San Carlos de Bariloche

If the 23 hour trip from Buenos Aires hadn't been so comfortable, we could have been fooled into believing we'd arrived in Europe. The temperature – freezing cold – was about right, along with the idyllic looking alpine village set on the edge of a lake surrounded by snow capped mountains.

After our grand tour of the ice cream shops of Buenos Aires and the delicious daily desserts made at home, we could probably stand to lose a few kilo's. But if we had hoped that our stay in Bariloche would do the trick, we were sadly wrong.

Every second shop in Bariloche sells gourmet chocolate and as we organised our tours for the coming days, we couldn't resist them. Del Turista was the first stop, where the chocolates were mouthwatering and hot chocolate the best this side of Provincia in Krakow. And that is saying a lot!

Before we'd arrived it had been raining for several days, but we seemed to have struck lucky with the weather. It was sunny and warm, so the following day we escaped the lure of chocolate and went walking in Llao Llao Regional Park.

The forest there was apparently the inspiration for Bambi, thanks to some unique trees that are found only there and in Japan. As if to complete the Asian theme, a type of bamboo also grows there that hung so low over the path at times that we had to duck.

But as we emerged out of the enchanted forest onto the shore of one of the lakes, I was struck by the similarity of the view to those that I had seen in Canada. It had been almost twenty years and yet I was convinced that this view was just like the one I remembered from a family canoe trip.

And at each view point along the trail, of the different lakes I had the same feeling. Jeff thought this was one of the most beautiful places he'd ever seen.

A highlight was the climb up Llao Llao hill, where at each point we had a different view of the lakes and inlets.

The following day we set our sights on getting to some of the snow we could see on the tops of all those mountains. From the ski resort at Catedral Mountain, 25km out of Bariloche we started the alternative route via Arroyo Van Titter hoping to reach the Refugio Frey. The tourist office had directed us to the wrong bus stop where we'd waited for a long time, before finally finding the right spot, so it was already late when we started.

The trail headed up through low scrub around the mountain and along a lake. Delighted about finding “the wild Patagonia” we had to cross several streams, via a single log that spanned from bank to bank.

After and hour or so, we entered the forest where in the cool shade of the trees, patches of snow still lay on the ground. Jeff jumped up and down on them just to say he'd walked through the snow. To our left a river flowed through the valley, the sound of the rushing water echoing off the stone walls that grew narrows.

Further up in the valley after crossing the river on a rickety bridge we spotted a wood pecker, followed by another and another. At first we weren't sure what they were, but just to confirm our suspicions they pecked at the wood and then flew to the next tree. With camera's in hand we followed in hot pursuit, but they seemed to be enjoying the game of follow the woodpecker and kept on moving.

Soon we reached the tree line and at last saw the colourful peaks of the valley we'd been walking through. The warm afternoon sun made the mountains glow and helped melt the snow that still lay everywhere. At last we reached a decent patch where we threw snow balls at each other and took too many photo's before having to turn around without having reached Refugio Frey. But we'd already decided that we would definitely return to Bariloche.

Greater Buenos Aires

Of course, Buenos Aires isn't all just hustle and bustle if you know where to look. And if you have a local (and most excellent) guide like we did, you know where to go.

A fact I didn't know about Buenos Aires until the words 'Capital Federal' were thrown at me is that the city itself has very defined limits, beyond which are other towns. Once upon a time, these were actually towns with their own cathedrals and squares, but these days it's all just sprawl so it's hard to know where one ends and the other begins. Unless of course you have someone to point out when you leave 'Capital Federal' – Buenos Aires proper – and enter the next district.

When we left Buenos Aires and headed north along the slower road we passed through a few of the towns, but it was already dark. A few days later we returned to San Isidro and wandered its pretty cobblestone streets, while dreaming about buying one of the mansions and doing it up.

Another beautiful town of Greater Buenos Aires is Tigre, set on the Parana Delta. Apart from coming here to get delicious ice cream from Via Toscana (Bariloche Dulce de Leche flavour is amazing) sunny weekends see crowds wandering along the river.

Leaving from the Puerto de Frutos, we went for a sail through the Parana Delta. The whole area reminded me of the canals in Holland. There were brightly coloured weekenders surrounded by a perfect green lawn and large shady trees that looked like an ideal place to spend a lazy afternoon. Other buildings along the river were more upscale, including a golf club, restaurants and lodges.

Several times we were passed by the supermarket boats that deliver food to the houses along the delta.

Then, as we rounded a bend in the river, we saw Buenos Aires far in the distance.

Asado!

All the inhabitants of the house had had a late night, so by the time we tip toed out to the asado around 10:30am there was already smoke wafting from the chimneys of some of the neighbours. Because that's what you do on Sundays! You make asado which is the famous Argentine slow cooked barbecue.

We'd already had a few roast chickens during our travels and on the day of our arrival, we'd been treated to an asado at Siga la Vaca (follow the cow) which is said to be one of the best in Buenos Aires. And while it was delicious – especially the salads! - we'd been promised by the family that Sunday would be even better.

We'd been to the butcher the previous day and bought more meat than I could imagine. But to be fair this would be a feast. There would be new family members to meet as well as our friends M and his wife who took us to the polo and L and her husband who we were looking forward to meeting.

So the ritual started with Jeff chopping firewood and me running around with a notebook and camera, asking loads of questions and taking photos of the asadors working. Once the coals were at the perfect temperature the giant slabs of meat were placed on the grill and acoustically monitored for the volume of their sizzling.

For editorial accuracy I wrote down each of the cuts of meat we were eating but things got tricky when we got to the offal. In order to explain exactly which part these pale coloured, worm looking things came from, P pulled out a human anatomy book. He pointed out that we would be eating riňon (kidneys), chinchulines (small intestine) and mollejas (sweetbread – thyroid) and joked that next week it would be our insides on the grill. 

  

The one tradition that must be universal while preparing a BBQ is the men standing around, drinking beer while the meat is cooking. Of course our pair of asadors had hefty glasses, peanuts and cheese to snack on while watching the meat cook for two our so hours.

Just as the meat was almost cooked everyone arrived and all 15 or so of us crowded onto a long table on the patio. Each cut of meat was served individually and passed around the table before the next one came along. And as promised, the home made asado was better than the one we'd had at the restaurant.

In case you're wondering, we both tried the offal, which I'm sure were delicious, but these more unusual meats just didn't quite appeal to our palates. Apart from the mojella that is, along with every other delicious thing on the table including the salads. For a job well done, the asadors received a rowdy round of applause for the fantastic lunch.

At the Polo

M told us we'd be going to see some of the best players in the world. I wondered if he'd perhaps meant the best in Argentina. Or maybe – not that I doubted his integrity – this was an example of Argentinian pride. They're famous for it and there's plenty of jokes doing the rounds like:


   How do you recognise an Argentine spy?
   From the sign on his back that says, 'I'm the greatest spy in the world.'

Hence my need to state that we were allegedly going to see the best polo players in the world. This from a person who knows nothing about polo except that Prince Harry plays it. See, reading the magazines at the super market checkout is educational.

Classy Hurlingham Club with it's manicured golf course, pretty gardens and perfect clubhouse is surrounded by a decidedly down market neighbourhood. Most of the streets are unsurfaced and the buildings are only partially built. We stop to ask for directions from people who have most likely never set foot in the club despite living in the suburb named after it. The difference between the rich 30% and poor 70% of the Argentine population is so obvious I feel uncomfortable.

The polo is exciting especially when the game approaches our side and the horses thunder past in hot pursuit of the ball. And he was right when he told us these are some of the best polo players in the world. But mostly we spend the match chatting and drinking mate with M and his wife and their friends who turn up later.

After the match we head back to Buenos Aires for dinner and a stroll around the pretty Puerto Madero. The Santiago Calatrava bridge and surrounding buildings are beautifully lit up and I curse that despite carrying our tripod around for a month I don't have it with me tonight.

We have dinner in a cosy place that specialises in grilled meat, but we make sure to leave space, because tomorrow is Sunday and that's the day when you cook asado.

Buenos Aires

As we reached the outskirts of Buenos Aires, one thought crossed our minds. This place seemed like a normal city. After our jaunt through rural Argentina it was a relief to see billboards, sealed roads and rubbish free verges. Of course the impression of normality didn't last long.

G waited for us at the bus station with our names on a cardboard sign. But it wasn't necessary. As soon as I spotted her I knew it was her, despite never having met. Within a few hours of reaching home we'd been introduced to the whole family and within a few days, we felt like we were part of it.

We were supposed to go to Buenos Aires the following day with G who took on the role of tour guide like an expert. But a man had been shot dead at a railway workers protest the day we arrived. Protests were expected as a result the following day.

By Friday it seemed that tensions had settled, so we headed down the Pan Americana for Capital Federal. Twenty two kilometres out of town we got stuck in a traffic jam that was crawling. After travelling just 1km in an hour, it turned out that the 5 lane highway was blocked by protesters. Police had negotiated for the opening of one lane of traffic. Twenty or so people stood in front of 1km of infuriated drivers chanting and beating drums. 'Welcome to Argentina' G repeated, a phrase we'd already heard many times.

Buenos Aires is supposed to be the Paris of the south and I wondered just how well the city would live up to this title. Pleasingly it did. But first we headed to the neighbourhood of Boca, an area where all the buildings are brightly painted. When it was first settled, the residents bought left over paint from the boats, hence the patchwork of colours.

It was very touristy with people dressed up in tango outfits harassing us to have photo's taken with them. Tango music blared from the stores and oversized Maradonas looked down on the crowds from every second balcony. But altogether it had a very relaxed and friendly vibe.

Back in town, blissfully map free we followed G to the Casa Rosada. In the square in front of it, riot police stood at the ready as there was another protest going on. A big fence blocked the square and the big backlog of pedestrians was siphoned through a tiny opening at one end. 'Welcome to Argentina!'

We then wandered through pretty San Telmo to Plaza Dorego which hosts an antiques market. Unfortunately it was already lunch time and there was few stalls and even fewer antiques, but the stores around the perimeter sold some of the most exquisite pieces I've ever seen. If I had a castle or a palace this would most certainly be the place to go shopping for furniture.

In the square the local restaurants were set up under big shady trees offering lunch specials and a tango show. We enjoyed a long lunch of the biggest steak I've ever seen, while watching the intricate footwork of the tango. Afterwards we were convinced that we needed a siesta.

By the time we reached Recoleta cemetery the gates were already closed so we had to be satisfied with a fleeting glimpse of the ostentatious mausoleums that jutted above the high wall. It seemed strange for a cemetery to even be on the tourist trail, but apparently no other place says more about Argentine culture which is obsessed with mortality. Interestingly, we would witness this just a few days later.

Our day trip to Buenos Aires ended with a drive home through the lovely suburbs of the north along with a stop in Via Flaminia, an ice cream shop where we had the biggest ice creams I've ever seen.

The following Wednesday we were at home with the family who had a day off because of the census. Everything had shut down across Argentina, except for emergency services as officials walked from door to door counting residents and taking down other vital statistics. We were mesmerised by the process that seemed hugely inefficient and expensive to the nation, but all we heard in response was the well worn phrase 'welcome to Argentina'.

As we waited to have breakfast we heard the news that Nestor Kirchner, the former president and current presidents husband had passed away that morning. For the next 48 hours the news channels relayed images exclusively from the unfolding drama, as his body was transferred from El Calafate to Buenos Aires and the people held tearful vigils in front of the Casa Rosada. Despite recognising the place, the apparent hysteria seemed so strangely foreign to us and when we asked about it, the response of course was 'Welcome to Argentina'.

Iguazu

We arrived at Puerto Iguazu, the town just outside the falls first thing in the morning after a second night on a bus and it was overcast. Iguazu Falls are apparently best seen on a sunny day when the rainbows and butterflies come out so it seemed like we'd have to go the following day when the forecast was supposed to be better.

It was probably a good thing. With flagging energy levels we walked to the point where the borders of Argentina, Uruguay and Brazil all converge. The humidity was very high despite the cloud cover, so we just sat on a bench looking at where the river diverges. Between the forest on either side of the river there was a concrete marker painted in the Uruguayan colours on the left side of the water and Brazilian colours on the right.

The following morning the sun was shining so the trip to Iguazu Falls was on, with the expectation of seeing many rainbows and butterflies. Just inside the entry gates we spotted a toucan eating the seeds of a tree right next to the path. It was sitting low enough to get clear views of it's multi coloured beak and even as the tour groups gathered around it seemed unfazed. I was sure that this would probably be one of many that day.

I'm not sure if there is supposed to be an order to view the falls to increase the viewing pleasure, but our goal was primarily to keep away from the crowds that were steadily filling through the entrance. There are three main circuits, an upper one, a lower one and the walk out to Garganta del Diablo (Devil's Throat).

We started along the top where from each lookout we could see most of the falls. Each lookout was located right where the water cascades over the edge into the river below, sending up a plume of mist and cold air. The roar was loud enough to drown out the sound of the scenic helicopter flights circling on the Brazilian side.

All along the cliff edge and down below we could see the little platforms jutting out, enticing us to explore. But we didn't need much encouragement to walk along the board walks poised over the fast flowing river that just a few metres further plunged over a cliff edge. Believe me there was a lot of talk of movies and cartoons that show just this point when you realise you've taken the wrong turn down the river and a fall is just up ahead.

The lower circuit was even better. We saw a few of the smaller falls with the amount of water you usually find in Australia in the height of summer before coming face to face with the main part. Located about half way up the cliff, a walkway jutted out to about 3 metres from the water. From above I wondered why no one was walking out to it, until we got there. After just a moment we were soaking wet. But standing there, I felt alive. The rush of water was deafening, the sunlight reflecting off the water blinding and the turbulent air that whipped the grass all around took our breath away. A rainbow was visible in the mist down below.

Just down the path on another section of lookout, an orange butterfly landed on my shirt and tagged along as we walked down towards the river.

Returning to the visitor area we found a nice, shady bench to rest for a moment. As I waited, a bag with lunch in it by my side I spotted a lone Coatis. It was very cute and totally disinterested in me despite having a reputation as food beggars. Excited, Jeff started snapping photo's but it was walking away very briskly. Then I heard a noise behind us. On our picnic bench another Coatis was advancing on our food bag at lighting speed while two more were coming out of the bushes. I grabbed the bag at the same time as the Coatis and we had a tug of war, my hands winning out against it's claws on the plastic bag.

The best place to see butterflies is at the start of the walk towards the Garganta del Diablo. Along the train ride there, swarms of yellow butterflies filled the air and at the station more sat in muddy puddles.

Lonely Planet likens standing on the edge of Garganta del Diablo to what European sailors must of imagined the edge of the earth would be like. All around there's the pounding rush of water and the wild wind that sometimes drives the water straight at you.. You look down, but you can't see the bottom thanks to the mist that rises from the violent drive of water. And then you think 'Holy Cow! I'm standing on the very edge of this giant, powerful waterfall. They must have had a hell of a time building this platform.' Yet there in the distance I could see the outlines of people on the platform on the Brazilian side of the falls. Right then and there it seemed clear who got the better view!

 See on the far left side of this photo where people are standing!

Our final activity in the park was an easy walk to another waterfall that seemed so puny in comparison it didn't even get a photo. But along the way, I spotted another toucan, that was grunting just like a koala, while hopping along and scrapping it's beak on a branch. Further along a furry animal sat on the path. It didn't have a tail like a Coatis and it hopped away before we could take a photo for identification purposes.

Billed as 'one of the most awe-inspiring sights on the planet' Iguazu Falls is certainly impressive. But we both walked away thinking that we'd imagined them to be a little bit bigger with some more 'je ne sais quoi'. We didn't go back to the Argentinian side on the following day and decided that the hassle of getting to the Brazilian side thanks to visas, currency exchange and park fees wasn't worth it. After all, you couldn't get closer to the Garganta del Diablo unless you jumped in!