Argentina, Andean Hangovers and Alfajores

So after an arduous, cross continental, long winded and very expensive journey.. my Visa card finally arrived. It was time to leave BA, mouth smeared with dulce du leche, and head to Mendoza, the wine capital of Argentina. But that wasn't before I´d experienced 8 hours sat on a stone cold floor in BA´s Retiro bus station. There was a national bus strike, which meant the world and his llama was delayed in getting anywhere. And isn´t it amazing how interesting things become when you´re stuck in the most boring place possible? I forced myself to sit in one place for at least an hour at a time, so I could really look forward to going to browse the newsagents on the station concourse.. or maybe even sit in a skanky cafe! Or my favourite, sit on the bench outside. I did read pretty much the whole of The Slap though (great book, thoroughly recommend). 

Anyway, as I boarded the bus at 1am, I´ve never been more glad of the fact that I shelled out for a first class seat - fully reclining leather bed, personal movie screen and a ridiculous 17 course dinner with wine. Amaze.

Mendoza was lovely, all laid back dinners, sunny skies, amazing steak and very chilled out. Maybe signing up for the high Andean mountain tour with the world´s worst hangover wasn´t the best idea though. Horrible altitude, a winding bus journey and the remnants of Senor Dog left at the hostel along with my dignity were not ideal. The spectacular views of Aconcangua and my first taste of the Andes soon blew the cobwebs away though.

I squeezed in a wine tour around some bodegas, but have to say it was kind of boring, felt like I was on a Sandals holiday with all the European pensioners.

In the interests of easier border crossings, I decided to leave Argentina and head into Chile. I hadn´t even really thought of going here, but I trotted through the mountains to Valparaiso, which at first sight from the bus station seemed like a more depressing version of Finsbury Park. But as we ascended up into the hills, it started to make a bit more sense. 

The port town was once one of the most important in South America, and once you get up the Cerros, it´s pretty awesome. I only know this though because I took the amazing Tours4tips - guided by Where´s Wally, you have to do this if you´re in town. We took the funicular, rode the old trams, saw really cool street art, bought alfajores from some old guy´s house and finished up with a pisco sour. Best tour ever, and you only pay what you think it was worth. Dig deep!

It was also here in Valparaiso that I thank the Lord I was introduced to La Chorillana, continuing the theme of me basically eating my way around the globe. It´s a local student dish, heart attack on a plate, cheap and cheerful but so freaking delicious. Fresh hunks of meat served up on home cooked fries, drizzled with fried onions and general deliciousness. There are no words.

I also popped into Pablo Neruda´s house, desperate to sit on his "Cloud" chair (there was a velvet rope). All in all, Valpo is a pretty unique place and a great stop for a couple of days.

Deciding I wasn´t quite ready for another 24 hour bus journey, I decided to break up my trip to the Atacama Desert with a stop in La Serena.

La Serena is a hole. That´s all I have to say on that matter. Onwards to the Desert!

Koala Chlamydia, Kylie and ¡Evita!

My last few weeks in Australia were a lot of fun. I was loving Sydney, and enjoying work and having money, but was worried I could fall into the 9-5 grind, something I came on this trip to temporarily escape. It was a difficult decision, and one I hope I don't come to regret, but I booked my onward flight and decided to make the most of my remaining time down under. I squeezed in the famous walk from Coogee to Bondi along the coast in the lovely sunshine, stopping off at the various beaches along the way, and just generally hung out and enjoyed weekending in old Sydders.

 

Along with Ramsey Street and Christmas on the beach, the rest of my Ozzie wish list mainly consisted of manhandling a koala, which I did at the Sydney Wild Life Centre. The rangers were very informative -apparently the koalas are rampant little bleeders and often suffer from koala chlamydia. I was expecting them to be the softest thing I'd ever touched, but actually they kind of felt more like wire wool, and their claws would have your face off in a second. Still, it was pretty cool and I resisted the urge to shove the baby one into my rucksack - CUTEST. THING. EVER.

Rain sucks. Rain sucks big time. Hit hard by the Whitney news, we headed to the opening party of Mardi Gras, Fair Day, which was great, all boozy fairground rides and singing trannies. But the rain seemed like it was to be a Mardi Gras constant, and although the Drag Queen Races on Bondi were hilarious (events included Toss the Handbag and Trannie Volleyball), I did almost get hypothermia. It reminded me of the countless Glastonburys or Bestivals in knee deep mud and torrential rain. Please can I just have one outdoor event in the sun? Just one. After a great pre-party with bubbles and canapes, we made it through to the rainy parade which was apparently amazing. Unfortunately I can't remember it because as per, I pushed it too far by 4pm and was tucked up in bed by midnight. I didn't see Kylie, she chickened out of the parade, but I did only remember this the next day, my initial waking memory having been what in fact was a drag impersonator on the Kylie float.

 

 

 

 

My last night in Sydney was spent dancing with the green fairy down at the awesome Absinthe Salon in Surry Hills. It was kind of like True Blood's Fangtasia, all locked front doors and stuffed cats and creepy absintheurs. If you're ever in town, you have to go there.

So onto Buenos Aires, an amazingly beautiful and cosmopolitan city, which to my shame I hadn't expected at all. I've been made to feel very welcome by my porteño local friends, and have had constant meat sweats since I got here. Amazing steak, red wine, delicious empanadas, giant bottles of beer and a midnight tour of the city, I love it.

 

I'm also basically on an Evita pilgrimage, first stop was her grave (I seem to be spending a lot of time with the dead recently?), and a breathtaking view of the Casa Rosada (yes THE balcony), outside which is actually a statue of Liberty, not Madonna. All topped off with a stroll around the Museo Evita to look at her clothes.

 

I spent Sunday in the old quarter of San Telmo, browsing the antique market and enjoying the sunshine, tango dancers and half a cow at the Parilla El Desnivel (thanks Agnes!). San Telmo is a lovely place, vibrant and laid back at the same time. I did get half way to La Boca, but got as far as Maradona's old stadium before I felt a bit uneasy and turned on my tango heel. Kind of wish I'd read the big boxed text in my lonely planet saying TOURISTS DO NOT COME HERE beforehand, but you live and learn.

Yesterday I took a day trip to the sleepy town of Colonia del Sacramento in Uruguay. And when I say sleepy, I mean practically unconscious. No, it was lovely, hopped on the ferry from BA (like one of those ones you used to take to Calais on school trips), and when the sun finally came out it really magnified its charm. It's a UNESCO World Heritage site, and kind of reminded me of Hoi An in Vietnam in its preservation of old worldliness. I watched the sun come down on the Río de la Plata with a beer and all was good with the world.

 

I totally underestimated how rustily bad my foreign language skills are. Currently a horrific mix of Franglish, I've realised the only Spanish I can actually remember is Geri Halliwell's rap in If U Can't Dance, so this morning I promptly trotted out and bought myself a pair of alpargatas (love them, gracias Juan!) and a teach yourself Spanish phrase book. Guess it was acceptable that my Vietnamese or Khmer wasn't too hot, here, I have no excuse.

I'm waiting for my errant visa card to arrive (it's DEFINITELY in BA according to FedEx) and will then decide on my next route, which will probably be a bus to Mendoza to get pissed in the vineyards and maybe popping into Chile.

¡Arriba!

Oh and one last thing- how have I never heard of the nectar of the gods that is dulce du leche? In ice cream, on toast, hell straight from the jar with a spoon.. I'm going to need an extra rucksack to export this shit home.