Cowboys

Tom and I were unsure how to spend our first day in Bolivia so we were very much open to suggestion. We made some new friends on the train and they managed to convince us to go horse riding.

Tom and I confessed to our lack of equine knowledge so the stable boy dragged out two old donkeys and proceeded to clumsily aid us in mounting the saddle. To make the experience a little more authentic we were then provided with cowboy hats and off we went into the desert. We started off walking then tentatively trotting then before long we were galloping around like real cowboys. For donkeys they were fairly spritely and shifted when you asked them to. The horse riding has opened up several new job opportunities for me, I’m now considering a career on a ranch or alternately a fancy dress model.

Being Childish

We have now arrived in Mendoza, the wine capital of Argentina, so naturally we decided to do a spot of wine tasting. Wine is in no way my specialist subject. Saying that, I’m not a complete novice. I can correctly identify between a red and a white 95% of the time (35% if blindfolded). But luckily for me, Tom and Kitty were also amateurs in the world of wine tasting so we decided it was about time we got educated and booked ourselves onto a tour.

We liked the idea of a hotel pickup so we selected our tour and after a fairly arduous wait our transport eventually arrived. The reason for the delay soon became apparent - Half the coach party recently received hip replacements and the other half were severely suffering from arthritis. This caused the boarding process at each pick up to take considerably longer than expected. I was the youngest person on board by at least 50 years and one of the only people still in possession of my own teeth. We somehow managed to book ourselves onto the silver hair tour, but then I suppose wine tasting isn’t exactly the most ‘hip’ or ‘happenin’ activity. I checked the seat, to ensure there hadn't been an accident involving a weak bladder on a previous outing, sat down, and off we went to the vineyard.

We visited several wineries, I had my cheek nipped several times and it eventually turned out to be quite a nice outing. An American couple took a fondness to Tom due to his spitting resemblance to a member of the royal family and Kitty hit it off with an obese man who probably wasn’t allowed in such close proximity of young females under normal circumstances. But the highlight was when we arrived at the Bodegas Lopez winery and we had a tasting and etiquette lesson from an amazingly beautiful Argentinian Lady.

Tom had confessed prior to the tour that he didn’t mind a white but reds severely disagreed with his pallet. Now here's a few facts for you -

• According to the experts, a good red wine compliments red meat perfectly.
• Argentina is one of the worlds largest producers of Beef.
• Beef is a red meat.
• Argentinians love steak and eat it frequently.
• Mendoza produces 95% red wine and 5% white wine due to supply and demand.
• Tom had wasted his money.

The Bodegas Lopez winery produced hundreds of litres of red wine each year and our lovely guide was very informative about the whole production process. The remarkable thing was that Tom, a man who previously confessed his dislike for red wine, now took a real keen interest in every aspect of it all of a sudden.

Tom spent the entire tour asking ridiculous questions just so he could talk to her. “How much did this big barrel cost?”, “Where do grapes come from?”, “What’s the biggest grape you’ve ever seen?”, “How much did this small barrel cost?”. Tom had it in his head that this poor girl was in to him and in my opinion he was getting a little big for his boots. Being the youngest on the bus I decided that resorting to immaturity was perfectly acceptable so I grabbed some stickers from the wine bottles and placed them on Toms back. I’ll let the photos explain the rest:

“So babe, what does wine come in?”

“Normally in bottles Mr Vincent, like the ones on the shelf behind you.”

“Thanks, what an amazing fact. I’ll just head over there and have a look. Check you later”

‘She keeps grinning, I’m definitely in here. If I read this whole book then I’ll know as much about wine as she does. We have so much in common’

“Look at that silly English man over there, he has a little sticker on his back and looks like prince Harry. I can’t stop smirking”

‘She’s smiling so much she looks like she's swallowed a coat hanger. Who Da Man’

It took poor Tom several hours before he realised he had been labelled as a 2004 Malbec. Roughly the same amount of time taken to hoist every other passenger on board via the stair lift and for us to arrive back at the hostel slightly merry.

Into The Wild

After our brief visit to the very south of the continent, we are now making our way slowly back up towards Bolivia via various parts of Argentina and Chile. Despite the recent earthquake in Chile they seem to have got themselves back on track and I’m really glad we took the gamble of crossing the border. It wasn’t a huge gamble as we were quite some distance from the epicentre but we had heard rumours it was still a little touch and go in places. Our destination was the Torres Del Paine National Park and we decided that a 3 day camping trek should give us just enough time to explore. Despite being fairly well equipped for the outdoor lifestyle we still needed to hire a few bits and pieces from the camping store. Being on a budget, we opted for the somewhat snug 3 man tent, your basic one hob gas stove and the ‘Congratulations you're my 100,000th customer’ kitchen set. Sadly we didn’t get any prize for the special hire of the kitchen set other than the relatively high chance of contracting leprosy. Fully prepared for anything nature could throw at us, we set off up the mountains with a happy mind and a spring in our step.

The first day we hiked several kilometres along a glacier calved path and eventually decided to set up camp on some flat ground next to a fresh water stream. We then cooked up some oriental cuisine and sat playing cards until the sunset over the peaks, casting a shadow over the valley. Once dark we then gathered in the tent and eagerly awaited the next morning.

If that last paragraph were to appear in a holiday brochure, I’d without doubt be castrated by trading standards. What actually happened was we climbed near vertical mountain faces, that required a fist full of climbing chalk in some places, until our feet were effectively two large blisters in boots. Exhausted we collapsed on the closest thing we could find to a campsite. This just so happened to be adjacent to white water rapids so loud we had to either shout or use sign language to communicate. In a feeble attempt to make the situation more pleasurable, we heated some water and had a pot noodle. The sun then fell dramatically behind the mountain and in a similar vein, so did the temperature. Almost instantly the valley became a giant refrigerator and we were forced to play cards by Zippo light to keep a) Our fingers warm & b) Our minds from thinking about the onset of pneumonia and our, now inevitable, slow and painful death. The noise of the rapids was slowly being drowned out by something that I’m fairly confident was a man eating eagle. With a matter of seconds to spare before we were visited by the winged beast, we crowded into the tent and endeavoured to fit into a single sleeping bag to conserve body heat. Too concerned with cold and man eating eagles, we lay there wishing for sun to rise and bring with it safety, warmth and a new day.

In hindsight I may have been slightly exaggerating.

As we were going to be quite some distance from civilisation for the entire trip, we had to take all our supplies with us. This meant we had to take all 3 days worth of food with us and ration it over the journey. I’ll let it be known - rationing is not a technique I’m fond of. For that matter rationing is not a technique I’m capable of. I fully understand the concept of dividing the supplies so they last the duration. It’s just that I enjoy eating food far more than I do lugging it around in a very, very heavy rucksack. But with Tom and Kitty in charge of meals I had to conform to set meal times. This wonderfully backfired on our second night when our tent was raided by a well organised mischief of rats. They managed to chew their way through Tom’s backpack and eat a portion of almost everything we had. We were Lucky it was only a portion of each item, as it meant we could carefully pick our way round each cream cracker and just about salvage a snack.

In all it was a great trip and I really enjoyed it. The scenery was great and I managed to get some nice pictures. I couldn’t get any of the human eating eagle though. Must be nocturnal.

The End Of The Road

After a couple of nights in Buenos Aires, Tom and I were joined by an old friend of mine. I met Kitty in New Zealand whilst Rory and I were travelling on the Stray bus through the South Island and we have kept in contact with each other ever since. When I first told Kitty of our plans to see South America, she was already in Brazil celebrating the carnival season. She asked if we minded an extra companion for a bit throughout the south and of course Tom didn't mind so now the two of us are 3.

Our flight to Ushuaia was at 5:30am so we ditched our nice soft beds in our hostel and opted for a nights accommodation in the comfort of Buenos Aires Domestic airport and it’s marble floor. A decision we unanimously regretted within 12 to 13 seconds of assuming a sleeping position. In an attempt to make the experience a little more bearable I strategically positioned a rolled up jumper under my shoulders, a flip-flop under each bum cheek and all my valuables wrapped in a towel under my head. The towel-safety-pillow was ingeniously created to provide not only a soft headrest but also prevent me from being looted while I dozed. Ironically enough, it was the towel-safety-pillow that was mostly to blame for me not getting an ounce of sleep all night. I can however reliably report that no looting occurred so initial field testing was 50% successful.

Ushuaia is officially the most southerly city on the planet with the next stop pretty much being Antarctica. This means its pretty cold even in the summer. I didn’t realise quite how cold however until I stepped off the plane in my shorts, flip-flops and tee shirt, prompting a quick costume change at the luggage carousel before any more locals gave me the “Bloody tourist’s” look. I read that it’s possible, given a lot of time and holiday pay, to drive all the way from Barrow in the north of Alaska down to Ushuaia. Why anyone would travel 9500 odd miles to visit the place seems a little strange but it’s still pretty nice. Due to it’s remoteness the whole area has remained relatively untouched by humans. According to a leaflet I found in the hostel lobby, this makes for a lovely stroll so that’s exactly what we did. We followed a path which lead us to the bottom of the city and eventually joined a road which we then followed to it’s climax, a big sign saying “The End of the Road”. At least that’s what I think it said, my Spanish is still a little rusty. I found a definition of ‘The End of the Road’ that reads - The point where it is no longer possible to continue with a process or activity. In this case the process was maintain a core body temperature above 37 degrees. So after the mandatory tourist photo we got back to the hostel as fast as we could so I could put a few more layers on.

El Superclasico

When Tom and I first booked our flights to Buenos Aires we instantly checked to see whether Boca Juniors or River Plate (The 2 local Football Teams) were playing as we had heard from several sources that these matches were not to be missed. Whilst walking around the city it soon becomes apparent that football is something the Argentineans are really quite passionate about. Every other shop has a jersey in the window, any empty plot of concrete is covered with kids practising their tricks and, as I’ve mentioned before, Argentina's Idol Maradona is a god here. So when we discovered the season finished the week before we arrived, you can imagine we were somewhat disappointed.

It wasn’t until checking in at our first hostel that I noticed signs for El Superclasico plastered on every door, that I realised we had made a welcomed mistake. Not only was the season still in full swing but this weekends games was the biggest of the season. Boca Juniors Vs River Plate, one of the fiercest local derbies on the planet.

We were picked up by 3 rather unsavoury Argentinean men who ticked our names off a list and ushered us onto a large orange bus. All the windows were covered by curtains and it was dark inside but we were assured that this was in our best interest. Apparently, alerting locals to the fact we were a bus full of gringos in La Boca was like teasing a lion with a bit of steak. Eventually we arrived at the ground and were told it was safe to get off the bus. Safe in the sense that there were riot police covering every curb for as far as the eye could see. The second we stepped foot off the bus the heavens opened and within minutes Tom and I were drenched. This wasn’t helped by the 2 hour queue to get into the stadium in which we had to stand with nothing but a torn bin liner for partial cover.

The atmosphere once inside the ground was amazing. The crowd in the stadium were so lively and vocal they would have made your average 70’s Millwall fan look more like a spectator at Henley regatta. The fans had dressed the entire stadium in banners and flags, 3 tiers filled with a sea of blue and yellow. This was no easy feat, men were literally putting their lives at risk to decorate every empty gap in the stadium. We watched as men scaled 10m high barbed wire fences with bulging bin liners in tow just to hand out some newspaper fashioned into confetti. The atmosphere grew and grew for the entire run up to kick off and the songs never stopped. At one stage there was a flag lowered at the opposite end of the stadium that dropped from the very top of the 3rd tier and covered the entire stand to the bottom. It must have been obscuring the views of at least 30,000 people but they didn't seem to mind as it swayed with the fans dancing below. There were so many streamers, confetti, fireworks and flares set off that before the game could start an army of stewards had to run on the pitch and try to clear the mess.

I would have loved to take some photos but we were heavily advised to not take any expensive items, I was even advised to take the £10 Argos watch off my wrist. The best I can do is link you to a video somebody else bravely captured:

Sadly due to the rain, and the water logging of the entire pitch, the game was called off 15 minutes in, but the spectacle of seeing the build up was an experience in itself. The good news is they are replaying the game tomorrow so we get to see it all again, two for the price of one. Just hope the sun fancies making an appearance this time.

Change In All Things Is Sweet

So, I’ve now spent my first couple of days back in the rigmarole of living out of a rucksack in Sydney contemplating why I hadn’t been here sooner. It really is a quite spectacular city. The majority of my time has been spent taking classic tourist photos and talking to strangers, but its been an enjoyable experience nonetheless. I left Melbourne rather emotionally after spending the last 12 months as one of the cities inhabitants. I’d become pretty acclimatised to the surroundings, made many friends and a quite favourable life for myself. I’ve also learnt a lot from living in such a cosmopolitan city. For example, I now know I prefer Hollandaise sauce to ketchup on my breakfast and how a Sushi restaurant with revolving table works. But I don’t wish to dwell on my deportation too much as change is on the horizon and a bit of that never hurt anyone. With the obvious exception of climate change that is. Which, according to the experts, is going to endanger just about every human on the planet for centuries to come. Now there's a cheerful opening thought.

I’ve been landed in Buenos Aires for almost 24 hours now but sadly I can’t tell you an awful lot about the place. Due to jet lag, I’ve spent nearly all daylight hours sleeping and the entire night wide awake. In the brief encounters I have had with the place thus far, I have made the following observations.

• Diego Maradona’s face is on literally everything except bank notes.
• Mullets, Perms & sometimes a splendid combination of the two are still very much ‘in Vogue’.
• Prolonged exposure to Salsa music is not conducive to mental stability.
• Spanish speaking people don’t understand me even when I try dropping in a little French.

That’s all I’ve got in the note pad so far but Tom should arrive any minute now and hopefully he’s a little more immune to the effects of long haul flights than myself. As strange as this may sound it feels great to be out of my comfort zone again and wonder around taking everything in with an exciting curiosity.