Vamos Argentina!!

VAMOS ARGENTINA!!

Two famous sights of Argentina, the mega 16-lane Avenue 9 de Julio of Buenos Aires with its famous obelisk and below the impressive Iguazu Falls.

With my aspirations and dreams of attaining some tangible benefits from my journey shattered in Chile, I managed to regroup and refocus with alarming rapidity and was off the next day with my contingency plan. It's amazing what the lure of copious amounts of steak at a traditional Argentinean “Asado” put on by my Argie girls from the Inca trek can do for one's motivation. Of course Argentina has far more to offer than simply great-tasting and cheap meat (though it has to be asked, what more does one need?) as it is after all, since the great peso crash of several years ago at least, the most first-world third-world economy in the ummm, world. Basically it’s like travelling around Western Europe at south-east Asian prices. So for great food, great wine, ridiculously cheap beer, stunning women, and a world cup atmosphere more soccer-mad than the Berlin Olympic stadium, one needed look no further than just across the border. Vamos Argentina.

Arguably the three most famous Argentineans, Astor Piazzolla, Maria Eva Duarte "Evita" Peron, and of course, Maradona represented in the colourful Caminito region of La Boca, Buenos Aires.

So over the Andes I went on a 20-hr bus journey to Cordoba , the second largest city in Argentina and the home of my two favourite Argies, Jo and Sole, who had snapped me out my half-day case of depression with the promise of an all-I-could-eat meat fiesta. As you can imagine, I have plenty of experience with buffets, so after arriving freshly rejuvenated after a comfortable night's sleep in my buscama, along with a steak meal and wine of course, I commenced my pre-buffet routine of drinking copious amounts to swell the stomach and steering clear of any food.

The wide, leafy avenues so typical of so many Argentinean cities.

Unfortunately my best laid plans didn't account for Argentinean schedules. Whereas Eric C likes to let it all hang down, after midnight Argentinians prefer to only perhaps start thinking about the possibility of getting the bloody bbq started. I was nearly dead of calorie depletion by that stage and it was only the unbelievable smells wafting from the massive grill that seem to come standard with every Argie house that kept me going. And so the pattern of upside down hours in Argentina had begun and I saw more than my fair share of sunrises over the coming weeks.

The "pink house" in Beunos Aires from where Evita used to make her impassioned speeches to her adoring crowds.

Heading out to a restaurant for dinner was even more ridiculous. My second night there I headed out with the girls and we didn't even sit down, let alone order and eat, until 1:30 in the bloody morning. It took all my willpower not to use my mashed potatoes as a pillow but still we had to head out and dance until the really wee hours. It may have been my almost hallucinogenic state at the time but I swear being in some of those clubs was like being on Jimi Hendrix's "Electric Ladyland" album cover. The women were clothed of course, but my goodness, if I were a fisher of women, I would have been in some bountiful waters. None were as stunning as my two amigas of course (I have to assume they're still reading this...) but I would have been hard-pressed to even find even a lowly 7.

Chilling in Cordoba with Sol and Jo's friends.

Cordoba is a university town so that may have skewed the results in its favour but I very much convinced of the fact that it is a sin to be fat in Argentina (I was surprised not be excommunicated myself... the novelty blonde factor may have saved me). How all these women stay so slim and tanned is beyond me however, as very few of the girls I met seem to exercise (or admit to it at least) and eating copious amounts of meat and pastries seems to be the national past-time, surpassing soccer even. Dulche de Leche (plain caramel) in particular seems to be the staple condiment, and they eat it on anything, pancakes, toast, cakes, pastries, steak...

My fabulous hosts, Jo and her parents in Cordoba.

By the way, if you're ever over here, don't mention the war. I might have mentioned it once, but I think I got away with it... I made a few innocent gaffes with my gracious host, a veteran, (I inadvertently wore my Ghurka regiment shirt from Nepal...) but I was at least glad not to be an Englishman over here during the world cup. Of course it's pretty good natured now but most Argentinians are still adamant that the English started the Falklands War when they invaded 150 years ago. Not surprisingly you can buy all sorts of soccer jerseys in the stores, Japan, Netherlands, France, Brazil, Nigeria even for crying out loud, but you've got about the same chance as the Argies had back in '82 of finding an English shirt.

Jo's dog, arguably the ugliest I've yet seen. She is supposedly "smiling" here...

What you will have no problem whatsoever of finding however are all sorts of paraphernalia sporting the "greatest number 10 that ever lived", the Mano de Dios, Diego Maradona. They just can't seem to get over him over here, his image is everywhere, every sports store is full of shirts, scarves, hats, jumpers, jackets all plastered with his image (his image circa '86 of course, they don't mention his post '94 problems; it's like nobody remember the fat Elvis, they just remember the good times) and if you don't like the number 10 on your jersey, you're out of luck I'm afraid. Anyways, I bypassed the Argie supporter fare and went for a Dutch jersey instead because of all the Dutchies I'd met in South America and in honour of my nomination for quasi-Australian of the year, Guus Hiddink. That and I now have a guaranteed winner in the office ugly shirt competition every year.

La Boca Stadium, Buenos Aires, sight of a young Maradona's finest exploits.

By the way, I got a taste of just how soccer mad the Argentinians are a week or so out from the world cup commencing when driving through Cordoba one evening. Cordoba, despite being the second largest city in Argentina, has only two large soccer clubs, neither of which regularly feature in the top flight domestic comp dominated by the likes of La Boca Juniors and Riverplate. However, within only 5 minutes of a game being completed that resulted in one of the teams being promoted to the premier grade, all the streets were awash with flags, streamers, half-naked painted lunatics and manic drivers honking incessantly for hours. Furthermore, the next day they shut down central Cordoba for a massive celebration; it was like London shutting down because Crystal Palace made the premier league. Ridiculous.

Puerto Iguazu, located on the border of three countries.

After a week or more of lapping up the unbelievable hospitality put on by my overly generous hosts (whom I could never thank enough), I left Cordoba on a high having just seen Australia smash Japan and caught a bus to arguably Argentina's most popular natural tourist attraction, Iguazu Falls in the far north east of the country. Now I've raved about the buses already but deadset, it just cannot be overstated how good they are. The bus to Iguazu came with pillows, blankets, English-speaking films (ok, so Vinnie Jones has only ever made two good films…), snacks, hot meals, wine, champagne, and even whiskey for Pete's sake as a nightcap. A holiday in its own right.

Iguazu Falls... some of it at least.

Although it doesn't have any claims to being the highest, widest or most voluminous waterfalls in the world, Iguazu must be in line for the prettiest waterfalls. It marks the convergence of three borders between Argentina, Brazil and Paraguay but Argentina certainly has the best access to all the beautiful little cataracts that make up the majority of the falls. Brazil may have the best vantage point for viewing them as a whole but you can't beat the elevated catwalks on the Argentinean side which take you right above and between them all. Stunning.

The prettiest falls in the world?

The Iguazu River (which obviously feeds the falls) is actually suffering an acute shortage of flow at present but if what if I saw were the falls at their weakest, it must truly be a sight to behold when at full strength. The star of the show is undoubtedly the Garganta Diablo, or Devil's Throat, a giant horseshoe whose lip over which the water falls its greatest height, looks like what most would have imagined the edge of the world to be like.

The awesome Devil's Throat above and below the only half-decent facade to be seen at San Ignacio.

I made a brief stop at San Ignacio, one of the most impressive Jesuit missionary ruins sites in South America just south of the falls and if I wasn't all ruined out before that experience, I certainly was afterwards. What it lacks for in the superb natural wonder and tourist pulling power of Iguazu falls, it more than makes up for with a bunch of rocks with a bit of moss on them strewn across a big paddock. The only reason I mention it is that it was on the crappy bus to this otherwise unnoteworthy location that I lost my diary, a costly mistake that was to have ramifications that require a separate blog entry to detail. Oh the things to look forward to...

The very impressive architecture prevelant throughout Buenos Aires. A most beautiful city.

For me the only positive about San Ignacio was that I caught a bus from there, which took me to another bus (again with whiskey...) to Buenos Aires, what was to become my favourite city of South America, if not the whole trip. No doubt it is an amazingly vibrant and pulsing city at any time of year, but during a World Cup, the atmosphere is positively electric. I checked into the Tango City Hostel-Inn which was to become my home for the next two weeks as I, like so many others, struggled to escape the gravitational pull of this fabulous city.

Part of the Aussie crew passing through BA, the French sisters, Mel&Bec. Like the Argintinean wine...

Two weeks pass surprisingly easily in Buenos Aires. Obviously in a city of some 12 million, there is a lot to see and do, with many distinct, fascinating and varied suburbs such as Recoleta and La Boca to be explored, but in my experience at least, most of one's time is frittered away through a combination of watching football, drinking beer, going to restaurants, watching football, going to tango shows, drinking beer, waiting at police stations to lodge stolen property reports, watching football, sampling all the really, really cheap wine, eating lots of steak of course, going out all night to clubs and finally drinking beer.

Brazilians in BA going nuts after cheating their way to victory over the Socceroos.

Being world cup and all, a typical day was to wake up well into the afternoon (unless an important game was on in the 10am slot), eat, watch football until about 6 at a local pub, realise you have no time left to do anything that day, sit around talking with your mates at the hostel about how you are definitely going to see some sights the next day but in the meantime, yeah, I'll have a beer, but don't worry, I've got this one, you get the next etc, and before you know it, you're out eating a steak and either staying up all night playing pool in the hostel or dancing until 7 in the morning at some fancy club. A vicious cycle...

Blue Steel...my wannebe-Brazilian mate from Israel with an incredible resemblance to the merman himself.

There was a lot of shouting going on in Buenos Aires because beer was just so damn cheap. You can't say no when you can get litre of quality domestic beer for less than $1. Even in a pub you would pay no more than $2 for a tallie and so if you start having a few quiet ones at say 9ish, by the time anyone is even thinking about heading out (generally about 2ish), you've knocked off several litres and spent less than what you pay for pint back home. 'Twasn't only the beer either, quality wine set you back only about $3-4 and a bottle of the not-quite-so-finest vodka required only Argentinean spare change... All in all, when you're only spending $6 a night on the hostel, what else are you to spend your money on?

Some more very European architecture in B.A. Couldn't get over just how rich this city and country must have been back in the day, evidence of wealth everywhere.

It was of course nice to have a stable crew at the hostel who were all stuck in a similar sort of twilight zone of planning itineraries around football results. I dare say the economy would have faced a serious downturn once Argentina were knocked out of the cup and thousands of backpackers gave up the dream of being present for the biggest party ever. Of course, having Australia in the cup gave it extra value this time and it was always a fabulous time when we got a crew together at a local venue, particularly when we were winning, or drawing at least. The ecstasy and the agony, Harry's goal vs Croatia and that bloody dive by Italy respectively....

My second-favourite Brasilian fan.

The best game for me however was definitely the Brazil game particularly because I was one of only three Australians in the biggest Brazilian bar in Buenos Aires. We had been wandering about with a few folks from the hostel in an absolutely dead-end part of town looking for a non-existent "great Aussie pub" when by chance we stumbled upon a small bar packed with Brazilians. Unfortunately it was a private party but one gent kindly directed a taxi for us to a packed out big-screen bonanza complete with 1000 or so scantily clad, yellow painted, drum-beating absolutely crazy Brazilians.

One of my four half-time expert commentaries.

Being easily the most vocal of the Aussie tribe and the only one who could "speak Spanish", I proved quite the novelty and was interviewed at half-time for Argentinean television no less than 4 times, all in Spanish. I daresay there were some very confused Argentinians after trying to comprehend those half-time analyses. The fact I had my bright orange Dutch jersey on (in support of my new idol Guus of course) and a Brisbane Lions scarf very similar to Ronaldhino's Barcelona didn't help. And whilst we may have ultimately lost the game, I enjoyed arguably the proudest moment of my life when, live to air throughout Argentina, I was challenged to a beer-skulling/chugging competition with a Brazilian dude. Needless to say, I pumped him by a good 2 seconds. Never have I been prouder to be Australian.

My about 5 seconds after finishing my beer with the Brazilian guy about 3 seconds after he finished his...

Was also fortunate enough to be in Buenos Aires for two international rugby matches, one entirely despicable performance from Wales first up, and then the following week, the mighty All Blacks whom I saw live for the first time for a total of about $8. Super quality match as well, los Pumas had about 10 phases on the kiwi line in the last 5 minutes when only 6 points down.

The All-Blacks during the haka. This, like many of the photos on this page, are not mine due to my camera being stolen. During this time, I was down with plebs almost getting crushed to death.

Obviously the stadium in which the games took place is primarily a soccer stadium and it was amusing to see the efforts they had made in the name of crowd control. In Australia, we have a copper sitting on a fold-up stool on the boundary; in Argentina, they have a moat.... Mind you when making our way to the outer seats when the All Blacks commenced their haka (without the throat-slitting of course...) the moat counted for nothing as we were nearly crushed to death by marauding Argentinians desperate to see the action. Scary stuff.

During the Wales match. Notice the moat running down the side from which some guy had to scoop the ball out with a 5m pole any time someone kicked for touch. You certainly didn't want to cop a fierce covering tackle whilst dashing down the sideline.

Despite all this football and beer, I did actually get around to seeing some of the fabulous locations and meet some of the local Porteños (residents of Buenos Aires) which thoroughly enriched my experience. One thing I definitely took away from my interaction with these folk, both from Buenos Aires and all over South America for that matter, was a new appreciation for just how lucky those of us from Australia, Europe, U.S.A. and the like are to be able to sample all that these great countries have to offer on a relative whim.

The vibrant colours of Caminito, an avenue in the working class La Boca district.

Not to get all preachy or anything, but the fact is I was able to travel as I have for almost a year after saving for only one year as a graduate pretty much straight out of university. So many people in Argentina especially, equally well-educated if not more so, can only dream of such possibilities due to factors completely out of their control. A qualified gynecologist I met for example, someone who delivers babies every day, was earning around US$5 an hour. A sad reflection of a country which only five years ago had a peso valued more than 3 times what it is now. Still, means a lot of cheap beer for us backpackers....

The famous and overly ostentatious cemetery in Recoleta, final resting place of the very rich and famous.

Unfortunately that newfound appreciation didn't last very long as I a) had my camera stolen no doubt by one those I had been earlier been feeling sorry for and b) I was about to embark on a journey towards the beautiful Lakes District town of Bariloche at the foot of the Andes where events dictated by factors out of my control were to slowly sap my appreciation for being here in this fabulous country.

Eva Peron's grave in the same Recoleta cemetery.

Til next time....