Like, doing some work and that,

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It is of my highly scientific opinion that sightings of the Andean Condor are exaggerated. What people are actually seeing is Argentinian mosquitos.

Seriously, these fuckers are like the Chuck Norris of the insect world. Now, I´ve had plenty of experience being eaten by little arseholes, but these things just do not care. You can feel them land, and bite. No clandestine operations here. Cover up, say the guidebooks, reduce the chances of being bitten. Nah, Chuck will just stick it´s proboscis through yer trousers, socks and metal armour. So, a new sport of catching them and removing it´s proboscis was thought of. The trick was not to pull off the head as well, although tears weren´t shed if that happened.

Las Cortaderas, as well as insecti-cide, also saw us starting on our first Wwoofing (Willing Workers on Organic Farms) escapade. It was pretty darn good, the family were exceptionally nice and we even had our own little cottage. Work was relatively simple, menial and sweaty. Chopping wood, swatting bastards, de-barking wood for a new floor, swatting bastards, digging a new veggie patch and, er, swatting bastards. Caroline to repair the mud ovens, which looked like fun for a day or 2, though the novelty had worn off after a week. It took some effort getting used to waking at 6.30 AM and gan bed at 9 ish utterly knackered. Had some conversations about the Falklands here and there, and although saying to a visitor that I didn´t particularly like Maggie Thatcher I do find myself in the curious position of wanting to defend her. Argie was under a military dictatorship at the time that was busy murdering its own citizens, and then they start a war with the UK. We protect our citizens, rightly, and give them an unfortunate spanking. There are stautes of soldiers stamping on Union Jacks and the like - inded we were sat drinking in a park on a day off right next to one - and there is apparently some amniosity, although we haven´t really encountered any yet. Sergio, the farmer, seemed surprised by this and the visitor to the farm had fought in the war as an 18 year old. So, I think it will be best to keep such opinions to myself! I´m not one for confrontation.. All in though, it was a fantastic experience, and sets us up nicely for our next farm in northern Argentina where we´ll be spending 2 months.

After the disappointment of Caroline´s birthday night out, we were taken out by a group of Porteños (Buenos Aires residents) recently. One of the fellas was a neighbour of the farm but lived in B.A., he invited us out so we gladly said yes. First off though, we found out about a German beer house with a load of microbrews. Excellent! Have been craving a nice pint, and that´s what we got. Pretty pricey, but so good after drinking crap Argentine lager. After, taking a tube and bus out to the suburbs, we all met up for a meal, then hit a few bars around the area. You can practice your Spanish! said Hernan. Thankfully, they all wanted to practice English, so our ignorance was spared. It was a chiefly delightful evening for the lack of tourists. Well, it certainly aint in the Lonely Planet, as it is quite far out the centre. We finally got home about 8am on the Sunday, and spent a grand day doing bugger except eat peanut butter. Crunchy, as well!

During the farm stay, when checking my mails there was a bunch of emails off mother, so I started at the first. Which was about how Doyle, my perma sick dog, was being operated on to remove a cancerous tumour and there was a good chance he wouldn´t make it. With blurry eyes, quickly read the rest and he was ok. Got through the surgery and resulting few days, honestly that dog can survive anything. It did make me massively homesick though, as all I wanted to do was give him a hug. Had a few beers to celebrate him being ok, although I´m awaiting the inevitable heart-break email.

We spent today doing our first proper tourist things. Walked up to the Recolta area to visit some mental cementary where the rich spunk all they can at some form of dead dick-swing. It annoyed the living shit out of me. Massive mausoleums made of polished granite, or marble, or the bones of impoverished street children. Fair enough it´s their money to spend as they wish, but when folk are building things bigger than houses to house their rotting corpse as kids rifle through rubbish for recylcables it does piss off you off a bit. Well, it did me anyway. Evita Perron is buried there supposely, but after seeing a few streets we figurered that if you´ve seen one bunch of overly extravagant graves, you´ve seen em all. So, stuff Evita, let´s get a coffee.

We have another couple days in B.A, then we´re off to Mendoza before gan to the next farm. Alas our hostel room is without a tv this time, so got to actually speak to the bird.

The perils of travelling.

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