She'll carry on through it all

Iguazu falls was, undoubtedly one of the highlights of our time in South America. Despite a wealth of photos and detailed descriptions nothing quite prepares you for how magnificent and magical these vast waterfalls are, or how awe inspiring and enthrawling it is just watching gallons and gallons of water pass before your eyes.

Iguazu Falls are a set of around 285 waterfalls on the Iguazu river forming the border of Argentina and Brazil. The falls themselves stretch across the two countries (the majority being in Argentina), and both countries have national parks which you can visit to see the falls. Just to clarify, in terms of record brakers, they are not the largest or highest or deepest in the world. However, in rainy season there is enough water to fill over five and a half Olympic swimming pools every second, which in itself is pretty astounding.

We spent two days exploring the falls, starting off in Argentina. I don't like to take sides but the Argentinian side was my favourite. The Iguazu park is easily accessed from the nearby town of Puerto Iguazu, and despite the swaths of tourists who pour in everyday, its surprisingly peaceful and doesn't feel overrun. The various paths are well laid out and don't seem intrusive, and there is a train which runs to and from the entrance and the falls (which is immeasurably better for the environment than the buses used on the Brazilian side).

We started our day by walking first round the top of the main set of falls and then round the lower part, where you can walk close enough to be soaked by the spray. I noticed most people were either putting on raincoats (Americans, Brits and older people) or taking clothes off and stripping down to their swimwear (South American, continental European and younger). Having come entirely unprepared we just got soaked. And we got even more soaked when we took the amazing 12 minute boat ride right into two of the waterfalls.

At the end of the day we took the train up to the indisputable highlight of the falls, the Garganta del Diablo, (“Devil's Throat”) at 82 metres high and 700 metres long it is much bigger in real life than I could ever have imagined. And it's true that as you stand next to it, getting soaked through to the skin, just from the spray, you feel inexplicably elated.

On our second day we went to the Brazilian side, which as our only trip into Brazil would've been worth it just for the stamp in our passports. The 82 metre tower that they've built up to the top of the Garganta del Diablo is a little intrusive but even without the passport stamp it's well worth visiting the Brazilian park for the stunningly beautiful vistas you get which will keep you snapping photos for hours.

Whilst the falls themselves are clearly the attraction the wildlife in both parks is exceptional in itself, being as it is in rainforest. Also, a fact I didn't know, the waterfalls create their own eco-system which attracts the thousands of butterflies and an array of unique and colourful birds.

South America is full of record breaking sites, adventures and once in a life time experiences and it's impossible to pick the best, but for me Iguazu is probably the most jaw dropping, breathtaking and purely spectacular view you will find. I'm sure someone will be able to disagree. You could describe them as touristy, commercial and certainly not off the beaten trail. And you wouldn't be wrong. But I think its fair to say there's a good reason why tourists flood to this site from across the world.

Lots of love,

Louise and Luke

(Posted by Louise)

I can only disappoint you

After nearly six months on the road, it's fair to say that even the most excitable of travellers can catch a slight dose of the "seen it all before" malaise that usually afflicts the packs of consummately shootable, British, middle-class, gap-year white kids with dreads and hareem pants that prowl this part of the world. While Lou and I weren't quite at that stage, while we waited for the bus from Posadas to Paraguay, it's fair to say that I was pretty damned excited at the prospect of visiting a country that general consensus puts down as utterly bonkers. I could go into great detail about the strange allure that Paraguay held for me, but readers would do far better clicking here and reading our good friend Matt Greenough wax lyrical on the subject. In a nutshell, the fact that Rough Guides don't even have a guidebook for the place was enough to get my juices flowing. Any inflatable pigs or hidden Nazis would be a bonus.

The bus ride into Paraguay starts off in a suitably bonkers fashion. No organised tours or high-end coaches here; you just stand on the street corner and pay 20p to catch a local bus to the border, rush through customs, and jump back on. And you're in, having caught a bus in much the same way you get from Splott into the centre of Cardiff.

Sadly, and continuing with the admittedly tenuous parallel, arriving in the border town of Enacrnacion gave me  a buzz roughly comparable with the centre of Cardiff on a weekday afternoon. No crazy street touts, noise, sound, fury or South American madness here. Certainly no pigs - inflated or otherwise - or Nazis. In fact, there was nothing exciting at all. Moreover, there wasn't really much of anything else, either.  No bars, no restaurants, no... fun. At all. Walking through the town, we found a good supermarket and about thirty ice cream parlours - no bad thing, but hardly a selling point. The steam train that chuffs out at you from local tourist flyers and postcards has stopped running, the 'free' Wi Fi in the central plaza costs a small fortune, and the most interesting part of town has just been flooded by the Government in one of the dam building projects so beloved of the authorities in this part of the world. All in all, as they rarely say on the streets of Encarnacion, it was a bit shite.

 So what did we do with our two days in town? Well, our digs at the Hotel Germano were slap bang opposite the bus station, dirt cheap and spotlessly clean. The staff were also massively kind, helpful and efficient. Anyone in town for a spot of ice cream shopping / expensive open air Wi Fi use should book a room here. We ate, two nights on the trot, at the cheap and cheerful Karumbe on the high street. The steak and eggs was top notch, as was the service. Like our hotel, it was also cheap as chips. And, town centre wise, that was about it.

In the interests of fairness and accuracy, day two saw us take a local bus out to the Jesuit remains at Trinidad - and they were absolutely spectacular. Having survived attempts by both man and the elements to do their worst since the Jesuits expulsion from Paraguay in the mid 17th Century, the remains are wonderfully preserved, beautiful and eery in equal measure. A few hours drinking beer and playing cards in the charming little hotel nearby made the day pretty damned perfect.

And so it was that, having come to Paraguay in search of the earthy, edgy, South America we'd left behind in the weirder parts of Bolivia, we left rested, well-fed and with some lovely pictures of religious ruins. All in all, not a disaster, but a slight disappointment nonetheless.

Off to Iguazu next, where we may or may not inflate a pig ourselves.

Luke and Louise

(Posted by Luke)

From the Ritz to the rubble

After spending a full week and more money than was entirely necessary being slightly underwhelmed by the Chilean capital, it was great to finally get back on the road, and heading back into Argentina. And so it was that Lou and I found ourselves once again settling into our seats for a nineteen hour bus journey, this time to Cordoba, armed only with the remnants of a hangover and a bag full of empanadas.

The journey itself was largely unremarkable, save for a slightly panicky moment during a stopover in Mendoza when our bus disappeared from the stop, seemingly stranding us in a bus station sans bags miles in the middle of the night. Flashbacks to the last time that something similar happened to us  soon receded, however, when our bus returned with a smiling driver after a ten minute wait, much to the delight of the assembled - and slightly bemused - passengers. In the finest South American tradition, the absence was never remarked upon or explained; we just dutifully filed back on grinning inanely with a dangerous mixture sheer relief and unspeakable tiredness.

We pulled into the bus station in Cordoba, Argentina's second city,  just past six the next morning and took advantage of the early morning air to walk the couple of miles to our hostel. Checking in to the Baluch Backpacker Hostel at this ungodly hour yet still being given beds and breakfast brought back some happy memories of the fabulous Manga Hostel in Belgrade all those months ago. Indeed, the hostel was one of the best we had come across in all of South America, thanks to the fabulous staff, ace location, top-notch BBQ and spectacular rooftop terrace. It also provided a handy pad from which to explore the compact yet appealing bundle of sights, sounds and tastes in and around Cordoba.

The four full days we had in town were more than enough to amble through the main attractions, from the architecturally confused Iglesa Cathedral on the main square to the very hip 'Milla Cultural' - literally 'cultural mile' - a little outside the centre, fit to burst with galleries, cafes and achingly-cool students from the Art School. The undoubted highlight of our time in the city itself, however, was the Museo de la Memoria, housed in an innocent looking building just off the main square. As you discover after a few minutes inside, the building as anything but innocent, and was used by the murderous dictatorship of the Dirty War years as a torture and interrogation centre. Opened with the money and political support that came with Nestor Kirchner's Government, the museum is almost unbearably poignant at times, staffed as it is by former victims and relatives of the disappeared, filled as it is with personal affects of the innocent murdered by the regime.

On our last day, we also took off from the city to a frankly bizarre complex of fake waterfalls and swimming pools about two hours away by bus. The waterfalls were dry due to a lack of water, and we'd not brought swimming trunks as we didn't know there would be pools there. Nonetheless, Lou managed to grab a bikini from one of the stalls, while I read James Bond novels and drank beer. Not a highlight, but better than a smack in the chops. Or a day of snow-related chaos back in Blighty...

Food-wise, we had some cracking Parilla at the menu-less and charming Parilla de Raul. Some of the travellers that brave this place are put off by the lack of menu, slightly surly attitude of the waiting staff and the abundance of offal on sale. They shouldn't be - just order a juicy Vacio (al punto, of course), bottle of house red and a salad and there you go. One of the best meals of the trip, and for a shade under twenty quid all in.

We chose our next stop, the Argentinian border town of Posadas, purely for its proximity to Paraguay. On route we made a lightening stop at the peculiar Resistencia, the town of statues. It was a town where you didn't seem to be able to buy a sandwich anywhere, but it did have a lot of statues everywhere. We sadly didn't have a lot of time there, but we did see a lot of statues.

Back in Posadas, and staying in the undeniably bonkers Residencial Misiones, we ended up having a ball, thanks in no small part to the insane nature of our accommodation. Seemingly run by volunteers and lunatics, this decaying colonial gem is straight out of a Hitchcock movie. Photos of apparently random 1980s teenagers jostle for wall space with pictures of Military dictators in the musty lobby, watched all the while by a stuffed giant ant-eater and preserve turtle standing guard in opposite corners. The room was no less insane, a ceiling fan whirring inconsequentially over the bed next to the bathroom with a shower that needed plugging into the live plug on the wall. Under the shower. I shit you not. Lou described it as the sort of room that people on the run use to hide out in, and she was bang on. Indeed, there was a man with a long beard in the room opposite who looked a little like Radovan Karadžić just after his capture in 2006. A war criminal on the run? A gangster hiding out from the Latin American mob? A harmlessly hirsute local pensioner? I'm not sure. Bizarrely, I loved the hotel anyway. 

All in all, it was just the right sort of place to get us ready for the madness that awaited us over the border in Paraguay. Or so I thought...

Tara for now,

Luke and Louise

(Posted by Luke) 

Tijuana lady where did you go?

After an eventful border crossing we arrived in our fifth South American country, in the Chilean capital of Santiago. Described as South America's least intimidating capital Santiago is a very pleasant place to spend a few days, though due to a variety of factors we ended up spending nearly a week there. When compared to its neighbours, Chile's wealth and economic stability is evident. It has a number of large shopping centres, a large financial district, many high rise buildings, an integrated transport system, a large number of petrol stations with shops in and, most excitingly of all, a proliferation of cash points -with cash in (though, as I found to my cost, some these do have a tendency to eat your bank card).

Santiago is not a boring city (see Sucre); it has six universties, five million people and a nightlife to match. Indeed, there are a few nice sights to see in Santiago too, along with a large number of good museums, but many of these didn't appeal to me. I'm ashamed to say if the blurb mentions “breath-taking ceramics”, “gorgeous textiles” or “modern engravings and sculptures” I avoid like the plague. Does that make me uncultured or unappreciative of pre-Columbian cultures? I don't know. I did, however, manage the whole National History museum, which was all in Spanish, and, in my opinion, skipped over the more interesting parts of Chilean history.

Impressive sites include the Plaza de la Constitution with the Palacio de la Moneda, housing the government, and the lovely Plaza de Armas with its beautiful Cathedral and even more impressive Post Office. I'm sad that I missed Neruda's Santiago house which I understand is great. A stroll through some of Santiago's parks and along the river Mapocho is also lovely. A trip that is definitely worth taking is the trip on the very steep funicular up San Cristobal's peak where we had ice cream and enjoyed the magnificent view across the city.

Despite it's charms I didn't fall in love with Santiago. It's certainly a fun city to visit, but I just can't think of anything that makes it stand out. It didn't have a personality that you warmed to instantly or, quite frankly, over time. And it just didn't really excite or intrigue me. I'm sure it as a lot to offer, and I'm sure there are many people who've loved it, but then there are probably many people who really love gorgeous textiles or breath-taking ceramics.

The other reason I didn't fall in love with Santiago is that my husband went missing for six hours. After several aborted searches and many hours waiting I went to our room to get Luke's passport details so I could contact the British embassy, where, I found Luke asleep, entirely unconcerned having snuck in through a side door to the hostel. [Not sure “entirely unconcerned” is quite fair! - Luke]

In contrast to Santiago I found nearby Valpariso, which we visited for a day trip, a lot more intriguing. It felt edgier and more exciting just to walk around, perhaps in part as it is one of the only South American towns not to fully endorse the grid system. Famous for being the arty heart of Chile, Valpariso has an array of weird coloured and oddly shaped buildings built steeply up a cliff. One of these houses was the home of Chilean Nobel Prize winning poet and leftist politician Pablo Neruda, which we enjoyed visiting because it was so fantastically bonkers and had magnificent views. Amongst it's winding and steep roads Valpariso also boasted an array of imaginative “street art”. I'm sorry we didn't spend longer there.

Unfortunately for the budget backpacker, Santiago has the prices you would expect to match such economic stability and cash points, with prices being similar to western Europe. This does make enjoying the variety of restaurants and bars more difficult -but we gave it a go! Santiago was the city where throughout our week we would part company with Scott, Frances, Vicky, Jen, Richard, Zara and Dave, (and Jo again). Needless to say there were a lot of goodbye drinks and meals.

We sampled a mixture of cusines at several restaurants in Santiago; a good Chinese in the centre of town, (discovered by Jo), decent local fayre in Chilean restaurant, Liguria, (chosen by Richard) which did great pasta and even better steak, a nice Italian in the eatery laden Bellavista one hungover afternoon and finally, my personal favourite was Galindo a fantastic local parilla which did fantastic food for all the family.

We also had some great nights in Santiago, including a fantastic barbecue night at our lovely hostel Ecohostel, a night drinking two for one cocktails in a selection of downbeat bars around Providencia, and a long night out which involved a number of bars in the Bellavista Barrio, an even larger number of cocktails, some increasingly offensive impressions, elaborate stories and nicknames for other travellers (including, Marylin, Side Show Bob and the previously unmentioned Lovejoy) and a delightful fish action from Zara. It finished somewhere in a club with a rather camp exit dance and a cab drive that I thought would result in death.

And so, having said our goodbyes and spent a week in Chile, Luke and I decided to return to Argentina, next stop Cordoba.

Posted by Louise

Heard It Through The Grapevine

Border crossings are always interesting, especially in South America. You've got the border towns selling all sorts of crazy things, rules and regulations, bag searches, and normally something going on that you don't understand. On top of all that, unlike in Europe you get an array of exciting stamps every time you cross.

Since we arrived in Quito at the beginning of October we've crossed nine borders, nearly all of which have been much smoother, simpler and easier, if not quicker, than most people would have you believe. The longest South American border we've done was Bolivia – Argentina.

My personal border crossing highlight however, was the crossing we made by bus from  Argentina to Chile, one of the strictest in terms of what you can take across. Not only are your bags searched they are put through x-ray machines. So what are the Chilean border guards looking for?

Terrorism? Bombs? Guns? Weapons? Liquids over 100ml?

Surely it's obvious I hear you cry, this is South America -no we weren't coming from Columbia, they weren't looking for drugs.

No the big threat to Chile is the bringing of produce that could spread agricultural diseases – fruit, honey or any dairy products. They have big signs up everywhere saying “Help Chile and declare any fruits or fruit based products, meat or meat based products or any dairy or dairy based products.”

In case you were unsure, there are signs explaining what this might include: fruit, dried fruit, jams, sandwiches, chocolates or sweets containing fruits or nuts. Before you get off the bus you have to fill in  form, in which you have to tick yes or no as to whether your carrying fruit, meat, honey or dairy.

All the passengers then take their hand luggage, and after being stamped out by Argentina, line up in a row behind a table, holding their luggage and the form, which they then handover to the inspecting border guard. Just to try and catch you out, as you hand over the form, he'll question you further on the contents of your bag-with a different question for everyone. “Do you have any sandwiches senora?” “Have you any ham or sausages?” “Apples, oranges or bananas senor?” And so on.

Most amusingly, he approached a 67 year old, American woman who for some unexplained reason was holding a large tub of raisins in her hand, next to her form. The guard points out that she has filled out her form wrong (having ticked “No” to fruit) and asked her to fill out another one.

She filled out the form and resubmitted it. “No” the guard cries, showing her the “No” fruit box.

“I don't have any fruit.” She says. He points at the raisins.

“Oh, these aren't fruit, they're raisins. Raisins aren't a fruit.”

The poor border guard is looking quite frustrated and tries to take the raisins.

“They're not fruit.”

At which point her friend, who looks like Side Show Bob, intervenes.

“I think the officer wants the raisins, Marylin. Hand the officer the raisins. Handover the raisins Marylin.”

She then handed over the raisins, and everyone was allowed to cross the border.

Just for the record 67 year old Marylin from the USA was a qualified doctor and retired GP.

Back in the High Life Again

If I'd not long ago insisted on using song lyrics for the post titles on the blog, I would have certainly titled this entry "From salt to Salta". As it is, I've had to resort to using a long and - it must be said, pretty tortuous - opening sentence in order to try and squeeze in a rather average play on words. Still, what it lacks in humour or actual usability as a title it more than makes up for in terms of simple accuracy, because after our four days traversing the salt flats and a night in the utterly unremarkable Bolivian town of Tupisi, we arrived in one of  northern Argentina's undeniable gems, Salta.

Perhaps it was the two and a bit months we had spent winding our way across Ecuador, Peru and Bolivia with all the attendant culinary and toilet-related challenges. Perhaps it was tiredness after four days roughing it in a jeep. Perhaps it was watching the witless, crass, "what in the name of shitting hell is Tom Wilkinson doing in this", piss-inducingly awful  Jennifer Love Hewitt / Joe from Eastenders movie 'If Only' on the nineteen hour bus journey. Perhaps it was a combination of all of the above; regardless, I was certainly ready for the relative sense of order, wonderful cuisine and simple home comforts that Salta afforded us.

Billeted in a comfortable B&B in a nice suburb, Louise and I proceeded to do all of the things that we'd not been able to do for what seemed like a very long time - upload photos, use Skype, go to the movies, go out for the night without taking our own toilet paper and hand sanitiser - you know the sort of stuff. Lou also took to the hills for some horse riding, including some unashamedly Brokeback-style trotting from Scott and Dave. Lovely stuff, fellas.Which is certainly not to say that Salta is good for nothing more than horses, toilets, cinemas and the internet; it most certainly is. Which is why, after a day of "wow, this is just like home", we took to exploring the town and realised that it wasn't much like home at all. It was, in many respects, a whole lot better.

The centre of Salta takes the shape of a number of colonial squares, building up on a sliding scale from the simply charming to the damned impressive. The Plaza Nuevo de Julio, with its imposing French-style Cathedral and fascinating museum with mummified remains, is a perfect place to grab a table and sup a cold Quilmes or three. On the food front, La Monumental (four branches, every on a winner) served us what was at the time, and remains to this day, the best steak I've ever eaten. They also kick out a mean Milanesa Napolitana and a cracking House Red by the litre.

The streets, away from the workaday pedestrianised central strip, are worth a day's wandering in their own right. Local boutiques jostle for space with cafes and book stores, with just the right smattering of high-end tat for the increasing flow of tourists stopping by. On the food and fun front, when not eating at La Monumental, we marvelled at Zara's unique bowling style at the endearingly naff Bowling Pub, while Scott and I got to finally nail 'Easy Lover' at the even naffer 69.g bar. Salta is, in short, a cracking stop for the weary backpacker.

Mendoza, by comparison, was a little underwhelming, though certainly not without its charms. Our hotel was dirty and, with a clientele made up almost exclusively of grumpy Argentinian geriatrics, felt more like a Dignitas convention than a happy place to lay your head. We also committed the cardinal sin of South American travel and arrived on a Sunday, so were confronted with the usual Marie Celeste-style vibe across the city, almost dodging tumbleweed as we walked down the street. A stroll to the vast Parque General San Martin was well worth it, though, and was filled with all the people who weren't in the city. Splashed over more than 400 hectares, the park is fit to burst with museums, lakes, terraces and locals hawking an array of snacks from tables, poles, bikes and - in one case - a unicycle. It's also a great place to sit back and local-watch, as families decamp en mass for games of football and rugby, pensioners picnic serenely and young couples get pretty damned steamy in any available nook. And it seemed that each and every one of these people, regardless of their age or of the activity they were engaged in, were drinking mugs of Mate (traditional tea) through a dinky silver straw.

Monday through Saturday, however, things were far more welcoming in the centre, though the wine remained far more attractive than much of the architecture. The Hyatt Regency Hotel facing the main square is as plush inside as out, but offers a truly spectacular array of local wines for damned good prices in their wine bar. Top tips - buy by the bottle, and go for the truly exquisite Sangria de Los Andes (a discovery for which I take full credit). Also worth doing is the Bike wine route through vineyards in the countryside outside the city. Though my bike broke twice, I'd still recommend using Mr Hugo as not only did he come with a new bike each time, you get unlimited free wine back at his place after you finish your tour. Keen cyclist and wine drinker Jen fused her vast knowledge of both pastimes and convinced us to ride down the far end of the trail then work our way back, which had the dual advantage of making the journey easier and giving our gang a fair run of quiet vineyards.

And so it came to pass that, after three days of drinking, falling off bikes and taking bets on which of the unsmiling OAPs from the hotel would croak before breakfast the next day, we set off for the Chilean capital Santiago.

See you there...

Luke and Louise

(Posted by Luke)

Beyond here lies nothing

We left Uyuni mid morning in a 4x4 driven by the very cheery Mario Luis, who was part of a trio of 4x4s which made up our Salt Flats tour group. I'm sure everyone says this, but our car was clearly the best.

First stop the train graveyard. I think it's fair to say that Luke was more excited about this experience than anyone else. A spot in the middle of a desert, with a disused railway line, and a large number of steam locomotives, which have been abandoned. I'm sure Luke would be able to tell you the variety of makes, models and era, needless to say – they were some impressive looking trains.

After picking up the cook (who sparked the "are her and Mario having an affair" discussion that lasted for at least some of the 30 hours we spent in that vehicle) we set off to the Salt Flats, the highlight of our time in Bolvia.

The salt flats are indisputably magnificent, and its difficult to put into words how beautiful and awe- inspiring the large, flat expanses of salt look. So I won't try, I will instead leave it to a small selection of the numerous pictures we took (none of which clearly do it justice) to demonstrate how magical and strange they truly are.

As the name suggests the salt flats are in fact a very flat desert of salt, and Salar de Uyuni is the largest salt flat in the world, with over 12000 sq km of salt, its over 10 metres deep in the middle and is estimated (though by who I don't know) to contain over 10 billion tons of salt. "How", I hear you cry, "did this salt get here?" Well it was once an expanse of sea which dried up leaving only the salt, and a few impressively lonely cactus islands.


Anyone still looking for facts, will be interested to know that under the salt there is a huge amount of lithium to be extracted, actually, give or take, probably between 50-70% of the worlds lithium.  This has the potential to make Boliva very rich, at some point.

The final truly amazing fact about the salt flats, is that being very, very flat and very white, you can't see  perspective, which results in many fun, creative and down right silly photos like these:

We spent our first night of the tour in a salt hotel, a hotel just off the flats but made entirely out of salt. Which was a novelty. What was not such a novelty was leaving our wash bag (and therefore Luke's medication) in said salt hotel, and having to orchestrate it's return to us despite the lack of telephones, mobile phone reception or roads. How it got back to us, I'm not sure, but it did.

On our second day, we travelled (for some unknown reason at 4am) further south to an array of stunningly beautiful salt lakes, all of which are different colours and are home to thousands of flamencos.

After lunch we drove further towards the Argentine and Chilean borders where we climbed to a ridiculous 5000 metres above sea level to an active volcano and some Dali-esque rock formations. All of which were imposingly striking, made more so by the unbelievable remoteness of the location, and the impressive dessert like terrain, unlike anything I've ever seen before.

We finished off by swimming in the natural thermal baths, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by grazing vacunas. Only spoilt by the arrival of loud Brit saying, “oh the waters warm, I didn't expect that!”. Mmm.

Luke has pointed out that supposed to be mostly pictures blog, is far too long, so I won't bore anyone who wasn't there with the childishness antics of the six adults trapped in the back of a 4x4 for over 30hours with only a Nolan sisters tape and a crazy non-English speaking driver constantly chewing coca leaves for company.

Needless to say, Mario Luis was, despite crazy, the best guide we could have asked for, the nameless woman who was supposed to be our guide clearly wasn't. And Mario Luis and the cook were in fact married.

I'll leave it there.

Posted by Louise.