Ushuaia Dec 10 - 14

The bus journey from Rio Gallegos is scheduled to take 12 hours, but ends up taking 15, thanks to no less than 6 passport checks throughout the day. We have one before leaving Rio Gallegos, another 20 minutes later on the road, and then we have to cross into Chile for a few hours, before crossing back in to Argentina. Oh how the land squabbles make for travel "fun".

We cross the Straits of Magellan at its narrowest point, toward the east, and the current here has to be seen to be believed. We watch the ferry before us leave and it heads upstream absolutely parallel with the shoreline, for quite some time, before finally turning and heading across the Strait and allowing the current to take its effect.

We have to wait the best part of an hour for the next ferry to arrive, and then be thoroughly hosed down, for some reason not apparent to us. Steve and I take the opportunity to lark around (just once) on the slide put there to no doubt entertain bored kids whilst they wait. We fit that bill.

The crossing itself takes around 30 minutes, during which time we see quite a few dolphins of a small black and white variety. We land in Tierra del Fuego and still have plenty of kilometres to cover, a substantial amount of it being on gravelled roads.

There is much more evidence of farming here. Rainfall would seem to be so slightly higher, and there is slightly more of a pick for the sheep here. Although I have not been down it, I imagine it is what the Molesworth road is like. We pass many estancias - large farms that we would call "stations".

We arrive in Ushuaia at midnight, so don't really get a chance to admire what would seem to be some beautiful mountain and lake scenes as we get closer. The next day we take a chairlift, and then an hour walk, up to the Glacier Martial, behind the town. The guidebook had warned that after Perito Moreno it would appear to be an "ice-cube", but we felt that even that was an overstatement, with "melted ice" or "once was a glacier here" being a better description.

The highlight of the trek, though, is the very rewarding views down the glacial valley to Ushuaia, and then right down the Beagle Channel. This, like the Straits of Magellan, is another waterway leading all the way from the Pacific to the Atlantic, meaning that across the other side of the channel from Ushuaia is effectively all islands.

On the way back we walk though the woods. It is incredible that absolutely ALL of the trees in this extended region (hundreds of square kilometres) are from the same species - a type of beech. They range from forests populated entirely with smalller specimens - ones you could wrap two hands around (keep your smutty innuendo to yourself please) through to forests with fewer specimens, but much larger and a couple of hundred years old each.

This photo is for you Graham - not the prettiest waterfall I"ll ever discover, but proof I am gradually finding my way photographically !

Tierra del Fuego ("Land of Fire") is the name given the area south of the Straits of Magellan, and this area is shared between Argentina and Chile. Once you cross the Beagle Channel it is all Chilean, as is the western half of the channel itself.

The name Tierra del Fuego is not derived from anything to do with the Pacific ring of fire, but is instead the name given by the first explorers to the area. Upon sailing into the Beagle Channel, they saw hundreds of fires lit along its shoreline. These were lit by the aboriginal people - the Yamana.

These people were nomadic, using their canoes to move around the coastline in search of shelter and food. Because the weather was so wet, and cold, they preferred not to wear clothes because these became too difficult to dry. So they went nude instead, and huddled round fires to keep warm.

There was 3000 Yamana left in 1880, but colonial settlers brought with them diseases that the Yamana had no resistance to. Additionally, the burgeoning naval and army bases here were given permission to shoot them, for practice. By 1890 the Yamana population was 1000, and by 1900 it was 100. There is now one full blooded Yamana person left - a woman in her 80s. Sound familiar Australia ?

Ushuaia is very much a city - although more in terms of population rather than "seeming huge". It has 70,000 residents now, up tenfold from 25 years ago. It is the primary base for tourist excursions to Antarctica - at 1,000 kilometres away it is far closer than many other places. Stewart Island, for example, is 2,200 kilometres away.

The next day Steve and I meet Mum at the airport, and we grab a hire car for 24 hours and are able to check out some of the scenery nearby. First we retrace our steps on the road into Ushuaia so we can see again some of the fine scenes we caught glimpses of on the way here during the night. First we visit Lago Escondida ("Hidden Lake" - though not too sure why it is deemed to be hidden).

We also visit the tiny fishing hamlet of Puerto Almanza.

We also come across evidence of beavers, but alas, we are unable to see a live one, meaning that we singularly fail in our quest to deliver that cheesy yet epic line from "Naked Gun".

In the evening we take Mum out for a fancy birthday dinner at Kaupe which had won the best restaurant in Argentina award in 2005. We had the best table in the place, with a fantastic view down the channel, and the service was highly polished. While there was nothing wrong with meal itself, it didnt really set any new boundaries or achieve any superlative level of accomplishment.

The meal did give us the chance, however, to once again lay eyes on one of the strangest individuals you are ever likely to see. Human decency (and lack of opportunity, lets be honest) prevents me from showing you a photo of definitively the most ineffective transvestite I have ever seen. Steve and I first clocked ´her´when we went to pick up Mum at the airport. ´She´(not Mum) was wearing a fetching orange cardy, heavy brown stockings, and a mid-brown skirt with a long slit up it. If the facial appearance was not enough of a clue, the gait and the baritone like voice were dead giveaways. To see this person once again, on the table next to us at a top class restaurant was quite bizarre, and Steve and I both wondered thought the maitre ´de was incedibly well polished when he smoothly answered the tranny´s question "Where are the toilets please". (he was directed to the ladies). This was the maginalised human at its very best. How cruel we all are.

On our final day before embarkation we take a bit of a practice cruise along the Beagle Channel. Here we see sea-lions, cormorants, and some Magellanic penguins.

So that was Ushuaia. As I write this our ship is waiting in the port, and we embark in an hour or so. It is a Russian registered ice-breaker which was once a research vessel. From all accounts it is nicely fitted out on board, and the service is top class. I don´t imagine I´ll be going for too many runs on my 7th continent (only just realised that), so I will have to be very careful that meal times don´t get quite the focus they otherwise threaten to do.

One thing I am looking forward to trying is roast penguin on Christmas Day ! I have been told it is a bit of a cross between chicken and fish (funny that) and apparently the flippers get scored and salted and comes out a bit like pork crackling. Sounds intriguing.

All the best for Christmas, I am back in NZ on Dec 30. The Antarctic blog will follow in early January.

Love, Ed x

El Calafate and Rio Gallegos Dec 7 - 9

Steve and I flew from Buenos Aires to El Calafate as it avoided the alternative which was to sit on a bus for most of the rest of the Argentinian holiday. It also happened to be a (surprisingly rare) reasonable air fare, and El Calafate is the perfect place from which to visit easily the most notable attraction in the area - the Perito Moreno Glacier.

The flight was 3 hours, and covered probably only 60 - 70% of the length of the country, proving just how vast it is. The land below is almost entirely devoid of interest - it is barely farmed, has little in the way of significant flora on it, and it is hard to work out exactly what its inherent worth is, in dollars (or even cents...).

El Calafate is a significant tourist town built entirely to service the aforementioned attraction. It has a busy high season, running from October to April, and the town swells significantly with tourists and seasonal workers. Outside this time it is reduced to a small number of permanent residents, keen enough to brave the harsh winter here.

It is situated near the shores of Lago Argentina - the largest lake in the country, and, we are told, the third largest in South America. But after being told Aconcagua is the third highest mountain in the world, well, anything is presumably possible.

It is really windy here - comparisons with Wellington are not difficult to find - and I take the opportunity of this ´homely´feel to get out for a decent run. I head around the ´lagoon´which is more like a mini-lake, or even a wetlands, and this area apparently freezes in winter and is used for ice skating.

It supports lots of aquatic birds, and the grasses and tundras are multicoloured, making for a great view as I get 90 minutes of jogging under my belt. The picture, snatched from a bus the next day - apologies for the blurriness (¨no discernable difference from your other photos¨I hear you say). Lago Argentina is the darker strip in the background.

In the morning we boarded the bus for the two hour journey to the glacier, in the Parque Nacional de los Glaciares. I am sure your Spanish is sturdy enough to do the translation. The first part of the glacier we see is the south face, which is far smaller than the north face (that the faces are at 90 degrees to one another makes the names a tad curious, but that´s by the by).

We then board a catamaran for a one hour cruise which gets us up (relatively) close and (relatively)personal with the north face. This is truly awe inspiring, at 5 kilometres wide, and 60 metres high. Being told these statistics we are slightly sceptical (especially about the height), and we are positively certain we are nothing like the 300 metres away from it that we are told. However, later in the day when we see another boat, from a different viewpoint, we know that is one of these great optical illusions - something that your eyes and brain have not had to compute before, and they indeed have played tricks on you.

The reason the boat has to stay 300 metres away, at a minimum, is because of the large impact waves caused by the ice collapses. These are large events, and happen every 30 - 60 minutes. Even ´small´ emounts of ice, seemingly the size of a football (or smaller) make a hell of a racket, and are testament once again to how it is difficult to comprehend the scale of what you are seeing.

The reason that the collapses are quite frequent is because the glacier is quite ´unstable´, meaning that is neither in state of permanent advance, or recession. Rather, it advances 2 metres each day, but it also loses 2 metres a day in terms of collapses, melting, and evaporation. It all makes for a great spectacle - nice work if you can get it, in a glacial sense.

The following picture is taken from a viewpoint later in the day and shows around half of the north face, with a slushy area in front where the ice has collapsed.

This is a view straight up the glacier. At the top it merges into the top of many other glaciers in the area called the Patagonian ice field. Here there is a low-ish gap in the Andes, meaning that rain gets a chance to sneak through the divide, from the west, as snow. This is the reason this particular part of the Andes is so glacier- rich.

It is mesmerising to stand anywhere on the multitude of fantastic walkways and viewpoints that have been created, and to watch for the next collapse. It is even possible to predict what might go next, and in the interim it is amazing to listen to the groaning and creaking of the glacier as it works its way along its course.

The ice itself has many interesting colours - varying from pure white, to grey, through to a beautiful cerulean blue (a la M3). Its structure is also varied - some of it huge pinnacles dozens of metres high, many gigantic crevasses, and an area seemingly with much less snow, just behind the main face. Tourists mid next year might feel a little hard done by. Some of the more central parts of the glacier look as though they have been created by the world´s most pedantic meringue maker.

Finally, a view from near the south face, looking back out toward the north face (the face you can see is essentially a small eastern face). The lake in view is Lago Argentina, and this is one if its many arms in this region. Behind the photographer, if you will, is another lake, which is fed by the southern face of the glacier, and a river running into it 30 kilometres away. This lake drains in to Lago Argentina via the small channel in the front of the picture.

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Every few years, the channel you see gets blocked by the glacier advancing, and it causes the water level in the lake behind it to rise and rise and rise, until eventually the glacier/dam collapses under the weight of the water. These events are apparently truly spectacular, and would be incredible to witness.

All in all these has been a special day, and something I´d quite happily repeat. I have always wanted to see ice collapsing in great chunks ("calving" as it is termed), and it was a thrill to finally see it. I guess there are chances of seeing similar in Antarctica, though with the ice there being (more) stable it may be wishful thinking.

The next day we leave El Calafate at midday for the 4 hour bus journey to Rio Gallegos. The road climbs up to a plateau and we are right at the back of the bus so we get a good view of the lake and mountains in the distance.

Once up on the plateau the distances are vast, and it continues to look like fairly unproductive sort of land (think Tarras). The area is clearly farmed, however, with well maintained fences running for hundreds of kilometres alongside the road. About all that is missing is livestock - this place certainly has an extraordinarily high fencepost to livestock ratio. The only animals that we do see (aside from the rhea, which is a mini-ostrich - no photo sorry) are farm horses. Presumably these horses are specially trained to round up the little known species - the invisible Patagonian sheep, and the invisible Patagonian cow.

We arrive in Rio Gallegos late afternoon, and check in to a small businessmanish hotel. This place is not on the tourist map, despite being a clear staging post for the last leg down to Ushuaia. The logistics for a straight-through journey are challenging, and it seems to make sense to put the feet up for a night.

Steve and I grab a haircut (I have to demand a No.1 as the barber is incredibly reluctant to sink below a No. 2 and seems genuinely worried that the language barrier is making me ask for the wrong thing), I take a run along the banks of the very wide river, and at dinner we watch the world´s most harassed waiter in action -serving an entire restaurant while two other (younger) staff members sit idly around. Tomorrow we head for the southermost city in the world.

Buenos Aires Dec 3 - 6

Buenos Aires was undoubtedly a highlight of the trip to Argentina. This city is modern, clean, efficient and proud. It has fantastic architecture, some beautiful parks, and more monuments and statues than you could shake a stick at (whatever that means).

It is easy to get around - taxis are plentiful, honest, and reasonably cheap, and although the subway is not quite the modern marvel of Santiago, it is nevertheless functional and cheap (50 NZ cents for any journey).

It is more-or-less a non-Argentinian city, with comparisons to London or Paris easy to make. (By the by, the more the trip goes on it is increasingly difficult to get a strong sense of exactly what the Argentinian ´identity´ actually is in any case). So BA is pretty unusual in that it is a non-Argentinian city, in a non-South American country. It is so non-Argentinian, in fact, that it bizarrely has its own time zone - an hour ahead of the rest of the country, and surprisingly, just 2 hours behind GMT.

But regardless of other chronological vagaries, god knows what to make of this shambolic display of disynchroncity...

It would also be remiss of me not to mention the fine state of the fairer sex here. The rest of the country hasn´t exactly been full to the brim with stunning women (and perhaps not men either, though I am no great judge), but BA is once again seemingly non-representative of the rest of the country and the women are attractive, personable, and confident. What might keep me from moving here is not readily apparent to me.

Anyway, when we weren´t all going ´Phoooar´ and ´Shit, check that out´ and generally being about 17 again, what did we get up to ?

Well, we checked in around midday to our apartment in the Palermo area which I guess is ´upper middle class´(think Hampstead) Mid-afternoon we headed out to the Recoleta district - a 30 minute walk. Here we visited the famous cemetery, which is quite a sight - almost like a miniauture city, with lots of small stone ´huts´ acting as mausoleums. These contain either coffins, or caskets presumably containing ashes.

It is a strange sensation wandering around here - some of the structures have photos of those that they hold - and one can´t help but feel slightly ghoulish and rubber necked, yet this is undoubtedly what those who are buried here appreciated would happen. And so one walks around taking photos like there´s no tomorrow. Many of the rich and famous are buried here, with easily the most notable internee being Eva Peron, who died at the tender age of just 33.

We then spent a wee while wandering around the Museo de Bellas Artes, which housed a fantastic collection of paintings. These included Rembrandt, Monet, Manet, Degas, Renoir, Gaugin, Toulouse Lautrec, Van Gogh, and Kahlo. Inspecting and admiring such revered artists is always enjoyable, and something to be indulged in when away from NZ.

The workmanship and virtuosity displayed is breathtaking, and my inspections would have been even more close range were it not for the automatic message over the sound system that was triggered whenever you leaned too close. I kind of suspected it early on, but around the 20th time it happened an attendant came over and politely asked me to stand further away. Ah, the joys of being ignorant with the language...

The next day we started off by taking the subway to the barrio (district) of San Telmo. This is more ´old town´ but is far from old in terms of up-keep - once again it is clean, unstressed, proud of itself, and a delight to wander through. It is the art area of BA - full of shops with paintings, antiques, books, maps and the like. We also stumbled upon a really curious shop/arcade which sold jewellery and chinaware, all lit up by thousands of small lights - somewhere, if you were really inclined, you could wile away many hours.

We stopped for a beer on a pavement, commented at how ridiculously un-hurried it all was, and then continued on to the Puerto Madero area - situated in the old docks area (now unused). The proximity to the docks (on the River Plate) goes some way to explaining that San Telmo has clearly been a much more important centre of business in the past.

Puerto Madero is much like many revamped dock areas in the world, with many great looking bars and restaurants. We take the opportunity for another blissful cerveza in the warm sun and again comment on the casual nature of it all. It is now 6.00 or so on a week day and the bars are so deserted it is hard to imagine how these bars survive - who knows, perhaps they were an awful lot busier 12 months ago. We go to leave the area, but the sun is now hot rather than warm, and another beer at another bar has our name on it. Tough job, but someone has..... etc.

We cross back over via a modern footbridge, and watch some guys playing 5-a-side football outside. They all look pretty skilful - seemingly born with skills that take a lifetime of practice and learning for others (and still ending with a more far more basic level of attainment). Still, they are shit at cricket. Oh, so are we. Oooops.

That evening we go for a late beer in the Plaza Serrano which is reasonably local to us. The area is humming - sort of like a mini-Courtenay Place, but with much more of a hum, rather than an uncultured yell, to it. (Did I say that ?). Argentinians are not big drinkers (indeed even ordering a litre bottle of beer each, rather than to be shared, raises the eyebrows to some degree !), and they chat away merrily well in to the night.

A couple of women sat nearby and one of them takes the record for the longest dissertation without a colleague getting a word in edgeways (sounds like you Ed, I hear some of you say). Anyway, after what seemed like about 90 minutes she finally stopped, and they promptly left. Steve reckons she should have tacked on the end ¨which was nice¨. You´d have to have seen ¨The Fast Show¨ to appreciate that.

The Final of the National Polo Championships was on whilst we were in BA, and this was an opportunity not to be missed. It was rather an odd sporting occasion - seemingly totally devoid of pre-match build-up or post-match revelry. Indeed, even during the game itself there was little in the way of crowd participation, save for when the hot favourites moved to a 4 or 5 goal lead and the crowd started cheering for the underdog to get back in the match.

It is incredibly skilful - to ride around on a pony at high speed, trying to hit a ball on the ground, and although it would be non-objective to say it was totally error free, it was still great to see such undoubted athletes at work. The ponies are surprisingly quick - scampering along almost like greyhounds when called upon to do so, but tire quickly and the players are often off to the sideline to switch to a new mount (or maybe a new ´foothill´- they are quite tiny, after all).

So this is what the crowed essentially seemed to be there for - to marvel at the skill of the (4) players, although this was surely their secondary motivation. The primary motivation seemed two-fold - firstly to be at the polo, and secondly to be looking good. And, the gender that I was checking out in the crowd was doing just that. When I move here I think it will be close to a polo ground.

And so our time in BA draws to a close, and it´s time to move on. The city has impressed us hugely, with little in the way of things to be critical about. If you really had to, you´d complain about the state of the pavements - plenty of cracked stones or displaced tiles - enough to frequently cause you to trip up, especially given that you are often looking up at the fabulous architecture. Ironic that - the crappier the city, the worse you can let the pavements get because no-one cares to look anything other than down anyway !

One last pic - the Casa Rosada or (¨Pink House¨). This is where, amongst other things, the Peron´s would make their impassioned speeches to the adoring masses. In reality, the building is not overly impressive, but salmon pink doesnt adorn an important building everyday so best it gets an airing here.

We say goodbye to Craig here - he has two more days left in BA before flying back to New Zealand. Steve and I are catching a plane to El Calafate, in inland Patagonia. It is a 3 hour plane journey - that gives you some clue as to why a bus, even a comfy one, might be stretching sensibility just a little too far. Until then, adios.

Buenos Aires - First Impressions

After arriving at El Retiro Bus Terminal, we taxied to our apartment and I was pleasantly surprised as to the relative calm and order of Buenos Aires. It is undoubtedly large - the bus stopped about 10km outside town, and from there on in we had fairly solid apartment blocks all the way to the centre - but yet the traffic moves in an orderly fashion, and it feels far less hectic than I had imagined.

It is only upon getting out for an afternoon walk, however, that pleasant surprise is replaced by absolute delight - this city seems to be an absolute cracker. We are staying in Palermo which is undoubtedly an ´upper middle class´ area - tree lined streets, sidewalk cafes, tiled or cobblestoned sidewalks - perhaps something in the style of NW London, or (I imagine), New York.

The predominant tree is a very large, verdant, wattle-ish type specimen. At the moment it is shedding small yellow flowers which provide a beatiful golden speckling to many footpaths and grassed areas. Edie, you´d be impressed with the good number of jacarandas in bloom, and there´s also the occasional very tall palm to give the city an almost tropical feel, which is strangely at odds with how it actually is.

The pace of life here would appear ideal - people seem happy and relaxed, and no-one seems in much of a hurry to do anything. Life is simply for living. There are numerous spacious parks around, and portenos (BA residents) are only to please to utilise them for jogging, walking, and what would seem to be an almost obligatory exercise - walking the dog.

Dogs are clearly a major focus here - for those not able to walk their dogs there are services available - seeing someone walk a dozen dogs is not unusual, and on my first run I saw what would seem to be almost like ´dog kindy´ - large groups of dogs being looked after by one or two minders in the park. One watches where one steps in Buenos Aires.

The internet cafe is closing unexpectedly - siesta, one imagines. More later.

Puerto Madryn Nov 30 - Dec 2

The bus journey from Bariloche was another uber-comfortable one, even including two quite watchable movies. We left at 6pm and with a couple of hours of daylight left I enjoyed the glorious scenery out the window - reminding once again of NZ but being far too big a scale to take the comparison too far.


The slopes in the valley are densely aforested with podocarp style trees and the slopes gradually get steeper until the trees are replaced with sub-alpine shrubs. Another few hundred metres higher the flora abruptly ceases as the gradient grows ever closer to vertical, and buttress-like rocks dominate thereafter to the skyline. These massive rocks act as sentinels to what goes on below.



Many waterfalls are on view, unsurprising when you have such sheer cliffs and bluffs with so much snow on top melting in the heat of the day.

We arrived in Puerto Madryn around 7am, promptly managed to find a hostel near the station, and enjoyed a couple of additional hours o This hostel is more like a cheap NZ motel - we may as well be in Hastings - but it is comfortable, has a nice lawn area, and it is not overly busy.

The town here, indeed the area, has an interesting history. If the name doesn´t seem quite Argentinian (or Spanish), it´s because it´s not - it´s Welsh. At the end of the 19th century a group of disaffected Welsh nationalists found they had had enough of oppressive rule from London and wanted to set up their own enclave elsewhere in the world, in order to preserve their language, culture, and whatever else it is it that is great in Welshdom.

They say 20% of people here still have Welsh in their genes, and it is quite apparent - with many looking to be closer to 100% extracted. Our hostess at the hostel, for example, looks as though she would be very much home in Swansea, though we are yet to see any evidence of leeks, rarebit, or talk of coalmining or rugby. And my Spanish, whilst improving, is not yet sufficiently honed to detect a possible Welsh lilt as she pronounces her ´l´s.



Puerto Madryn sits at the vertical tangent to an east facing oyster shell shaped bay. Look it up on google maps if you are not a mathematician. The area is known for its marine wildlife - Southern Right Whales, Magellanic Penguins, and Orcas in particular. However, we are right at the end of the migratory season here (luckily for me they are heading Antarctic-ward !), and so we didn´t do the customary bus tour and whalewatching, preferring instead to have a few relaxing days ahead of the anticipated mayhem that will await us in Buenos Aires.


On our first afternoon in Puerto Madryn we visited the Ecocentro which is a very well put together (albeit reasonably small) oceanographic museum, which concentrates mainly on the fauna and geography of the local area. The sea plains to the east of the continent here are amongst the flattest areas on the planet - head 1,500 km East and you are still in water ´only´100m deep.


On our walk back from the Ecocentro we spend a few hours on the beach, enjoying the warm sunset, listening to the sounds coming from the car of a self-appointed DJ, watching families at play, and overall enjoying what is undoubtedly a ´good atmosphere´. We amused ourselves with games of the ´throw stones at some sort of specified target´type, and the children next to us started their own game ´throw stones at Mum and Dad´which Mum and Dad also joined in in the form of ´throw stones at the children´. Which was all very well until Mum and Dad had long since given up, but the kids restarted the game and promptly sconed Dad a good one right on the temple. Unlucky dude.











We spent the second day much the same as the first - just using Puerto Madryn as a sort of hitching post, and recharging our batteries somewhat. Steve and I took the frisbee down to the (windy) and enjoyed a bit of a run around. One of the local wild dogs took a bit of a shining to Steve - so much so that he turned up at the bus terminal (a couple of kms away) when we left on the last day ! The dogs are actually in surprisingly good nick - presumably a human population very fond of large amounts of red meat is always going to make for reasonable sort of pickings for even feral animals.







And so it´s up to Buenos Aires from here - another lengthy coach trip - this time 20 odd hours. Such trips becoming a doddle for us. As they say here ´De Nada´.

Bariloche, Nov 26 - 28

Well, the 17 hour bus trip was every bit as comfortable as we had been led to believe, featuring dinner, breakfast and lunch, and even a game of Bingo as we neared Bariloche. The two American films screened on board, in English with Spanish subtitles, were amongst the worst offerings I have ever been subjected to. No doubt our future bus journeys will feature more cinematic triumphs.

As we neared Bariloche, which is in the ´Lake District´, it was already impossible not to draw comparisons with the South Island. We had been told as much, and a couple of lakes bear remarkable resemblances to Lakes Hawea and Wanaka.

Arriving at our hostel in Bariloche, we were delighted to find out hostel didn´t just have the ´lake views´it promised - it was actually on the lake front with a front lawn leading to the waters edge. The lake here is quite large, and reminds more of something in Fiordland - Lake Te Anau perhaps. The sun is beautifully warm and we take the opportunity to lie on the grass to wind down.





Bariloche is very much a ski resort town and reminds hugely of Queenstown - lots of stone and wooden buildings and activity, ski, and excursion shops everywhere. It is more expensive here than in other parts of Argentina - here everything is more-or-less the same price as in NZ.

We spend the next two days in a rental car, touring around the fine scenery all around. The first day it is unfortunately generally overcast and even rainy, but there is a ´good atmosphere´ in the car and the boys are enjoying a mini-roadie. The scenery continues to bear a strong resemblance to NZ - so much so that you need to remind yourself you are actually 10,000 km away.

The wind is up and it really whips up some decent chop on Lake Traful. Up at the main Mirador (viewing point) it feels very similar to standing on the deck of the ferry with a 50 kmm southerly blowing.





The woods and forests are very much like some parts of the West Coast, large trees in a sub-alpine environment with lots of rocky streams. It is, however, perhaps more ever-changing than NZ - with subtle changes in flora and topography. We manage to fall in to the midst of some major Argentinian classic car rally, so all the way back to Bariloche our Golf is overtaken by cars with their drivers bedecked in all manner of driving apparel.

Today we did our second tour, to Tronador which at 3,478m is the highest peak in the area. It is at the end of a 55km gravel road, but the trip is well worth it. The mountain spawns several impressive glaciers, but by far the most incredible is Ventisquero Negro (black glacier). Here the ash from Tronador (yes, it´s a volcano) is merged into the ice and it flows all the way down near the road. At its snout it breaks up into huge lumps of ice which are contained in a lake of sorts. It would be better described as some kind of soup. All very surreal and certainly unlike anything I have ever seen before.

So tonight is our last night here and with it being Friday it looks like a late night might be in order. Tomorrow we again take an overnight bus, this time a 14 hour effort to Puerto Madryn which is on the coast of Argentina. Here we know we will find a beach, but we have just been told it is too cold to swim. Doh ! Still, there´s whale watching and other activities and the town comes well recommended.

Until then, adios.

P.S. Photos added to other posts now. Cheers Stevo !

Mendoza Nov 23 - 25

Mendoza has been a really pleasant stòp, and an ideal introduction to Argentina. Mendoza is set out in a grid format, with all the streets lined with towering sycamores. They provide its residents with plenty of shade to escape the hot sun - life here would veer towards being unbearable otherwise.

The trees are irrigated using open water channels whereby water is taken from the rivers which flow off the Andes, is then diverted through all the channels, and is collected at the end and put back in to the river. It was a technique created by the Incans, enabling an otherwise desert location to grow crops and the aforementioned trees.

Mendoza also has a number of beautiful plazas (large open squares) which the locals enjoying sitting around talking in, smooching in, and playing chess in.

It is impossible to to notice the high percentage of teenagers who have mullets (approximately 100%). It is perhaps inappropriate for me, in particular, to comment on hair trends, but this one really is a shocker (no pun intended). The straggly mullet is accompanied by a huge swathe of a fringe which waves well down across the eyes, and I am quite sure that if the trend continues, in ten years time it will be compulsory to cut two holes in order to provide vision. We have decided that the collective noun should indeed be ´a Mendoza of mullets´.

Santiago and Mendoza have both provided evidence of elaborate displays at traffic lights. Forget your evening paper, some flowers, or a dude doing window washing - on this continent that just doesnt cut the mustard. In Mendoza I have seen a troupe of three jugglers run in to the middle of the road and starting hurling Indian clubs into the air, but even this was nothing compared to Santiago. Here, two burly blokes stand in the street, accompanied by a female acrobat. She commences by doing a massive back somersault many meters into the air, and continues with standing on one foot on the man´s upstretched hand. The display finishes with a final flourish being a twist culminating with a horizontal drop into the mens cradling arms, and the performance is over.





Speaking of traffic, we watched with amusement on Saturday night as a stag party came past. The groom to be was chained in to the back of a ute - standing, and totally naked. Town was absolutely packed, and the locals loved every minute of it. Whether it´s a tradition or not remains to be seen - we´ll have to keep an eye out next Saturday. And hope its a hen´s do instead !

Yesterday we went for a great walk in the Aconcagua National Park. As mentioned earlier, it is the highest mountain in the Americas - indeed it is the highest peak outside Asia. Ariel, our host, went so far as to describe it as the third highest mountain in the world, but I had neither the heart nor the exact answer at the time, to correct him. I believe it is actually around 150th or so.

The walk took us to some lagoons which provided a great view of the mountain, although it is not overly spectacular due it being reasonably round-topped.





Some of the surrounding peaks, though a lot less lofty, are stunning. We also stopped at Puente del Inca which features a natural stone bridge with thermal springs incorporated into its walls. With many centuries of minerals pouring over them, they are an incredible brown colour. We had our togs ready as we had been told by the guidebook to expect an ¨"unforgettable dip" but unfortunately it had been closed for a year or two.

After our endeavours, we decided a slap-up meal was in order, and we went to La Barra which is one of the cities better eateries. The matambre (fillet) de cerdo was perhaps the best pork I have ever tasted - the light skin salted and a modicum of garlic - and then barbequed to absolute perfection. I refused the temptation to horrify the cocinero (chef) who was also the owner/host by asking him for some apple sauce. This is meat that needs no accompaniament at all. We ate like kings, drunk excellent wine, and paid around NZ$70 each. Not as cheap as many places here, but for a top notch restaurant, this would have been double the price in Wellington.

Things here actually aren´t quite as cheap as you´d expect - yes, they are less than NZ, but the whole equation has had the edge taken off it over the last few months with our dollar losing around a third of its value. Consequently although things are reasonably inexpensive, we are not finding many examples of jaw-dropping bargains.

On our final day in Mendoza, Craig and I did a tour of three vineyards. They varied greatly - the first an organic vineyard, the second a small boutique vineyard, and the third was of factory proportions a la Montana or Villa Maria. Perhaps the biggest highlight of the afternoon was the storm that descended on the region. Where we were, there was hail the size of cherry tomatoes, but when we arrived at the third vineyard we were astounded at the size of some of the hail that had fallen. Check out the size of this puppy !

The severe hail storm had caused loads of leaves and small branches to break off the myriad trees, but its not uncommon and the locals were straight out into the street to sweep it all up and into bags to be collected by the council. Some of the streets had temporarily been converted into rivers, and Ariel chuckled as he explained to us that back in Mendoza there would be people inadvertently falling into the irrigation channels - unable to identify them from any other piece of flooded road. As it turned out, Mendoza had escaped with barely a drop of rain - hard to believe with hailstones the size of this one falling only 15 km away !

And so Mendoza draws to a close, and at 8pm we are on the overnight bus to Bariloche - a mere 17 hours away. We are assured by other travellers its actually a surprisingly enjoyable experience - one would hope so given the cost - around NZ$130. Admittedly that is for ´Premium Economy´- quite what that entails remains to be seen !