. Re-introductions complete, we headed off to La Boca.

Regarded as the poorest area of Buenos Aires, the people here make up for their hardship by painting the houses in a multitude of bright colours and creating a real sense of community. Souvenir shops selling similar trinkets line the main block, while local artists and sculptors display their creations.

Boca is also famous for its football team and legion of devoted fans. Unfortunately, Boca Juniors were not due to be playing at home during our stay but we did take a tour of the stadium, and bump into Diego Maradona (one of their former players) who was coincidentally making a special appearance at the ground. Of course, we told him that we didn't like him very much due the Hand of God moment, but still had a snap taken with him for souvenir purposes.

The next day we decided to go to the Palermo area to see the Japanese Gardens and whatever else it may have to offer. Kirk and Catherine (our other room-mate) decided to tag along. We had a good day seeing the gardens and exploring the many boutiques, bars and restaurants. Nike Town have even got their hands on an old Sausage factory. On our return to the hostel, Tasha and Scott (an Aussie and Kiwi who we had also met in Rio) had arrived in town and were keen to go to an evening Tango show. We didn't really need asking twice, despite our less than appropriate attire options. We were greeted by a rather pleasant champagne and canape reception (tuxedo´s were in abundance while we lounged casually in our jeans and trainers), a two-course meal consisting of a fine fillet steak (what else?), all the red wine we could drink, and of course and hour-and-a-half long Broadway-style Tango show which was spectacular.

With our hangovers well and truly in effect, we took a tour of Recoleta the following day. Probably BA's richest area, this is where the famous cemetery can be found. More like a museum than a place of rest, this 14,000 acre site houses some of the most impressive graves you are ever likely to find, and although slightly morbid, is at the same time really quite an interesting site. Here you can find the tombs of Independence patriots, Presidents of the Republic, military heroes, scientists and artists.

Now full, you can only get into this exclusive club if you have family already spending eternity in one of the towering plots and many of the tombs have been exclusively designed by famous architects. Also in place here is the resting place of Eva Peron (better known as Evita), a heroin amongst many working class Argentinians because of her and her presidential husbands 'take from the rich and give to the poor' policies. She was moved here after her body was badly desecrated in its previous spots.

Whilst in the area we returned to see the giant flower made of aluminium and steel. Weighing approximately 18 metric tonnes and standing at 50 feet high, it was donated by the Argentinean architect Eduardo Catalano in 2002 at a cost of nearly four million dollars. The giant flower is moved by a complex mechanism that makes the petals open up with the first rays of the sun, and then close them again at dusk, when it is subsequently illuminated by 60 spotlights. A striking and original monument that many more cities should aspire to.

That night, some Irish friends of Kirk's (Gareth, an avid Spurs fan, and Stacey) arrived to see him off as he was leaving the next day for South Africa. We sat with them and competed in the weekly hostel quiz night, had a few drinks whilst getting to know our new residents.

Thursday consisted of a lazy day, and heavy party night, but somehow we managed to rise early on the friday for our pre-booked excursion to a traditional Estancia (Gaucho Farm). We quickly got chatting to a couple of Irish lads called Darren and Ciaran, and Helga, a nice Norweigan girl. First at the farm was an attempt at horse-riding. This was meant to be quite an exciting experience, but it turned out that my nag was either doped up to the eyeballs, or close to death, as it wouldn't actually accelerate past walking pace, much to the amusement of Sarah who was at the front of the 30-strong pack and competing for a placed finish.

After a stroll around the paddock, we all settled in for lunch and a Gaucho show consisting of some music and a crazy guy doing stuff with a whip. Unfortunately, our happy party was gatecrashed by Mitch, a 50-something Floridian, who we had already decided was a bit of a strange one after I had spied him scrawling some rather lewd comments (not suitable for blog publication) on a postcard whilst on the bus. He sat to my right, spitting copiously over me for the next hour, and even invited Helga back to his place for Egg-Plant. For some reason she decided to pass on this offer. Opportunity missed we thought.

After lunch it was outside for the finale. Basically the Gaucho's mounted their horses and galloped full-pelt at a hanging silver ring no more than 30mm in diameter. If successful in spearing the small hoop, they would present it to a lucky lady in the crowd, who in turn would give the heroic horseman a kiss. In other words, a rather elaborate pulling technique. Sarah was lucky enough to be chosen by a rather grubby looking chap, at which we all chuckled and made her kiss him again for photography purposes.

Once the show was over, and not content with their fill of blonde western women, the desperado Gaucho's invited the ladies for a full gallop. Again, Sarah managed to get involved, this time with a portly cowboy. Not one to miss an opportunity, he casually asked for her hand in marriage whilst on their little jaunt, but I think my asking price of five english pounds put him off enough to drop her back with me.

That evening we had arranged to go for dinner in the port area with a few of our friends from the hostel, but somehow word spread during the day, and it turned out to be a 35-strong crowd all rolling up to a pretty swanky looking restaurant at 10.30pm, the usual Argentinian dining hour. The management were more than accommodating however, and quickly organised four large tables. The wine flowed and with eating formalities completed (probably the best Fillet steak I have ever had for under 3 quid), we all moved next door to a trendy looking bar for cocktails. 2am soon arrived, usually the time that most Brits would be heading home with a dirty kebab, but this is when Buenos Aires nights begin to really get lively. The crowd still in tact, we all jumped into taxi's to go to Roxy. By this point, everyone was well on their way and the cheesy sounds of Bon Jovi, INXS and Erasure were just what the doctor ordered. We managed to roll in just after 7am a little worse for wear.

Somehow surfacing just before noon, we went with Gareth and Stacey to the market in Recoleta. Funnily enough, it was quite a slow day, with lots of rest stops and a little stint of lying lazily in the park. Obviously it didn't stop the beers flowing again that evening. As our final night got under way, we were given a good send off for our journey northwards the next day.

A cracking ten days all in all, and we were a little sad to be leaving this magnificent city and our new pals behind, but happy we would be seeing them again for Christmas in Sydney where we're sure we'll be doing it all over again, festive style.

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