Days 33, 34 and 35: Don´t cry for me Argentina

Day 33

Today was a little overcast and so we decided to climb a mini-mountain for a view of Salta. Whilst ascending the 1,500 odd stairs we passed successive murals representing each of 14 the stations of the cross. I have never been so pleased to see a crucifix as at the moment I eventually reached the top!

We climbed up to the level of the clouds.

Day 34
Today we went to visit the "Children of the Mountain", a collection of three mummies sacrified to the Llullaillaco volcano about 500 years ago. Unlike their Egyptian counterparts, these children were mummified by natural processes (mostly the extreme cold of their burial spot at a lofty 6,000 metres). Due to this they looked shockingly alive, almost as if they had just fallen asleep (and went a bit mouldy). Incidentally, that is almost exactly what happened. The most attractive children of the most important families of the various Inca communities were selected for this ritual and were treated to days of fetes and parades before eventually being led up the mountain and given some beer to drink which put them to sleep. The door to the room was then sealed and not reopened until 1999.

Nothing works up an appetite like mummies and Tom thoroughly impresed by cooking his warm chickpea salad (chickpeas, tomotoes, red peppers, onions, courgettes, various spices, olive oil, lemon juice and blue cheese). He coined it ChickPeacock. We drank the local ´Salta´ beer with dinner; effectively a watered down Guinness.

Day 35
Tonight we leave Argentina for Bolivia. Realising that the higher we ascend in the Andes the colder it will get, we dedicated this morning and afternoon to sunbathing in a desperate attempt to cement our tans. We´re having steak for dinner tonight; a fitting tribute.

A month after arriving here I thought I would give my final impressions of the country. In brief, Argentina is a  less polished, somewhat dated, but utterly loveable version of Europe. The people are proud and definitely see themselves firmly in the first world, yet in the gaps between posh buildings you can sometimes see suggestions of another, more impoverished Argentina. The culture and facilities are modern, with every roundabout and plaza having its own facebook page, yet the issues with currency circulation mean that sweets have overtaken coins as a medium of exchange. (Yes, coins are so hard to find here that change is given in sweets - I´m not complaining). One thing though is for sure; Argentina has come a long, long way from the days of dictatorship and state terror of so few years ago. Is has proved a stunning, fun and quirky land, flowing with steak and dulce de leche. All in all, the perfect jumping point for our South American adventure.

Because it has to be done, I now sign out with;  "Don´t cry for me Argentina, the truth is I never left you ...

Days 31 and 32: Cachi if you can

Day 31

Salta was just too busy to be enjoyed and the continuing bank holiday closures were trying our patience so we decided to skip town and head to Cachi. Cachi lies in the Valles Calchaquies, one of Argentina´s most seductive off-the-beaten track zones, with rugged mountenous landscapes and a noticeably more indigenous population. In these valleys, the locals put up some of the stiffest resistance to Spanish rule and the bus journey there proved what a difficult place this could be to attack. The journey indeed was an attraction in itself as we lurched at breathtaking speed along narrow mountain paths, hairpin turns and forded numerous rivers that flowed straight across the roads. The views were utterly breath-taking and as we rapidly gained altitude the cacti began to multiply and the vista ever more approximated the Wild West. 

The village of Cachi lies 2.5 km up in the mountains surrounded by snowy peaks and gorgeous scenary. The cobblestones, adobe houses and tranquil plaza made this village the most ´authentic´ we had stayed in yet and the perfect sunny weather made our stay utterly idyllic.

Two kilometers outside the village the locals had constructed replica buildings from several phases of the valley´s history.

The rest of the afternoon was passed in a fantastic swimming pool and sunbathing. Alas the new proximity to the sun meant that my factor 15 sun cream was woefully inadequate and I got burnt to a crisp.

To cheer myself up that evening I went to a rather posh restaurant for desert. I ordered a capia-pepper muffin with a topping of sugarcane honey meringue and a drizzle of a rich liquorice caramel. The cake was made from corn flower and its boozy flavour cut beautifully through the creamy meringue, thoroughly justifying the expense of each bite.

Day 32
More swimming and sunbathing was grudgingly followed by the bus back to Salta. The journey back brought us back below the level of the clouds and it turned out the world below had been subject to 24 hours of rain. Our schadenfreude soon turned to fear though as we realised the rain had made the already dangerous mountain roads even more lethal and all around we could see the evidence of landslides and skid marks. 


A particularly fine sweet empanada (sweet pastry filled with jam covered in icing sugar) helped dampen the nerves. 

Days 28, 29 and 30: Every cloud has a silver lining

Day 28

There is nothing the Argentines love more than a bank holiday. No matter that every shop closes at lunchtime  or that on Sundays the cities become ghost towns, the Argentines need at least one further day off each week to survive their hectic work schedule. We were actually lucky enough to be leaving Iguazú at the start of an epic four day bank holiday, meaning that the buses were booked solid by the locals. We were also fortunate enough to be trying to get to Salta at a time when the perfect confluence of the bank holiday, a gig by Argentina´s biggest rock star and the anniversary of the sight of the Virgin Mary nearby meant that the city was harder to get into than Holborn station at 6.30pm. 

Our only option was to get an indirect bus, which required spending a night in Resistencia, a town poised on the edge of the barely populated wilderness of the Chaco. Knowing little of the place bar that it has perhaps the most unoriginal street plan in existence (see the perfect grid below) we were pleasantly surprised to arrive at what turned out to be the artistic centre of Northern Argentina. Its few streets are littered with over half a thousand sculptures, the result of a joint project between the local council and various arts organizations. The result was rather beautiful. 

Day 29
Unfortunately man cannot live on sculpture alone and a backwater town during a bank holiday is not the most diverting of locations to pass the time. Tom and I decided to spend the time playing in a kids park (the see-saw was particularly enjoyable) and reading on a particularly fine bench in the town square. Having finished King Lear I spent this time reading several hundred pages of Isabel Allende´s "The House of Spirits"; a fantastic book which is best described as Peru´s answer to "One Hundred Years of Solitude".

For dinner the previous night and lunch this day we feasted at a buffet restaurant which presented plate after plate of appealing meats, fish and salads. In a quirky twist you paid for your food by weight, which led to some surprising strategising. Josie made the mistake of buying chicken and thus having to pay for the weight of the bones she didn´t eat. Tom and I knew however that the secret of good economising lay in the spinach and potato tarts.

That evening we caught the bus to Salta.

Day 30
We arrived in Salta at some ungodly time in the morning and were not in a good mood when our hostel told us that they had misread our booking and only had two beds. Salta was booked solid for the bank holiday/rock concert/Virgin and the best the hostel could do was suggest that Josie and I go to (more expensive) hotel a 45 minute walk outside of town. It took a lot of self control not to bite the woman´s head off, but we somehow calmly suggested  that they buy us a taxi there as penance. The woman obviously felt a bit guilty and personally drove Josie and me to our hostel, leaving Tom and Lizzie behind with the two available beds. Heading into the unknown Josie and I arrived at an unmarked house with a front room dominated by a statue of saint covered in one of those long gaudy dresses so beloved in the churches here. To our surprise the place turned out to be rather great with complementary towels and all the works. Tom and Lizzie however had a horrible time at the original hostel, having to share their respective rooms with drunk rockers in town for the gig.

For lunch I spied these balls in the supermarket called ´kipe. I asked a few fellow shoppers what this strange meaty ball was and they all replied with ´it´s delicious´ and a knowing look in their eye. A quick look in my dictionary and I found out it was tripe. Always game for a new dish I immediately bought it and enjoyed freaking out the girls with my description of its rich intestine-y taste.

Perhaps feeling guilty about the way we had been treated, Salta decided to name a street after me. Whilst of course I was touched, I would have thought they could have spelled my surname correctly.

In a further show of guilt, the hostel owner who had mucked up our reservation suggested that we accompany her that evening on her visit to a settlement of the city´s indigenous population. We jumped at the chance and in my first ever Spanish telephone conversation I arranged for her to pick us up at 5 in the evening in her car. Driving out of the city, Marta (the hostel owner) told me of the prejudice the indigenous population faced with constant encroachments on their land by the government, police harassment and a lack of access to electricity, water supply or employment. Marta, an engineer by trade, was trying to map out their land in order to guarantee their legal title to it and it turned out she hoped that our motely crew of four English lawyers would be able to use our knowledge of ´United Nations law´ to help the people. Whilst the BPP syllabus didn´t quite stretch to that, I promised here that at least we would try to raise some awareness.

Arriving in the countryside we arrived at ´The Community´, a section of fenced off land that belongs (for the moment) to the ´Cholonca´ people , a branch of the native Central Andean population. We spent most of the afternoon with a charming family sipping Maté (a popular Argentine green tea), eating the bread that Rosa (the woman in white below) had just baked and discussing our various cultural quirks. They told me of the importance of family in their community (it appears generations lived under one roof) whilst I told them of England´s high divorce rates. We worked out that in both our cultures it is bad luck to spill salt and walk under a ladder and discovered a mutual love of Frutigran biscuits (see my earlier post). Whilst we never got on to the subject of their position in Argentina society, they were clearly a lovely peaceful community and I wish them every luck in retaining their land.

(A group photo with Rosa and her daughter)

(A view of their settlement; the power cables pass by but the Cholonca have no access to them)

For dinner that evening we went to an incredibly touristy ´peña´; a night of traditional dishes and ´traditional´ dancing (i.e. men in leather trousers and women with big dresses). The outfits got more and more outrageous as the night went on and because our table was actually on the dance floor our plates came into contact rather too often with the dancers´ bums.

I ate stewed llama with Andean potatoes, carrots, spices and ´mote´ (a South American legume that I´ve never seen before). The llama tasted and had a texture very similar to lamb and did not go well with the Cabernet Sauvignon we ordered. Maybe the ´local food´ will be better in Bolivia and Peru.

Days 26 and 27: Iguazú Falls

Day 26
An overnight bus took us up the narrow corridor between Paraguay, Uruguay and Brazil to Argentina´s North-Eastern corner; Puerto Iguazú. As Argentina appears to lack a railway network, such long-haul busses are the only way to get around and come with a wide variety of comforts. On our better journeys we have had seats as wide as couches, so much leg room that I cannot touch the seats in front, hot meals and frequent snacks and an impressive selection of pirate DVDs. My Spanish appears to be improving more from watching dubbed Adam Sandler films than talking to the locals, but I´m not complaining.

Waking to the sight of jungle surrounding the road we could feel the proximity of Brazil. We were here to see the awe-inspiring Iguazú falls, a UNESCO world-heritage site boasting the world´s most impressive collection of waterfalls. When Eleanor Roosevelt first saw these falls she exclaimed ´Poor Niagara!´ and it is true that all the other supposed ´big´ waterfalls pale into insignificance compared to this monster. The power, size and sheer noise of the falls simply overwhelm you and the beauty of the surrounding jungle coupled with its highly visible animal life is rather breath-taking.

Dropping our bags at our (Argentine) hostel and taking a much-needed shower we immediately headed to the border for a day trip to the Brazilian side of the falls (and of course the lovely new stamps in our passports). The Brazilian side is the more panoramic of the two and gave us a chance to appreciate the falls from a (mostly dry) distance.

From this vantage point we noticed a submerged boat and thought nothing more of it until we returned to the hostel and heard how that afternoon a tourist boat had strayed too close to the falls and overturned. Two of the passengers on board died and another was in a serious condition at hospital. We had planned on doing that very boat ride the following day and had that mixture of sadness at the death and thankfullness that it wasn´t us. Needless to say we quickly decided not to venture into the water. You can see the upturned boat being dredged up in this picture;

The evening was spent in the swimming pool and cooking dinner. I decided to make roast butternut squash stuffed with courgette, tuna, tomato and onion - a dish Tom nicknamed ´Utter Glut Nosh´ as I ate over a kilogram of the stuff. Whilst cooking it a French guy came over and congratulated me on changing his (previously low) opinion of English cooking. Unfortunately I soon undermined his image my hacking a tuna can to death with a penknife and drinking a whole packet of pasta sauce as an approximation of a Bloody Mary.

Josie reached into her biscuit packet and pulled this bug out. I may never eat another Oreo again

Day 27

This time we viewed the falls from the Argentine side. Instead of the Brazilian panoramic view, today we got to get right us close to the waterfalls and drench ourselves.

The indigenous Guaraní legend has it that the falls stem from when a god planned to marry a beautiful woman named Naipí, who fled with her mortal lover Tarobá in a canoe. In rage the god sliced the river, creating the waterfalls. Naipí  fell to the bottom and turned into a rock whilst her mortal lover survived as a tree overlooking the falls. Considering the number of rainbows surrounding the falls and the fact that they resembled (rather dangerous) marshmallows I feel a somewhat less violent story would have been more apt.

The falls are surrounded by thick clouds of colourful butterflies who seem to swarm and settle everywhere. At various point I had the critters covering my hands, face, camera and, amusingly, my bum.

Equally omnipresent are the racoon-like coatis

We also saw iguanas, monkeys, turtles and crocodiles

Days 23, 24 and 25: The only foreigners in Paraná

Day 23

For our last breakfast in Cordoba we once again feasted on ´medialunas´, essentially a sticky croissant which the Argentines love to slaver in jam and even more butter.

Then, in a continuation of our economy drive, we walked to the bus station with our bags. As has become a daily occurrence in Argentina, we were accompanied on our walk by a stray dog which followed us with utter devotion until the bus doors eventually shut on its face. My theory is that all of these dogs used to be domesticated and have been abandoned, explaining both their docility and their tragic yearning to spend time with humans.

The bus took us to Paraná, a satellite city of Santa Fe and it would seem rather off the tourist trail. We stayed at the only hostel in the city and were the only foreigners in the hostel. Indeed, from our two days there it would appear we were the only foreigners in the city. Builty on the hilly banks of the Paraná river, this is an attractive seaside (or rather riverside) destination for Argentineans who come for the healthy air.

Of course to me the river meant only one thing, fish! Following the recommendation of a lady at our hostel, we went to the riverside and ordered the ´Menú Pescado´. The first course were fish empanadas, that is pastries stuffed with local river fish, red peppers, spring onions and cheese.

The next course was a platter of fish balls, fish in breadcrumbs and blue cheese.

Followed by barbecued fish...

... followed by fish cannelloni. Rather than the more famous pasta form of cannelloni, these cannelloni consisted of savoury pancakes and, after rather a lot of fish, we eat found ourselves concentrating on the pancake.

Day 24
We passed the morning walking round the town centre and its attractive plazas.

Then we got a private boat where two local fisherman gave us (in very simplified Spanish) a waterbourne introduction to the wildlife of the river and the traditional lifestyle of the islands inhabitants. We learned which trees cure syphalis, were told the local crocodiles were utterly friendly and had a ´duh´ moment when we were utterly confused by the captain´s suggestion that the plants here faced north. ´Why north?´we asked, considering the fact the sun lies to the south. ´Because we are in the Southern Hemisphere´ came the answer. Duh!

Always looking to sample the local culture and customs, I reluctantly agreed to spend the entire the afternoon relaxing on the beach, swimming, building sandcastles and generally enjoying paradise.

As an afterthought, here is a picture of the cake aisle present in every supermarket that serves as such a daily temptation.



And here is a picture of the ´Frutigran´ section of the biscuit aisle. Fruitgran has become almost our daily bread on this trip as we have steadily become addicted to its oaty, raisony, Omega 9 delights. Seriously the best biscuit money can buy.

As a further afterthought, I have grown bored of constantly buying ham and cheese sandwiches or pasta from the supermarket. For lunch today I got a spniach tart, an Argentine take on a pork pie and potato salad

Day 25

A whole day dedicated to sunbathing and ice cream. Utter torture.

Days 21 and 22: Culture in Cordoba

Day 21
An overnight bus brought us to Cordoba, Argentina's second city and cultural centre. Boasting seven universities, the city had a younger vibe than Buenos Aires and was stuffed with art galleries, trendy cafes and 16th century Jesuit architecture. Feeling in a touristy mood we checked out the neo-Gothic church  Parroquia Sagrado Corazon de Jesus de los Capuchinos, "deliberately" built with a missing left steeple "so as to symbolize human imperfection". 

We also visited Cordoba's cathedral which, being built over two centuries from 1577, contains a rather clashing mix of architectural styles (the photo below suggests a greater unity of style than in reality).

We found a rather great pomegranate tree

Then we went to the rather chilling Museo de la Memoria, a torture facility used during Argentina's military dictatorship 30 years ago. The building charted the kidnap and torture of suspected political agitators by telling the victims' personal stories.

That evening we stayed at the hostel for a group dinner of chicken skewers, guacamole and potato salad.

Day 22
Instead of joining the girls for a run today, I decided to check out one of the local gyms. I've been to a few gyms so far on this trip and find them the perfect place to get chatting to 'real' locals as opposed to those who work in the tourist industry. While it appears that the music played in gyms is the same worldwide, the machines alas are not and the locals seemed to enjoy my misguided attempts to use bicep machines for glutes and vice versa.

As the weather was once again perfect, we headed out to a local park for some quality sunbathing and then passed the rest of the afternoon in a museum of modern art  and at a cafe where Josie indulged in some rose petal tea. The accompanying biscuit was perhaps the smallest ever baked (see the yellow blob on the right below). Josie assures me it was delicious though.

Some gnocchi for dinner ...

... and then we headed out to an open-air concert by a Brazilian drumming group called called Olodum, famous both for creating the style of music called Samba Reggae and for starring in Michael Jackson's "They Don't Care About Us". Check out the video http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QNJL6nfu__Q

Tom has a particularly bad cold at the moment. You can take the boy out of England, but ...

As a final thought, the hostel has some particularly romantic toilet freshener.

Days 17, 18, 19 and 20: Chilly in Chile

Day 17

When we woke up it was raining and, considering the previous day´s exertions, we decided to treat ourselves to a day slobbing in front of the hostel tv.

This did give me some much needed time to reflect on my impressions of Argentina so far. Firstly, Argentina is the most European country I´ve ever been to outside Europe. Whilst Sydney, Hong Kong, Israel etc. seem

to follow the American model, Argentina appears more Mediterranean; a cross between a Greek Island and the south of France. Secondly, Argentina is still rather bitter about the Falklands. There is a map of Argentina in the hostel and not only does it say the Falklands are owned by Argentina not the UK, it even renames the capital city; Port Stanley is thus Puerto Argentino. Thirdly, and linked to the above two, Argentina is a very proud country and sees itself very much as part of the (European) first world. Perhaps rightly so. It has been at various points in its history one of the richest few economies in the world and excels in art, literature etc.

I believe though that the heart of a country´s character can be discerned from within its supermarkets and, with our budgets gradually getting more and more streched, we have begun to spend rather a lot of time browsing their aisles. Centrally, Argentineans love their cows. The entire meat counter is given over to beef. It is touch to find even fresh chicken, let alone the holy grail that is fish. After having checked out near to seven different supermarkets I have come to conclude that Argentineans simply don´t eat the stuff. As for the sweet stuff, whole aisles are also dedicated to dulce de leche (which incidentally also infuses every sweet and savoury dish from breakfast through to dinner) and counter upon counter display the most elaborate cream and meringue cake creations all sold for a pittance (for instance a 12-person tiramasu costing just over a pound). Quite usefully, fruit is sold ready-to-eat (i.e. the avocados and peaches are perfectly ripe, which makes a great change from the tradition in England of waiting 2 weeks for your Tesco´s mango to get soft). Finally, pregnant women get to queue-jump at the check-out. While I applaud the sentiment, I did spend 45 minutes the other day cursing womankind as one pregnant lady after another wobbled merrily past me in the line. There were literally dozens. I tell you, Argentina does not need to worry about population stagnation or increasing dependency ratios!

Day 18

Waking up long before dawn we said goodbye to our lovely hostel and grabbed the 7 hour bus across the border into Santiago, the capital of Chile. The bus ride was an event in itself as it took us high up into the Andes, weaving inbetween cloud-covered peaks and greenish-blue lakes.

The amazing vistas gave a suitably dramatic background to our sad realisation that no food was allowed to pass the border into Chile. You could almost see the tears in the girls´ eyes as we had to bin our beloved packets of biscuits, adored cereal bars and highly necessary tic-tacs.

Arriving into boiling hot Santiago, we headed straight to our new hostel´s pool and jacuzzi. This hostel occupied an old mansion house and had impressively high stuccoed ceilings, wide corridors and more lounges than Heathrow.

Day 19

After beginning the day with a run round Santiago´s parks, we spent the afternoon seeing the city´s sights. Josie as ever managed ´accidentally´ to bring us to Santiago´s law courts, whilst I dragged us to the Congress building. The museum of Pre-Colombian art was unfortunately closed, but I do query the decision to rent the basement out to an adult cinema,

We visited Pablo Neruda´s house, with Tom being particularly impressed by the local intellectual graffiti;

We then climbed a couple of hills, each affording spectacular views of the city. Santiago is situated in a bowl, utterly surrounding by the snowy peaks of the Andes. The pictures do not really do justice to just how breath-taking the city looked from above;

For dinner we treated ourselves to a visit to Santiago´s oldest cafe, the charming Confiteria Torres. Photos of the presidents, writers and artists who had dined there graced the walls and I´m sure a photo of the four of us will soon be added to the list. To start, Tom had a beef consomme to start and the girls Pil-Pil shrimps;

Seeing my dismay that the kitchens had run out of Pumpkin soup, the chef specially prepared an alternative spinach soup for me which I can honestly say without any hyperbole was the best soup ever made;

For the main courses we had some classic Chilean dishes. I had a conger eel baked in butter, salt and pepper, with a light cream sauce of picarocos and shallots. This was my first time tasting eel and it didn´t disappoint. It looked like fish and had a texture in between that of cod and squid.

Josie had the chicken chochifrito, which was a chicken breast rolled with ham and asparagus, covered in a mushroom sauce.

Tom has a classic Chilean fish chowder - this was my favourite of the four.

And Lizzie had a Chiliean rice dish with what the menu called ´magical´ ingredients. We had no idea what it actually contained, but she seemed to enjoy it.

Day 20

Got a bus back to Mendoza and spent the afternoon sunbathing. We are about to get another bus now to take us to Cordoba