Back in Bolivia

What does 60 hours of bus travel get you - besides a very big crook in your neck and a pain in your behind? It gets you a long way from Buenos Aires; 1823km to be exact as the crow flies. Add in a few pit stops along the way – a night in Santa Cruz, one in Villa Tunari, and a quick stop in Cochabamba and you get a very long journey.

The reason for such a big trip? We had plans to volunteer at an animal sanctuary for 15 days before settling in Sucre for a month of Spanish lessons.  Sadly, Inti Wara Yassi had received a record influx of volunteers - Gap Adventures bringing 14 people the day before, and at least 7 turning up the morning we arrived. Such big numbers left us with the opportunity of doing construction work for the park. We decided against it. While no doubt rewarding, I definitely had my heart set on working with a little monkey rather than logging rocks and sand on my back up a very muddy hill. We would no doubt have quickly got our fitness back, but my back deserves a rest from heavy lifting. Jobs such as cleaning up animal poop was much more what I was after. Hopefully we will get the chance to volunteer further along the line – I’m already looking into it.

Arriving late in the afternoon, we spent the night in Villa Tunari, shooting off a few quick emails to try to rearrange our Spanish lessons that we had (uncharacteristically) already booked for the middle of March. With no response by mid morning the next day, we decided it best to head to Sucre anyway and take our chances. The journey involves a pit stop in Cochabamba anyway where we could change destinations if things didn’t start going our way.

With me on bag watch, Claire stood by the side of the road and hailed down a bus going to Cochabamba (Villa Tunari is so small that there is no bus terminal). She did very well – managing to hail down an entirely empty cama bus with big comfy seats that recline to 160 degrees for our 4 or so hour journey to Cochabamba. We guess that the morons driving the bus (at top speed over the mountain) had just picked up the coach second hand and were making their maiden voyage for they had no customers, had no idea what to charge us, and then questioned us as to whether we wanted to keep going to La Paz. No way was I going any further with those driving ‘skills.’

I spoke too soon regarding driving ‘skills.’ Our next bus driver for the 10 hours from Cochabamba to Sucre was an absolute nutter. My nervousness was compounded by the fact that we were driving in the dark, at a speed that felt like it was way to fast, over an enormous mountain, that had no safety railings (passing what looked like where a vehicle had just gone off the edge), nor was this ‘road’ paved. To make the night even more ‘fun’ we were on a normal bus, with seats that just fit your behind, and hardly recline. (Yes, I have to admit, I have been spoilt by Argentine buses.) Combine this with very crappy suspension, and a driver that thinks he’s driving Daytona, and you have a very uncomfy ride – so much so that we should have worn sports bras :s

By some miracle, we arrived in one piece in Sucre. And even more luckily, we have been able to bring our Spanish lessons forward 2 weeks – we start on Monday with orientation that includes oral and written tests so they can place us in the right class. For some reason they have ignored my plight of ‘absolute beginner’ and want to test me anyway. It will be strange having homework again after all this time. Other than the homework aspect I’m rather looking forward to it. I’m over having people ask if I speak Spanish and giving me rude looks when I reply ‘nada.’

Adios Argentina

After well over a month the time has come to farewell Argentina and BA and journey back up north to Bolivia - it definitely doesn't feel like it was long enough though. There is so much to see and do here that I'm sad to leave! From good markets, to great steak and fabulous wine - it is definitely a place, if I ever chose to move from Sydney, that would be high on my list. The place oozes character and charm that you don't get in Australia (but I will always love you Sydney...)

The crowd at the San Telmo markets

To say a last big hoorah to BA we ventured, for the fourth time, to Desnivel, our favourite steak haunt and pigged out on lomo, mashed pumpkin and potato accompanied by probably our last bottle of good Argentine wine for a while :( Pity we were so exhausted from having not even an hours sleep the night before (thank you crappy credit card company and poo head at Carnival that thought Claire's debit card was a credit card that meant we were up all night) that we struggled to fully enjoy it.

Dog walkers of BA

Oh and If you ever get to BA, and happen to be near the bus terminal - get a 'choripan' from the street vendor there. And make sure it is dripping with chimichurri. We'd been eyeing them every time we went to and from the bus station, however often having our hands full of extra luggage, we sadly would walk past - sniffing the air as much as we could, in the hope we could almost taste it. This time, though hands entirely full, we made the stop. And by George it was worth it. Sooooo tasty and the chili in the chimichurrin certainly gave us the kick along we needed to make it to the hostel, where we passed out from utter exhaustion.

Our final journey the next morning back to the train station - which we are now pros at because we have done it soooo many times - was epic, to say the least. Arriving at Diagonal Norte to change trains onto the Retiro line (where the bus station is), we soon discovered the mayhem that is subte travel in Buenos Aires peak hour. The first train pulled up just as we arrived at the station. Sweeeeeet, I thought. We're going to make it to the station in plenty of time. As the train came to stop however, we quickly realised that there was not an inch of room in any carriage. Let alone space for two girls carrying packs the size of teenagers on their backs. The people were packed into the train worse than a can of sardines. The looks of extreme discomfort on their faces, some smooched against glass of the doors of the carriage, said it all. We decided to wait for the next one. We need not have bothered, for it was just as bad. If not worse. We approached the doors, determined to get on. Just like a scrum, we were pushed from behind by fellow passengers, also determined to get their inch of space in the carriage. After a lot of pushing and shoving, we were on. The door just clipping closed behind our packs.

Where Eva Peron gave her famous speech - La Casa Rosada

Though I wish I didn't have to leave, the bank balance is crying, and Spanish lessons in Bolivia call, so 37 hour bus journey, here we come....

Carnival - Argentine Style

Having not the money, nor the time really to make our way to Rio for Carnival, we thought we'd give the local Argentine celebrations a shot and so headed to Gualeguaychú.

About Gualeguaychú (which I cannot for the life of me spell, let alone pronounce):

1. It is not on any tourist map you will find - though only 3 hours from Buenos Aires, you would never know this place existed. That is unless you befriended an Argentine and asked where to go for Carnival (a la Jorge at our first parillia experience on the border of Argentina and Bolivia. Thank you Jorge, and Lonely Planet who suggested it). This little 'beach side' (or what really should be called a 'river side') town is a very popular holiday destination for Argentines - It's restaurant and bar strip would definitely rival anything you would find in any substantial resort town. However, definitely minus the 'resort' factor for Gualeguaychú. It even reminded me a bit of walking down the Promenade at Manly - a bit grubby, with restaurants and bars everywhere.

Our hostel was very basic, the bathroom in particular (and we were very lucky to get it - no hostel in this town being on hostel bookers/world etc. It took a very many emails before we even got one reply. RUDE! ) With the sink falling off the wall, and no shower recess or curtain, just a shower head positioned between a wall on one side, and the toilet on the other, showering, was to say at the very least, a whole bathroom affair. Everything - including the toilet paper, got wet. With the water running primarily in the opposite direction from the drain hole, at one point, I thought I was going to flood our room and saturate our bags that were sprawled across the floor - the water heading straight for the door (where there was no lip). Luckily, I averted any crisis with the rubber mop type implement that they love to provide you with here instead of a shower curtain - so you can clean up all the water mess you make after you have made it, instead of avoiding the whole problem in the first place. Clever. (I hope you get my sarcasm)

2. It's flooded - like everywhere else we have gone, from Peru, Bolivia, and now apparently even parts of Buenos Aires, Gualeguaychú was flooded. So again, no beach for us. There was a massive thunderstorm the second night we were here. So much so that we were even put off going out for dinner - instead we resorted to bread and cheese we had left over from an afternoon's snacking and a bottle of wine that we'd been carrying around since Mendoza.

3. Carnival goes off here - who knew! Beginning about 10pm and continuing through till at least 3am, Gualeguaychú plays host to a huge parade of floats to celebrate carnival (some with rather scary figurines on them - one reminded me of the 'Demon Headmaster' if anyone read that book when they were little). Half naked dancers bearing massive headpieces of feathers and cubic zurconia embossed bikinis, dance through the stadium to the beat of drums. To make sure we looked the part, Claire painted masks on our faces with glitter and stars. We danced in the stands (complete with table service) to the parade - honey dew melons filled with punch in hand - as the floats sailed by. I managed to join in the parade briefly, jumping over the fence. However my fun ended not soon after, being escorted back to the right side of the fence by the friendly Gualeguaychú police. And I'm not just saying their friendly for the sake of it. Claire's wallet, complete with credit card, disappeared at some point in the evening. After managing to locate the wallet, sin tarjeta credito (without credit card), a local police man escorted us the 15 blocks back to our hostel. That was nice. Talking to the hopeless credit card company on the other hand was not nice - Emergency credit card system my butthole.

Carnival dancers, and the Demon Headmaster look-a-like float

My brief excursion over the fence

4.The steak cooking, unlike Carnival in Gualeguaychú, is not great - again, no one paid attention to our 'bien jugoso' requests. Our asado evening in Rosario, where the meat was blackened within an inch of it's life has got us thinking that people don't like their cow mooing here. Such a shame, cause the meat is so good otherwise. And we had a massive problem with bugs - we were swarmed by an army of them at dinner thanks to the light that sat right above our heads on the outdoor patio over looking the 'beach.' Thankfully, we didn't come the week earlier when they had a plague of pests fly through....

Overall though, woo hoo for Gualeguaychú!

Rosario and its 'beaches'

I have come to the conclusion that many Argentines think that anywhere that has some sort of water way is beautiful. Sometimes, they get it right - à la Tigre. Sometimes, I fail to see the reasoning in their logic, like Rosario. I guess I will always be biased when it comes to waterways - nothing compares to Sydney Harbour.

Nestled on the very brown (at least at the time we visited) Paraná River, Rosario is one of Argentina's largest cities after Buenos Aires. You will find it about 4 hours north of the capital, in the province of Santa Fe. Having to head north anyway for Argentina's biggest Carnival celebrations in Gualeguaychú the following weekend, we thought we would spend the few days prior in Rosario and then make a quick dash across in time for the weekend.

The boardwalks of La Florida beach

Our biggest dilemma in Rosario was finding a decent place to eat. We couldn't find anything!! In total we ate out once in the 3 nights we were there (not including the hostel asado we ate one evening) - which is really good for our wallets and just as good for our waistlines, I suppose. Lonely Planet let us down with their restaurant suggestion - a place that was described as 'changing its menu weekly' from Arabic to Asian food in the end only serving up toasted sandwiches (not really what I fancied for dinner). The map given to us by the hostel with all the restaurants on it did no better - the Irish pub we chose to go, in the hope that they would have Shepard's pie, being closed.

Which brings me to another qualm in general about all South American countries. EVERYTHING closes down between the hours of 1.30pm and 5pm. Don't try to do anything during this time. You won't even be able to get food - unless what you need is available from your local Farmacity (a chain of Pharmacies here open 24 hours). Everyone: men, women, children, dogs etc are all at home having a siesta. There is absolutely no one, and nothing on the streets. It is like walking through a ghost town. We have forgotten this so many times, and will wander down the street for 20 yards before an immense amount of cursing occurs and we turn or sorry selves around and head back to our hostel for the afternoon.

Speaking of naps, we have come rather used too, and rather good at, afternoon siestas. In fact, we probably like them a bit too much, sometimes sleeping until around 8pm (this is not the real South American siesta, this is the Aussie interpretation. Real siestas a) probably are not supposed to go for 2 hours plus and b) do not happen around 6pm). Yet, we still have the odd lapse where we forget about this time long tradition and stupidly try to do something that involves shops in the afternoon.

Anyhoo, back to Rosario...

Our biggest Rosario adventures included venturing to the mall to fit in a day of shopping, and an excursion to La Florida, Rosario's private beach - $6 to put your towel down on a fenced off piece of sand with it's own restaurants, helardoria (ice cream shop), volleyball nets, deck chairs and board walks (for those that aren't keen on walking on the sand). We munched on some really good tachos at one of the restaurants before laying our towels down for the afternoon. I chose not to venture into the brown water. Though it was nice and warm (I did stick my toe in) and came complete with beautiful masses of floating water Hyacinth,  it was not the most inviting place to swim. The warning signs about pollution (though in Spanish, you get the drift) and murky froth really put me off. It was not like you could have a good swim either - the water being roped off - think Balmoral beach style however the net was not more than 4 m from the waters edge.

La Florida - note the fence

Instead, I was kept entirely amused by two crazy dogs that lived on the beach - one an over active pain in the bum that would dig lines in the sand in an attempt to find rocks (in the mean time flicking sand onto not so impressed sun bathers, including myself) and a fluffy little munchkin that would walk onto your beach towel and stand literally in your face so that you would pat him (when he got sick of you he would move onto the next beach dweller). The time passed quickly and it was soon 5.30 - Time to get back on the bus and start thinking about food.

The pollution sign and the roped off 'surf' a few metres from shore

Hopefully the 'beaches' of Gualeguaychú will deliver more than sand in your face from naughty dogs.

Secret (food) treasures

Sitting in the front room of a normal suburban house in the barrio of Colegiales Buenos Aires I had the best Vietnamese food I've ever, and dare say, may ever eat. Pho at UNSW is good, don't get me wrong, but this meal was unforgettable.

What is normally the living room of New York trained Korean-American  Christina Sunae is transformed on a Friday and Saturday night into a private dining experience for a maximum of 20 people. Where couches once sat, tables adorned with flowers and candles now lay; family portraits, the only hint of what once was there, still resting on the mantle.

The living room come restaurant

Apparently the phenomenon of closed door restaurants, or 'puertas cerradas' is common in Buenos Aires - I wish it would catch on in Sydney. Anyone who loves good food will love this. It feels like you're eating at home, or at a friends dinner party, yet with much, much, much better food (no offence anyone!)

To die for fried spring rolls filled with chicken, pork, carrot, glass noodles and shitake mushrooms was first up. Served with mint, cilantro, wrapped in a lettuce leaf and dipped in Nuoc Mam sauce, I was in heaven from first bite and it only got better.

As if reading my mind and knowing my favourite things, Thai mango salad with avocado, red onions tossed with a citric dressing and sprinkled with roasted coconut was not far behind, followed by a chicken in Thai yellow curry served over egg noodles and topped with crispy noodles, shallots, pickled mustard greens, fresh chilis and cilantro. Droooooooool.

The photo doesn't do it justice...

To top of a suburb evening of stuffing myself silly, desert was Vietnamese banana puff served with homemade green tea ice cream. Perfection.

Oh, and how could I forget - my all time favourite fruit, lychees. Something that I've been missing and have not seen anywhere were severed up to me in a lychee and lavender infused cocktail.

Good food, good wine, good company. An all round fabulous evening.

Christina Sunae has transformed her living room into a must do dining experience for anyone who makes it to BA - or for anyone in Sydney who can cook and wants an extra earner on the side, this is the perfect idea. Do it!! If you're any good, i'll be a regular.

Mendoza was mean to us...

Ok, so this is going to be a bit of a whingy post. Not that I didn't like Mendoza. Just that there were more good things than bad that happened to us over our 5 days there.

After a couple of days back in Buenos Aires where we broke with tradition and ate at the rival of Desnivel's, Don Ernesto (steak was better, but no chimichurri so it lost points there) we headed off to wine country - Mendoza - to sample what the country has to offer wine-wise.

Things were headed down hill from the beginning. Firstly, we couldn't find our hostel when we arrived. My crappy map reading skills headed us in totally the opposite direction from where we should be going. Five blocks the wrong way later, a nice passerby noticed our clearly obvious looks of confusion and pointed us the right way. Things didn't improve however in our hostel hunt. Our street was in two parts, two parts that we're labelled on my now not so favourite Lonely Planet map and shock horror, we went to the wrong end, making our trek, back packs in tow, about 10 blocks longer than it had to be. We were exhausted, aching and cranky by the time we arrived.

At our hostel, we were greated by a crazy, very fast and not a word of English speaking Spanish lady. Ranting in Spanish, with us following having absolutely no idea what she was telling us, she took us up to our room. Woo hoo - bed I thought. That happy thought didn't last long. We had booked a 4 person dorm. Apparently only 8 bed dorms exist - annoying. Fine, can deal with this. Examining the room a little closer - crap - there is only one window, and a measily two fans for the eight people in the room. We absolutely baked that night. By the time it was bed time, people who had already gone to sleep had directed the fans onto them, and although they swiveled, I got barely a breath of air all night. I hate fan hogs. To make the night more interesting, there was something biting me all night. I was forced to drown myself in DET in the middle of the night to make them stop, but still couldn't budge the feeling that something was crawling all over me and biting me.

With plenty of time in Mendoza, we had a lazy first day - we caught up on sleep and generally blobbed around town. Being a Sunday, there was nothing much open. We found a cafe across the street from the main plaza that did really nice food and had a long lunch, sampling my first taste of Mendozan wine. Our afternoon wanders led us to a stupendous super market that rivaled our Asian supermarket find in Belgrano - it had everything, from lab coats (?!?!!?) to bay leaves, which we haven't seen anywhere else. We decided to take advantage of our discovery and cook dinner for once - spag bol. So good to have a home cooked meal again.

The next day we decided to do a do-it-yourself tour of a wine region not really ventured to by tours available at the hostel - Luján de Cuyo. We thought we'd started off really well - we got bus numbers of the lady at the front desk (so helpful we mistakingly thought) and went hunting for the bus stop. We can do this!! However after 30 frustrating minutes of wandering around where the front desk lady said the bus stop would be we'd still had no luck in locating it. We luckily stumbled across a tourist information counter at the local council with a really helpful guy. Turns out that bus would not have taken us where we wanted to go. That would have been interesting. He pointed us in the right direction, and gave us ample supply of maps to get us there and around Mendoza.

I hate taking public transport in a foreign country for the first time, buses in particular. Trains are easy in Buenos Aires because it costs $1.10 no matter how far or how many lines you change. Buses on the other hand involve talking to the driver, telling them where you want to go and different prices - of course we had no idea really where we were going... just the general region. The line for tickets backed up behind us as we tried to work the ticket machine. No matter how many times we put our coins in, they would just come straight back out at us. I pressed random buttons and changed the speed in which I put the coin in the slot (for some reason I thought that may have been the problem), but alas, no ticket. The man behind us eventually caught on that we had no idea what we were doing and asked us where we were going. They eventually figured out our crappy Spanish and we got tickets. Next task, trying to figure out where to get off the bus.

The wineries not clearly marked on our map, we decided to head to yet another information centre to enquire about the best way to see them. "Do you have a car?" the guy asked. Uh-oh. Turns out the wineries in this region are very far apart - too far even for our very accustomed to walking very long distance legs. He pointed us in the direction of a couple of wineries and a restaurant that weren't too far away. Shock horror, we couldn't find the restaurant. Absolutely starving, and with a cab passing by at just the right moment we decided to cab it a winery mentioned in Claire's guide that offered lunch with their tastings - Alta Vista.

We pulled up at the massive automatic gate, greated by the security guard. "Do you have a reservation?" Oh shit. "No." He chatted away with someone on his walkie-talkie for a good 30 seconds before letting us in. Thinking only of my stomach, I quickly asked if there was a restaurant. "No." Bugger. Lunch consisted of the rest of my packet of mints as we were shown around the winery. This is where going to wineries here differs from Australia - they give you a 20 minute tour of their facilities before the sampling begins, and then they only give you 2 or 3 wines. Stingy! The first few tours are interesting, but after about the third tour I was over it. The same vats, just on different scales. Bring on the wine. I did learn something interesting - Mendozan wine is all natural and it has to be by law. There is also a law that champange and wine cannot be made on the same premises, cause this would mean that they would have to have sugar on the premises - not allowed.

Absolutely starving by the time we made it back to Mendoza, we wandered up to the main restuarant street where we had really good steak at La Lucia. A massive slab of lomo, cooked to perfection with a good bottle of red wine - the day was finally looking up.

We decided to try and change our luck by moving to another hostel - we changed the following day to a HI on the restaurant and bar strip we'd been at the night before. While only 6 people in this dorm, the room could fit no more than the 3 sets of bunks it held. Our two bags on the floor took up most of the available floor space. And still, no air conditioning. Luckily, we managed to get the two bunks next to the window. Wouldn't say that it helped much. It was another night spent in a sauna.

Our bad run continued. Our new hostel had no room on their wine and bike tour of Maipu (yes, that's right, it's pronounced my poo). "You can do it on Friday" the grumpy woman at the desk suggested. So handy when you leave on Thursday. We headed to the hostel next door to see what they had. Finally, something went our way. We booked a bike and wine tour with the works - pool, lunch etc for the following afternoon - woo hoo. When we turned up the following day however the company had cancelled on us because 3 others who were supposed to be on the tour as well had pulled out. CRAPPPP. Can this week possibly get any worse?!?! The helpful guy at the desk quickly did some calling around and managed to get us on a bus tour for the afternoon. Better than nothing I suppose.

We were taken to one enourmous winery, a family winery and an olive oil place. The wine at Lopez, the enourmous winery, was disgusting. I would liken the brand to something like Wolfblass - a mass manufacturer of wine, where they care less about taste and more about affordability. Other people seemed to like it though. We sat on the bus waiting for a few people who were buying up big. The second winery, Don Alberto, was much better. Located on a tree lined street out in the country, Don Alberto had old country style houses, gazebos strangled with vines and an old fashioned way of making wine. They used water of the Mendoza river to cool the wine and original techniques to separate the grapes, stems and skins. Whether it was the environment or the care they put into their production, the wine tasted so much better. Though the region is famous for its shiraz, the Don Alberto shiraz was unpassable - we bought two bottles, a splurge on a backpacker's budget.

That night, we came back to the hostel from another delicious dinner and a few drinks in the midst of deciding whether to kick on or not. Our minds were quickly made up however when on our way past the pool to our room we were sweped up by our overly friendly hostel desk guy and his mate and thrown, fully clothed, wallets in hand, into the pool. Fully drenched, we decided bed was the best option.

On our last day in Mendoza we braved the local buses one last time to go and see Valentine's Day at Palmares, an outdoor mall (think Warringah mall style) in the burbs of Mendoza. We got there no problems, however the movie wasn't on (even though I had carefully researched movie times etc). We decided to ask to see Valentine's Day anyway, but getting to the counter and asking for "Dia..." and then forgetting the rest, we were given tickets to some random new Jamie Foxx movie Dias de ira (Law obiding citizen). Not really my cup of tea. Once inside, we found the cinema with Enamorándome de mi ex (It's Complicated) playing and saw that instead. A good romantic comedy if you're in the mood for one.

Woo hoo, finally time to leave Mendoza! Boarding the bus at 7pm (not the VIP bus we were promised), they fed us a mint and then jumped straight into the movies - 'Benjamin Button' - must be a bus hostess' favourite because this is about the third time we've seen it now. For those of you that haven't seen it, Benjamin Button is a looooooong movie, about 3 hours. By 9pm, almost half way through, they had dimmed the lights although they still hadn't fed us. I was starving, and the rocking of the bus was putting me to sleep like a baby. I somehow managed to stay awake, though it was really pointless because the movie froze. Too lazy to try and rectify the problem, the hostess simply turned the movie off, 20 mins before the end. Great for those who haven't seen it. Then, with everyone asleep, they served dinner. Who plans these things?!

Finally, we're back in Buenos Aires.
 
Apologies for my ranting. Hopefully I haven't put you off Mendoza and hopefully our luck picks up....

Braving the rain for a day in Tigre

Knowing a local is the best way to really see a place. Luckily for us, Claire's mum has a very good old friend, Alex, living in Buenos Aires. Even more lucky for us, Alex has a gorgeous waterside house on one of the many islands that make up the small community of Tigre, just outside of Buenos Aires, which she invited us to.

Braving the pouring rain, fully ladened with packs, we met Alex at her apartment in Belgrano. After lunch at a local haunt (so much easier having a Spanish speaker around), we stuffed our packs into her car and drove the hour of so to Tigre, where we boarded a mahogany boat that resembled a streched out Halvorson with about 40 or so locals, to take us to 'Alex's island.'

One of the many boats that ferry people to their homes

With pets and bags usually on the roof (luckily we managed to get our packs inside because of the rain), the boat weaved its way through the maze of interconnected streams, lined with beautiful houses and exotic gardens, passing rowing clubs and even the local school which sits perched besides the river on one of the islands before coming to a stop almost an hour later at Alex's wharf.

The house was gorgeous - a red and blue cottage not 25m from the river's edge. Perched up on stilts (so as to avoid wet feet when the river breaks its bank) the massive glass windows of the sitting room let you take in the beauty and tranquillity of the surroundings . It's the perfect getaway from the hustle and bustle of BA. While munching on a meal of melon and prosciutto, we all crossed fingers and toes that the torrential rain and (albeit) amazing lightening show would magically disappear by morning so that we could take full advantage of our time on the island - by sun baking on the wharf.

Woo hoo, it did clear up a bit the next day. We grabbed deck chairs and a posse on the wharf and watched the world go by - children swimming and speeding by in tinnies up the river, and the food boat that comes by everyday at 3pm ladened with pretty much everything you could possibly want or need - all while having our first sips of mate, the national drink of Argentina.

The food boat stopping at the house over the river

How to describe mate?? Hmmm. At first glance you really don't know what it is - a slush of herbs and nutty looking pieces absolutely stuffed to the top of your shared hollow calabash gourd (wikipedia it) mixed with a bit of hot water. It tastes, well like nothing I can compare it too (helpful, huh). I was really apprehensive about my first slurp through the metal straw when the mate mug was passed too me. Someone had described it to us as tobacco tasting which really put me off trying it, but it is in no way similar. And it isn't really like tea either. It has a much more strong, bitter, almost slightly eucalyptusy flavour, although ours had been mixed with orange to give it a bit of sweetness. Definitely an acquired taste. Wouldn't say I'm rushing out to buy myself a mate mug - The number of people that you see in Uruguay carrying around their mate, with a thermos under their other arm for refills is insane. Every man and his dog has a mate cup and thermos attached to them like it's their left hand. You would think that it was their national drink, but apparently not, or maybe they were all Argentines on holiday...

Claire, sampling mate

Futbol - La Boca v Argentinos Juniors

Our local soccer match experience

'No lip balm, no creams, no cigarette lighters or aerosols allowed. If you want it stuff it in your sock or down your pants.' - Our futbol guide.

It was a 200m walk to the stadium from the van we arrived in. The street was entirely gated off with 6ft steel fences. Swept up in the sea of people arriving, we were fed through 3 bag and pat down body searches about 70m apart to get into the stadium, all under the watchful eye of masses of police, and riot squad complete with water canons and armoured vehicles. The game hadn't even started.

The riot squad

We were 2 hours early for the match. Weird, we thought. We were escorted to the middle far corner of the 'La Boca' supporters side - each team's supporters are given a side of the field to prevent altercations. A fence at least 12ft high, complete with barbed wire, keeps supporters from the field (though not all - one man scaled the fence, flag in hand and became caught in the barbed wire), and from the opposing team's fans. Opposing team's fans are also not allowed to leave at the same time, the Argentinos fans being locked in until we had all dispersed at the end of the match.

The idiot who decided to climb the 12ft fence

Soon our side of the stadium was stuffed with La Boca fans with flags and banners galore (and a little baby with a very concerned look on his face, being held in one hand above his dad's head). Escorted to the bathroom, and escorted to get food (no alcohol allowed) you soon became concerned about how much they were worried about your safety.

The war cries began, and we all stood up to watch the game, the Boca side resonating with singing and drums as we waited for the teams to take the field. (See the video - note the litte kid no older than 5 who joined in the shirt taking off and swinging it around your head routine and the weird hand flick that everyone does). We were sandwiched among st the masses, not having an inch on either side of us. For Claire, this was not a good thing. Both in front and behind, she had very sweaty men who had decided they would cool down by taking their shirts off.

Lucky we got there early, and luckily we were off to one side. The game drew even at 1-1. When La Boca scored again late in the second half (woo hoo, go La Boca - it would a certain death to go for the other side considering where we were sitting) , the crowd surged forward as they celebrated. In a tiered stadium (think concrete steps, no actual seats) this meant that everyone (including the man with the 4 month old baby) fell forward, down the steps, clutching at anything you could to regain your balance. Definitely a 'wholly crap' and 'this could end really badly' kind of moment.

Slurry, surrounded by moobs.

The game finished 2-2, the Argentinos scoring in the last minute. Must say I was kind of relieved. Who knows how squashed we would have been had La Boca pulled it off and scored again.

Spotted: classic hair cuts

The combination half head shave with blonded rats tail

Adding to my sunburn tally in Uruguay

I can think of two occasions on my whole trip where I've seen some form of water mass. Lima, where we looked out across the pacific from the massive mall built on the edge of a cliff, and Lago Titicaca where I absolutely fried myself on the boat cruise to the islands - see my legs.... Desperately craving some beach time and some down time after our speedy trip of Puerto Iguazu, we headed to Uruguay.

We'd heard varying reports of Uruguay, and taking up only 10 pages or so in my guide book you could see why people would give it a miss, but it is a little gem, particularly the area of 'Punta del Diablo' (literally translated as 'end of the devil'), a remote little fishing village 4 hours north of the capital Montevideo - think wooden cabins, dirt streets, dreadlocks, wandering pipe and flute playing musicians and beaches that stretch as far as the eye can see. There would have to be more weirdly shaved heads/dreadlocks here per capita than anywhere else in the world. The half head shave is extremely popular, and I have seen some good two sided head shaves with a really long bit in the middle, kind of like a horse's mane. Can't say I'm planning to adopt this style anytime soon.

To get to Uraguay we caught the 'speedy' ferry across from Buenos Aires to Colonia, an old Portuguese port used to smuggle goods into Buenos Aires. This time we had no choice but to go first class (seriously). The next ferry, which was considerably cheaper was a 5 hour wait. Not wanting to waste a whole day sitting in the ferry terminal, we splurged and boarded the massive P&O style boat, minus the decks. Trapped inside with salted up windows and an expensive bar (that we avoided), our trip across the Rio de la Plata (the 'River of Silver') was uneventful. To keep us amused, and to recoup some moolah we'd forked out, we hatched a plan to drink the cost of our tickets in free champagne that was being handed out. Our plan failed miserably however when the champagne lady disappeared on us mid journey.

In no time we were pulling into the port of Calonia del Sacramento. A picturesque cobblestoned street town, filled with good restaurants, cute houses and antique cars (some complete with shrubery). Having not booked a hostel, it being at least 40 degrees, and struggling to walk on cobblestones fully laydened with 20kgs of stuff, Claire and I left Jules with all our luggage under a tree somewhere while we tried to find a cheapish hostel. Turns out Uruguay is expensive (by our standards...). After about an hour we returned with only one hostel name. By the time we got back up there, having stopped for lunch (baggage still in tow) it was booked out. Joy. Luckily for us there was another one not too much further down the street.

On our wanders for a hostel we discovered a really cute plaza lined with restaurants. We headed back up there that night for a meal - choosing to eat at 'El Drugstore' (random) cause it had live music and a cute car out the front that they had pulled all the insides out of and put a table and chairs in. Not that we got to dine in there, it being reserved for the romantics. While slowly being eaten by mosquitos, I ate a really good sweet and sour chicken dish, accompanied by copious amounts of sangria.

Walking along the water in Punta del DiabloUruguay

Some of us bearing slightly sore heads, we got up early the next morning so that we could make it all the way to Punta del Diablo, aColoniashrubberyladenedbout mosquitoes7 hours away. We arrived just before dusk in Punta del Diablo. However, with no street signage, and crappy directions from the local police, we followed randomly placed signs that had our hostel name on it, but no arrows... helpful. I wasn't complaining however when we finally arrived. Located right on the beach, our room looked out across the sand out to the ocean in one direction, and back towards the village in the other. Magnificent, but time for food so we wandered back down the road into town.

The view from our room

I feared another Copacabana incident was brewing (ie. having no cash and no ATM in town) when we asked around for a 'cajero' and all we got was vacant looks. We spent what little money we had left on dinner (no beer allowed because we didn't have enough) with fingers and toes crossed that an ATM would magically fall out of the sky and we wouldn't be stuck in Punta del Diablo. Not that I would complain. I could easily live here! A bit of Google action later that evening pointed us in the direction of the only ATM in town. Hidden back up in the sand dunes where you would never find it. We eventually managed to locate it, but little use it did me - Claire went first and cleared the thing of cash.

Having done at least 54 hours of bus travel in the past 4 days, I craved a walk when I got up the next morning. Claire and I strolled up along the beach (fabulous look sneakers on the sand) and over the headlands to the next beach along. The walk turned into a marathon however when we lost our way in the National Park that we ventured into. Not thinking that the park would be as big as it is, we followed the road hoping it would lead us back to Punta del Diablo. It didn't. What was supposed to be an hour or so walk turned into a 2.5 hour expedition through the forest in the stinking heat. Not thinking we'd be outside for so long, I didn't put any suncream on and have now added to my collection of feral tan lines. I tried to rectify the disgustingness later in the day by lying on the beach. My plan failed. I spent the next day in agony, having now burnt the top of my legs and butt. Joy. I now have 3 shades of brown on my leg. It's really attractive....

My day did get better - we went horse riding in the evening along the beach (rather painful with a sun burnt butt). Though we managed to miss the sunset having spent too long picnicking and drinking wine with our tour guide who really liked to talk, it was still awesome to canter along the beach - the sound of the crashing waves and the moon, which was almost full, lighting our way. I did get yet another doofy horse though, called 'Diablo' or 'little devil'. He like to stop randomly without warning (though luckily not when we were cantering, else I surely would not have of stayed on). Our guide had to give me a stick to make him go. In the end I caught on to what might be causing him to stop suddenly - Jules' horse. I don't think they were very good friends. Her mare kicked Diablo at one point when I got too close. Diablo reared but soon calmed down and we continued at a much greater distance behind Jules up the sand dunes.

We spent 4 relaxing days in Punta del Diablo before heading south to Cabo Polonio - a tiny fishing village hidden behind sand dunes that everyone you talk to raves about; a town you won't find in your Lonely Planet. After managing to arrange a ticket with the bitchy and totally unhelpful bus lady we boarded our bus to make the 2 hour or so journey. Everyone else had the same idea. If our bus was made for 100 people, it had to have at least 140 people on it. We were sandwiched, shoulder to shoulder, in the aisle (much to our surprise when we couldn't find seat numbers on our tickets). While totally packed, the bus continued to stop at bus stops along the way, picking up even more people. We must have looked like a can of sardines from the outside. With sore backs from bad beds in Punta del Diablo, it was not a fun trip.

The jeeps to get into Cabo Polonio

The bus to Polonio drops you off on the main road where you jump in a 4x4 with monster truck tyres to take you over the sand dunes, along the beach and to the town - the only way to get there. Again, having booked no hostel, we did the hostel wander. We settled on Gramp's and G-ma's cottage - an elderly couple's home. They had boarded up all the doors on the inside to make several bedrooms, renting them for US$50 per night. With no electricity, running water, or flushing toilets, you felt like you were being a bit ripped off. But it was fun nonetheless. We explored the local markets, had lunch in a restaurant on the water, wandered up to the lighthouse to do some sea lion spotting, strolled along the beach (which is not so fun when there are dead turtles and sea lions washed up on shore)and climbed the massive sand dunes in the late afternoon.

On top a sand dune