Kat & Marty

Entering Uruguay was entering a whole new world... well almost. Even more people were standing around with half closed eyes while sipping from their ever present mate bowls. I had yet to try the tea though I had heard that it increased your feeling of alertness while allowing you to remain calm - unlike coffee that has you jittering all over the place.

We hiked around town in a big circle looking for accomodation. Sweat soaked, we finally ended up next door (literally) to where we started, and took a lovely big room with it's own bathroom, for not too much dinero. We showered the hot sun away then went out to check out Colonia. This town has the privilege of being the only town in the world to be declared in it's entirety, a world heritage site. We soon saw why. Beautiful cobblestoned streets and gorgeous, well conditioned colonial styled buildings created an atmosphere of tranquility. We went down to the waterfront, the lights of Buenos Aires glowing in the near distance, and saw a full, fat, yellow moon raise over a yacht marina. It seemed pretty close to paradise. We ate in a small restaurant boasting the yearly jazz festival. Over the road, as our jazz musicians warmed up, a drummer parade did the same. The two factions competed for a good hour before the parade bet it's way down the street and out of earshot. Everpresent jewellers punted their wares on the street side before us. Surprisingly (not!) they didn't conduct much business. On every street corner, we found people peddling their homemade jewellery. So much so that we began to wonder why people bother with it anymore. The competition is more fierce than a board room meeting. At least in a boardroom they have air-conditioning.

We slept well, then arose and managed to hunt and gain a contract on, the last hire car in town. Buenos Aires and Uruguay were both in peak holiday season so things were getting a little competitive. We drove up out of Colonia and headed well north of the country to Punta del Diablo. Punta del Diablo (Point of the Devil), is known as a beautiful but out of the way beach town. Most people don't bother going past Punto del Este (East Point) a little further south. We drove up in the heat of summer with the air conditioner on and our one CD from Aregentina, Soda Stereo, recommended by our Aconcagua guide - Angel - blasting. We stopped for lunch at a parilla (grill) next to a river where throngs of holiday makers swam. We stopped for ice-cream, then for coca-cola, then for the police who wanted to search our boot but then waved me on when I got out of the car to show them our dirty washing. Finally - a whole 4-5 hour drive later, almost out of the other side of Uruguay, we reached the turn-off to Punta del Diablo.

The town was mainly constructed of sand roads and the one tourist map we could lay our hands on showed most of the roads unnamed. We rented a little white and blue cabana for one night then bought bathers or togs to hit the beach in. After airing our glow in the dark hides for an hour or so (and Marty decently soaking his in the brine), we went back and changed then ran along another beach as the sun set. Returning, we wandered down to the township for dinner. A dance show was going on down on the beach, flamenco styled ladies then little girls danced the night away. A local churro maker (sweat donut like deserts) shared his mate with us, at last giving me a taste of the strong and bitter flavoured tea. More jewellers than ever hawked their seed beads and we ate at a small restaurant watching more drummers get more ladies dancing. A local said to us, this place is called point of the devil, but there is no devil here. I couldn't help but agree.

We woke early and ran along the beach again before packing our bags. In our haste to find fuel we forgot to grab breakfast. There was only one remedy for that - ice-cream! We found a petrol station about half an hours drive south of Punto del Diablo and we got to it not long after our petrol light started flashing. With a big empty back seat we decided to pick up a hitch-hiker - an Uruguan heading home to Montevideo (main city) from the beach. When I asked her in my hesitant Spanish, she indicated she was joining us in going to Punto del Este. But, she directed us past the turn off then the second turn off my map told me to take. Confused I assumed she had local knowledge the roads where bad. It wasn't until she waved us over at a turnoff to Montevideo that I realised our turnoffs just hadn't been convenient to her. I was livid but Marty was pretty chilled about the 30kms we went out of our way. Needless to say, no more hitch-hikers found their way into our car.

Punto del Este was the complete opposite of Punto del Diablo. Instead of cute and ecentric thatch covered cottages and shanties, it was a city of high rises as far as you could see. The roads were filled with Buenos Aires holiday makers flaunting their BMWs, their porches and their deep Uruguayan tans. We booked into a hotel room and walked the promenades. We saw some Brazilians playing music on a rotunda and people fishing for not much. A marina was stacked with millionaire and billionaire boats and the sidewalks were filled with restaurant tables serving overpriced and badly cooked food. We ate out of reach of the ocean waves but were still severely taxed for the tourist season. The fish we ate, though, was fresh and good for the stomach.

We drove back to Colonia disappointed of a beach day by rain. We drove through Montevideo and stopped for lunch in a stuffy restaurant that served us good food but was frequented by those above 50. The buildings seemed squat and squalid and I was disappointed to see slums, shacks built up of rubbish against warehouse walls. This country had seemed so perfect, but the lack of finance was still firmly evident.

Back in Colonia we knew where to go to sleep and where to eat. It wasn't until morning before we had to catch the ferry back to Argentina for our bus to Iguazu falls that we stumbled into the backstreets and the true treasure of Colonia. The buildings were stunning. We found an old car that had a nursery of plants growing in it. Cute shops and cafes nestled under shady trees and a plaza oozed old time peace. No time was left to us however and it was back to Busquebus and a boat back to the other side (a nice duty free full boat where I got to spray expensive perfume on for the first time in months!).

Mendoza, as previously stated is a  beautiful, tree-lined city that also happens to be the center of Argentina s wine growing district. We decided along with Adam from our World Expedition group, that it would be a waste not to tour some of the vineyards and sample some of the local produce.

We caught a bus not too early and rented bikes out close to the vineyard area. The bike hire place gave us a map and a detailed description of where to go. First up we went to a muesem where old coaches and wineskins among many other lovely old wood and leather things were on display. We tried some of their wines which were ok but not great then decided lunch was in order. Our lunch of tapas extended into the sleepy warm afternoon until replete, we hopped back on our bikes. We biked down leafy tree lined roads until a misread of our map took us out onto a major highway with smelly trucks barrelling past. Hot and rapidly getting tired in gusty headwind we finally realised our mistake and turned back. We made it to the vineyard we d been trying for. The fun had gone out of it a little now. The owner of this vineyard combined winemaking with a love of astronomy and on request did night tastings with a telescope to watch the stars. We didn t make it for this but instead paid extravagent prices to taste his wine which were some of the best we tasted in all of South America. We cycled on to an olive farm which was disappointingly closed. Having had enough wine we decided to finish off on a sweeter note by visiting a chocolate factory. We arrived right on closing, but so did another big crowd of tourists, so we were given a tour anyway, then given samples to try. That ended up being our favourite visit of the day. Tired, we gave our bikes back and took the local bus back into town just in time to meet Rick and Margaret for dinner. We went out to the Trough (the real name of the restaurant has long since been forgotton) and stuffed ourselves silly on the delicous foods. We staggered back toward our hotel like with bloated stomachs. On the way we stopped at the Saturday night markets and found Jon there. He showed us an interesting wire sculpture made with a kangaroo skull he had gifted one of the stall owners with the year before.

Our last day in Mendoza was spent in an internet cafe looking after business. Before taking our deluxe overnight bus out to Buenos Aires we met Rick and Adam for one last coffee before leaving. We went to an ice-cream parlour that dished up the biggest plates of ice-cream I have ever seen. I could only eat half of mine! This is unusual.

Argentina is famous for it s fantastic inter-city bus service. Marty booked us the best that night and the front row upstairs. We reclined on leather armchairs, had the movie play in English and were served glasses of champagne after dinner.

In the morning we arrived a little rumpled in Buenos Aires. We booked into a gorgeous, though smoke-filled hostel named after a famous singer, Carlos Gardel. The lobby had a massive slightly dusty chandelier and a leopard skin covered couch.The walls were painted a dusky pink and it oozed with old world charm. We stayed over the road in an ultra modern house with concrete floors and ashtrays as decorations. We were in the antiques district so had a great afternoon exploring shops, then seeing the famous pink palace that Eva Perron addressed the crowds from (or Madonna in the movie Evita). We visited gorgeous churches, found Marty a book to read in a little bookshop and visited artesana (artist) arcades.In one such place, a lovely old lady, bent over with whispy white hair, translated poetry for me from her own made paper accompanied by her ink sketches. It was a magical moment. We taxied to Las Bocas where the famous football matches are played out. We ate at the cafes in amongst brightly painted buildings while tango dancers and musicians entertained us.

The next morning took us to the Brazilian embassy to apply for Marty's visa for Brazil. For some reason Kiwis don't need one - maybe something to do with not aligning ourselves with the USA. It took quite a lot of lining up and then we found we didn't have all the information they required, including tickets for entry into Brazil. So of course the rest of the day ended up being a trip to the bus station to buy tickets to Iguazu Falls. To get to the bus station, we had to walk through the train station a huge building full of fallen grandeur. Kiosks selling junk food and cheap trinkets lined up inside while outside hawkers sold sunglasses and cheap jewellery. With our bus tickets safe, we went on to the Busquebus ferry terminal on the water front and bought tickets for a 3 day trip up to Uruguay and back. Exhausted from the heat and tramping the streets we went to catch a taxi to our hostel. Though only down the road and a $3 meter ride, the taxi sitting outside the ferry terminal attempted to charge us $20 up front. We walked away in disgust. Taxi drivers have ripped us off too many times for us to trust them now. This turned out to be a good thing, as walking back, we discovered the walking malls. I got Marty to take a photo of me in the Galleria with it's painted ceilings.

Our 3rd day in BA required another trip to the Brazilian Embassy. We went on to take a train ride to the famous Tigre region where the Buanos Aires yuppies go on holiday. It is, in fact, a river delta region and is a huge mass of waterways and canals with houses on stilts only accesible by boat. We took the boat ferry up one river to an island named Tres Boques where we explored a side canal until we could go no further. Driven back by bugs and the lack of a path, we found a water side restaurant where we snacked the lazy heat of the afternoon away, watching various boats plough past us. Taking the ferry back, it kicked up a bow wave well over a metre high. We watched swimmers and waders laugh in delight, then a less amused couple had their kayak washed off the embankment - it had been hauled well over a metre above the waterline. Someone had to swim out to get it back. Back in the main area of town we watched the rollercoasters of a fun park go by then wandered through a flower and craft market.

Day 4 had us up a little earlier to take a bicycle tour of the city. We joined one other Scottish lad to have a lovely young Buenos Aires lady escort us around the traffic mad streets on bright orange bicycles with baskets on the oversized handlebars. Though I was touring with two men, I seemed to be the only one to notice the spectacular calves on the lass. We rode down an old dock, now converted to yuppydom with fancy restaurants and bars lining the sides. A bridge spans the water there that is supposed to represent two tango dancers but in reality looks like a giant boomerang. To add to the Australian effect, a big restaurant and dance house at the end of the docks looks like a mini replica of the Sydney Opera House. We went on to see some famous landmarks such as the English Clock Tower that had been donated by England before the Falklands war and is now renamed as the National Clock Tower. No sour grapes for losing at all by Argentina at all! We saw the old palaces and mansions, now mainly converted to embassies. We saw the statue dedicated to Eva Peron (Evita played by Madonna), and where her house stood. We rode past the fancy label shops and the fancy hotels where visiting movie and music stars stay. Finally we biked past the tangorinas where every night, tango dancers perform for tourist diners for extravagent sums of money. Not on our to do list this time around. After our tour we took a late lunch at a local restaurant - very cheap and full of hair. To carry our day on we went back to explore the walking malls where we saw huge floor rugs of silver fox fur, fur coats, leather clothing of every type you can imagine interspersed by mate (Argentinian tea) bowl shops. Tired and footsore we returned to our hostel to find a raging party going on with a mixed group of Australians, English and Americans going on. We couldn't help but join in and it was well after 3am before anything approaching sleep happened.

Our final day in Argentina had our bags in storage, a few hours on the internet, then everything happened. We taxied to the Brazilian embassy where Marty collected his passport with his fancy visa that no one would ever look at but will look better in his passport for ever after than my collection of smudged stamps. We then taxied on to the Busquebus port and boarded our ferry for Uruguay who are mysteriously an hour ahead though just across the river...