Lost in Mendoza's maze

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I bade farewell to Buenos Aires on Monday the 15th and decided to head north-west to Rosario. One of my hostel buddies, Aaron (from Tottenham, but a Liverpool fan!), chose to join me. The bus ride took about 4 hours, which for South America is a tiddler of a journey.

Rosario is an attractive university city, very laidback, with a youthful happy vibe. I took to the place immediately. It was hard to put a finger on why I liked the city so much, as there is not a great deal to do there, but it was just one of those places where I felt completely at ease. I could live there quite happily. My visit didn't get off to a smooth beginning, though. On getting out of our taxi, Aaron and I found our hostel - 'Casa de Don Jaime' - to be closed. Noticing our obvious confusion, a passing Aussie guy, Michael, informed us that the hostel was being renovated and that there was a ´Casa de Don Jaime 2' which we needed to find. Michael helpfully guided us to the hostel and soon afterwards we met him in a nearby café. He told us that he was happy to be speaking English as very few travellers bother visiting the place, which I find strange. He arrived in Rosario nearly a year ago and has stayed ever since, and he clearly enjoys a great lifestyle, not needing to work again due to a massive compensation payout for a head injury.

After visiting the ´Monument de La Bandera´, dedicated to the Argentine flag and containing the crypt of the designer, Aaron and I popped in to the tourist information centre looking for some inspiration on how to spend our time. We spotted a poster advertising tango lessons, and decided to give it a go. The heat must finally have got to me. On arrival at the dance centre (essentially a small room) we found there to be a group of fairly old people stepping from side to side. Not exactly what we had in mind. Aaron suggested that we leave immediately but, if any more proof of my growing insanity was needed, I persuaded him to stay. We joined the circle and began stepping from side to side with the old people. Seldom have I ever felt so ridiculous. Suddenly we were instructed to split into pairs and Aaron and I looked at each other in bewilderment - which of the old dears would we end up with? As if sent by the gods, two girls turned up at that point and so we paired up with them immediately. With tango the guy is supposed to lead the girl, but with my absolute lack of knowledge or experience there wasn't the faintest chance of that happening. Thankfully my partner was a great teacher and it was much more fun than I thought it would be. Needless to say, I struggled to get the hang of it, and you won't be seeing me on stage anytime ever, but I was glad I gave it a go. Pleased with our efforts, Aaron and I went for a beer after tango and bumped into Michael again. Later on, Michael saw some locals he knew and we spent some time chatting to them. I'm on something of a roll at the moment with meeting locals, which is actually not that easy. The following day, Aaron and I went to Rosario's beach on the banks of the Parana river, where we had arranged to meet Michael. The beach was packed, this being the height of summer. It was a pleasant afternoon and we all met up again in the evening for a few more beers.

While I could easily have followed Michael's example in staying put in Rosario for a year, on Wednesday Aaron and I made the decision to move on to Cordoba, a further 6 hours north-west. Cordoba is Argentina's second biggest city behind Buenos Aires, and it may well be the second ugliest behind Rio Gallegos. That may be a little harsh, but it was difficult to see the appeal of the place. The guidebooks will tell you that Cordoba boasts delightful colonial architecture and yes, there are a few decent buildings, but it is also rather dirty and smoggy. The roasting heat certainly didn't help. In the taxi I turned to Aaron and said "I wish I was still in Rosario" and he replied that he had been thinking exactly the same thing. It even crossed our minds to immediately head back to Rosario, but instead we enjoyed a good evening out in Cordoba at an excellent Italian restaurant (for 3 quid we got 'all you can eat' pasta, a drink and dessert) with 3 Argentine girls, 2 from Buenos Aires and 1 from Cordoba.

The next day the heat, humidity and smog was so oppressive that virtually everyone in the hostel had one thing on their minds - to get the hell out of Cordoba. And so a large group of us went on a trip to the countryside town of Cosquin. It was a decent outing spent mostly on another river beach in the company of the Argentine girls, some Argentine guys, a Uruguayan, American, and someone from Liechtenstein. Now that is a rarity - someone from Liechtenstein.

That evening Aaron and I went to a football match between Cordoba's main team, Belgrano, and Velez, from Buenos Aires. It was part of a pre-season friendly competition, but you wouldn't have guessed it was a friendly from the boisterous crowd. During the game there was the sideshow of a mini firework display in the stands - every bang and crackle was making us jump. Belgrano got stuffed 3-0 so the home fans were not at all happy.

The following morning Aaron departed to catch his bus back to Buenos Aires for his flight home. My bus to Mendoza was not until late evening so I joined 2 American girls in visiting the hillside town of Alta Gracia. Alta Gracia is a salubrious place with fine houses, a lake, and an impressive 17th century Jesuit estancia. Its main attraction, however, is the old house of Ernesto 'Che' Guevara, which has been turned into a museum. Che lived there throughout his childhood and adolescence. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the legend that is Che, he grew up in a middle-class family in the 1940s/1950s before one day deciding to set off on his motorbike around Latin America. His travels opened his eyes to the widespread poverty around the continent and inspired him to try to do something to minimise the social injustices and inequalities. In 1954 he travelled to Mexico, where he was introduced to Fidel Castro, and he became part of the successful plot to revolutionise Cuba. Che remains an inspirational figure to many. The museum had some interesting exhibits and stories on his life. Before you ask, yes I may have followed Che's footsteps in travelling around South America and visiting his home town of Alta Gracia, but I am not about to lead any revolution!

It was a long night on the bus to Mendoza, thanks to a baby screaming all night long right next to me. I always seem to end up with a seat near a baby. So, it was not before time when I arrived in Mendoza on Saturday morning. Mendoza is situated south-west of Cordoba near the Andes, and I had heard very good things about the place. So far it has lived up to expectations. It is a very leafy city, with heaps of large trees, which means plenty of valuable shade! There are lots of plazas, including the majestic Plaza Independencia and pretty Plaza Italia, and a huge park, Parque San Martin. I spent much of Sunday in the park and it was packed full of families. It took me a while to get to the park, though. In fact, it takes me a while to get anywhere in this city - I just cannot seem to find my bearings. There is a peculiar street system which, unless I really am going mad, just doesn't tally with the street map. My hostel is situated quite a distance from the centre and I have got lost on a number of occasions already. On Sunday there were very few taxis around and I spent an age wandering around the maze of streets while staring at my map in utter confusion. It has not escaped my notice, by the way, that the word ´maze´ is hidden in the name 'Mendoza´. I sense a conspiracy. Anyway, eventually I managed to hail a taxi. Even then, though, I didn't get to the park immediately as the taxi driver mistook my request for San Martin park for the San Martin street.

According to the hostel website, it is a 15 minute walk from the hostel to downtown. This may be the case if you are Superman. This is just another example of the rather imaginative advertising which I am having to get used to over here. The hostel also states that it is 2 blocks from the bus station. Perhaps naively, when I arrived at the bus station I counted the 2 blocks hoping to find the hostel. After asking a helpful passer-by I found out that it was at least 6 blocks away. And again, last night, the hostel staff told us that there was a nightclub 6 blocks down the road. As it was apparently so close, some of us decided to give it a go. It was at least 20 blocks away. From now on, whenever I am given any estimate of time or distance, I am going to automatically double it in my mind. Either these people genuinely believe that their estimates are accurate or they are being mischievous. Or maybe they are just plain mad.

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