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Published: October 4th 2006
We arrived in Cordoba at 11a.m after a 20 hour ride, immediately checked our packs into the bus station´s left-luggage deposito and made our way to the pre-pay taxi rank. "Eros hotel por favour". A waiting driver gave me a knowing wink.
Fifteen minutes later and we pull into what looks like a posh motel. However, here you clock the digital read-out at the entrance and park your car in the corresponding garage or, in the case of arriving by taxi, you walk into the garage (without driver), close the door and proceed through the door at the rear. You are greeted by a swanky en-suite room with prominent sunken jacuzzi, wall-to-wall mirrors, plush seating area, interestingly-channeled TV viewable from anywhere, and an array of lighting to set the mood.... Within seconds the phone rings to enquire what complementary drinks are required and these are duly delivered through a hatch in a door leading.. who knows where. At the same time you pay for the room and this is the last/only contact you have with the staff, unless further services are required? The clients´ anonymity is preserved at all times.
Twenty minutes before your 2 hours expire you receive
Eros Hotel
Garage No. 3another telephone call and on 2 hours you exit back into the garage where, Mr Ben-like, the taxi re-appears. At this point, and at 20 dollars, this was our most expensive hotel thus far in South America. Money well spent! On arriving the place was deserted - we were in garage 3 of dozens. Leaving however at 1pm not a single garage was vacant - pretty obvious how Cordobians spend their siesta time and it ain´t sleeping!
We had heard of a gorgeous little town - Barreal - near San Juan that sits surrounded by mountains including Cerro Aconcagua (6962M), the highest in the Americas, and headed here for some luxury. Checked into a beautiful posada (hasienda-style ranch) set in acres of land where, as the only guests, we were fussed over by the 6 staff. Massive, rustic, beamed room with roaring open fire; great cook at our beck and call; our own courtyard; gardens and mind-blowing views... Even we were happy to cough-up fifteen quid a night.
Spent our days roaming the hills and canyons to the back of town constantly accompanied by the posada´s two dogs who seemed to think that we
needed looking after. Then after 5 or 6 hours of solitude we´d amble back for a bottle or two of wine in the sun and gaze beyond the horses grazing to the mountains. If this wasn´t tough enough, we´d then have to decide what to get chef to cook us for dinner.. Total R&R: bliss...
Forcing ourselves to move on wasn´t easy especially as we knew that the vinyards of Mendoza awaited.. Mendoza: recollections are hazy but the restaurants were great... was particularly nice to become reaquainted with the odd sauvignon blanc and some seafood. People here really do stay out late!
Feeling somewhat guilty for all the self-indulgence we embarked on a good honest journey of some 60-odd hours - Mendoza to Rio Gallagos (in the deep south of Patagonia) and then immediately across to the Parque Nacional los Glaciares. First stop El Calafate and the Moreno glacier.
Descending some 2000 or so kilometers, not surprisingly, had a marked effect on the weather and the sunny 25 degrees was suddenly a rather bleak 5 Celcius... but at least it wasn´t snowing.
On the way to the
glacier I moaned constantly as the weather deteriorated further to sleet and freezing winds. Never-the-less nothing could detract from what awaited us. The Moreno glacier winds its way down between the mountains and thrusts itself into an arm of Lago Argentino, Argentina´s largest lake. You descend down a walkway through the forest to see the steep-sided valley ahead of you splay to embrace the lake. The valley itself is choked with the massive, eerily electric-blue, tongue of the glacier. Its face, as it juts into the lake, is several kilometers wide and some 80m high, with complex folds, crevices, and towering eroded spires. Within minutes you´ll hear an almighty crack and then a rushing boom as 25 stories of ice crash into the water churning up the ice bergs with mini tsunami. Well impressive (even on a shit day).
Prices are expensive down south and we were forced to spend several nights smelling other backpackers' boots - as well as our own - in dorms. Met up with a couple of guys (Dutch n Swiss) who were heading to the Fitz Roy Range and we decided to tag along. Good move! The weather on the way was
Moody Ali
Over Barreal a total white-out, but on arrival it brightened and we trekked off into the mountains for probably the best scenery we've seen in Argentina. So good in fact that we ended up not braving Torres del Paine across the border in Chile, even though the snow has just thawed and it was now trekable.
Truth be told: ten days of cold was enough to drive us north again. The lads were off to Terra del Fuego and Ushuia, the southernmost city on earth: sexy idea, but well chilly…. We had pondered going up north to Colombia for our final month but the flights are extortionate; also considered returning to the excesses of El Pirata in Peru, but finally decided on a new destination: Brazil.
First another hefty bus journey to Buenos Aires (48 hours). Great city this; it has it all. Saying that, in addition to reckoning that they have the best beef (still disputed by Ali “where's me bloody fillet” Bell) the Argentinos, and particularly those from BA, think they have the foxiest women. So, with six hours to kill afore a bus journey we sat counting totty. We weren't even that
strict and only just made it to double figures… in 6 hours (like trying to find an attractive woman in Pevos, Stirling). Anyways, spent 3 days in BA wandering around markets, checking out the tango dancers and generally chilling before we were Rio bound, my confidence high that the ladies here wouldn't be a let down.
Yet another mama-jukka bus journey (47 hours). It should have been a tad shorter, but true to form the bus broke down - maintaining S. America´s 100% record for us. There were also a couple of lengthy stops due to some over zealous military police searches.
Fortunately it was still daylight when we arrived in Rio as we hadn't bothered with a guidebook to Brazil and didn't have a clue as to our next move. Luck really did appear to be on our side when we bumped into a tout for a hostel, supposedly on Copacabana, and so we hopped into his van. Turned out he really was from a hostel - always helps - and it was cheap, really nice and really on Copacabana! Knackered we arrived at “Stone of a beach” where we discovered that
there was a match on at the Maracana stadium (largest footy stadium in the world - ca. 190,000) in 2 hours: Fluminense of Rio against an Argentinian team in the last 8 of their equivalent of the Champions league. How could we refuse...
Civilized business going to the footie here. Outside the stadium the crowd sit around the open air cafes and bars swigging beers and chomping on yakitori. Inside, the terraces have bench-like seats and roving vendors keep you supplied with beer whilst the samba band thumps out a constant beat. Then after the game it´s all back to the bars for a few bevies before driving home. There are many deaths on the roads of Rio (there are also an astonishing number of one-legged peeps around which we´re guessing is not a fashion statement).
Predictably we arrived back rather merry and headed straight to the bar on the roof terrace where we were duely enticed to join a bunch who were hitting some local bars... Here we discovered Brazilian Caiparenas (limes, a scary amount of sugar and three or four inches of cachaco - there are no mixers in these
babies). Result: worst hangover of the trip thus far.
Managed to crawl out of bed at midday and we're straight into another party sesh: barby on the roof and then at midnight out en-mass to Lapa. This area really is party central. Seems as though the whole of Rio is out. The streets are packed with revelers, touts, vendors, loiterers... mostly drunk, and music is everywhere. Apparently Lapa has a reputation for being rather dangerous. If this is so then we were certainly lulled into a false sense of security as everyone was friendliness personified. Impressed the locals with our ability to shake our bootys with the best of them. Indeed I got down and dirty with several local girls. One in particular really did take a shine to me - until she was hauled off around dawn by whom we presumed was her grand daughter. Yeah, yeah... but you should have seen this Amazonian grind.
Day three arrived and we finally made it down the end of the street to view the beach and then forced ourselves up Sugarloaf mountain.
Rio is stunning - have both immediately fallen in love with
the place: wonderful vibrant people, fantastic setting, tremendous exotic foods on top of steaks that laugh in the rump of their Argentino equivalents, and non-stop partying. The only drawback is the cost... to the pocket and the liver. We've still not seen old Jesus on the mountain as he's been shrouded in cloud since we arrived, but the forecast is looking up and i've already got me posing pouch out for the lucky ladies on the beach tomorrow.
Intend to leave in a day or so and head back down south to Ilha Grande for some lazing on a beach-studded tropical isle, although reports are coming back from there of rain.... From there maybe a stop in Florianopolis, couple of places in Uruguay and then back to BA for several days before the return to Blighty...
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