Beginning to see the light : Getting settled in Melbourne

A typical Australian street sign. Possibly.

 As we've wound our way across countries and continents over the past twelve months, the blog has rarely been more than one or two 'stops' behind. While this has been a source of pride to us for most of the trip, it also doesn't really tell the whole story, especially as the one 'stop' that we are currently behind lasted all of... er... five months. Welcome to Australia.

Oh, Australia. The 'fair go' country to its immigrant inhabitants; a cruel and unusual construct to many of its long suffering indigenous peoples; home in the sun to a large, diverse ex-pat community; and career suicide for Baz Luhrmann.

Louise and I arrived in Melbourne after a wonderful month traversing New Zealand, and it's fair to say that our original impressions were not good. That said, our original impressions were based entirely on a train station waiting room that smelled like a drunken grannies incontinence pad, a visit to Hungry Jacks (Euro-dwellers read Burger King) and a few glimpses of a city centre that seemed to rival Birmingham in its underwhelming, hum-drum, workaday aesthetic. That, almost six months later, Louise and I were tantalisingly close to staying and making Melbourne our home for at least the foreseeable future gives you an idea of just how much we fell for the place. And, truth be told, how good the wages were.

But how can you fit five fantastic months into a blog post? Well, you can't. And in this instance, my usual maxim of 'begin at the beginning' isn't that useful either, as three weeks hopping from hostel to hostel, failing to get a job and rapidly running out of money doesn't make for that great a read either. So it's probably best to fast-forward to the point where things started to make sense and the fun actually began in earnest. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Dee and Bernie.

***

Free breakfasts served here. And the odd corpse.

Standing on the overcrowded tram on the way to Rathdowne Street in Melbourne's trendy Carlton North, Lou and I had hit something of a plateau. Though Lou was working a steady, well-paying job in the Social Research Centre, I was still spending my time schlepping the streets forlornly handing out CVs and waiting for recruitment agencies to call. The hostel we were living in, though not without its peculiar charms, was nonetheless a former retirement home with a few of its hard-line tenants still ensconced in a locked wing. That one of these tenants was lying dead on a hospital gurney in the hall that morning (thankfully taking with her the indefinable smell that had hung round the place for a few days) probably gave us the final push we needed to find somewhere proper to live. Or at least somewhere where our room mates were less likely to croak in the night. Our viewings thus far hadn't gone that well, with the last one being a two bed flat currently housing five people in its 'rooms' – two each in the rooms and a South African in a cupboard. That a slender Thai chap lived in the kitchen diner – with his chinchilla – was probably the deal breaker for me. And so we found ourselves fare-dodging across the city for one last throw of the dice. And thank fuck we did.

Dee and Bernie, about to to go to work.

Lou and I were sold on the place the moment we walked in through the door. Quite apart from the massive red leather couch that snaked its way around half the living room, we were reliably in formed that no one lived behind it, which was amazing enough in itself. That Dee (an effervescent, hilarious and generally fantastic Perth native) and Bernie (impossibly likeable, impressively chilled Warrington born, Everton supporter) didn't bat an eye when I inadvertently dropped the C-bomb moments into our viewing just underlined our hunch that this was the place for us. Four days later – during which we though they'd given the room to someone else, in fact they'd just each thought the other was going to call – we met in town to 'sort things out'. While we failed singularly to do anything of the sort, we did wind up get utterly shit-faced and end up a Led Zeppelin-themed ten pin bowling night, in what would turn out to be the first of very, very many such shenanigans. More of which in due course.

'Til then, stay warm,

Luke and Louise

(Posted by Luke)

Always take the weather with you

As you can probably tell from Lou's last two entries, we were pretty taken with New Zealand – the coffee, the camp-sites, the people, the coastline, the forests. And did I already mention the coffee? Sadly, time is running out on our time away and we are rushing like mad to get all up to date, so our last NZ entry is something of a 'greatest hits', all killer and no filler. But possibly a Flat White or two...

Napier and Hastings

Having decided to base ourselves at a truly bonkers camp-site in Cape Kidnappers, quite literally crumbling into the sea but with tremendous views and charm to boot, most our of time in Hawke Bay was spent visiting wineries and admiring architecture. How grown up were we?

Nestled only a few miles apart on the North Island's East Coast, these two small towns are any Art Deco fans living fantasy. Both  were rebuilt after a savage earthquake at a time when when architectural trends were very much Deco, giving each a jaw-dropping number and calibre of impeccable period pieces. Walking through Napier in particular is like stepping into an episode of Poirot, a feeling enhanced further by the many passers-by in period get up for the annual Art Deco weekend. But though regarded by locals and guidebooks alike as Napier's ugly little brother, Hastings edged it for me. More industrial, a bit grubbier and less preserved in aspic than Napier, it nonetheless has some grander, more imposing buildings. That some of the development around them has been less than sympathetic may spoil the view to some eyes, but to me just endowed them with a slightly bruised majesty.

Getting rat-arsed with Ross

New Zealand's bijou capital, Wellington, is something of a pocket rocket. Small in size and compacted by geographical constraints, it nonetheless buzzes with the rippling confidence of a country at ease with itself and a political class that do things slightly differently. And our time in the city started well thanks to our good friend from Wales and  then-Wellington resident, Ross Evans. He treated us to a whistle-stop tour of a few highlights (viewing point, War Memorial, Wettah workshop), and also knocked us up a full itinerary for our next – and last – day in town. We were determined to not waste what little time we had in town.

All of which made the  pain in my head as I woke up in the van, fully clothed, at 6.30am the next day even more acute. The memories came back in dribs and drabs – four bottles of wine with dinner, pints of Macs Gold in several boozers then bottles of Brains SA in the Welsh Bar Ross managed – the only one in the Southern Hemisphere, no less. The strange taste of sick and dog – or was it dog sick? - in my mouth must have been the pie I'd inhaled at 2.30 that morning, shortly before we decided to sleep on the main road through town. Classy.

And so we spent exactly half our time in Wellington eating a fry up and several boxes of Tim Tams chez Ross, all the while watching re-runs of The Bill and trying not to cry. The perfect Wellington experience? Possibly not. But a right laugh? Most certainly.

What really was classy was the ferry from the South Island to the North the next morning. Leaving at sunrise in a shimmering petrol-infused haze, mass car transportation has never seemed so glamorous. The cherry on the cake was the indefatigable cheeriness of the queuing Kiwis, even at the time of the morning in a queue of cars waiting to board a boat. Happy days.

Abel Tasman National Park

Time constraints (honestly!) meant that we were unable to do the four day Abel Tasman trek, but the full day we spent hiking this beautiful stretch of coastline was truly spectacular. Eschewing the option of sea-kayaking to our start point, we boated from our camp-site on the edge of the Abel Tasman National Park to our walk start point, finishing eight hours later with a pick up from a bobbing speed boat moored fifty yards out at sea next to a deserted beach at sunset. In between, we encountered nature at its most casually wonderful, rope bridges that I would have run away from if they hadn't been unavoidable, coastal vistas to die for – and the most insanely vicious, hungry and evil hordes of sand flies imaginable. Words don't do it justice – some of these picture almost do.

Arthur's Pass

Arthur's Pass is New Zealand's highest passing road, traversing the route near Mount Murchison and connecting the East Coast to the Wet Coast. Built during the Gold Rush to ferry gold from the local mines to Christchurch, the road today is still dizzying in its height, scale, surroundings – and often hair raising hairpin bends.

Though the gold is long gone, the area still mines the seams of its rich history with a brisk if small scale tourist trade and some of the finest hiking on the South Island. The whole area also retains an other-worldly feel, cut off from the rest of the Island – and in many ways, the world – thanks to the time-warp surroundings and a blessed absence of phone, radio and TV reception. All of which is why neither we nor the friendly French Canadian couple we were sat around an open fire in a former miners shelter with while camping that night had any idea of the horrors unfolding less than 100 miles away in Christchurch.

While spending a lovely morning the next day walking the historical trail in Arthur's Pass town, the penny finally dropped that something appalling had happened in the Christchurch. Of our many friends back home, only Penny Bull seemed vaguely au fait with Kiwi geography and was therefore pretty certain we had survived the earthquake unscathed. Of course, tragically many were not so lucky – which was why we spent a good few hours on the only PC terminal in a small hick town nearby replying to tens of emails and Facebook messages reassuring family and friends that were okay. The savage natural beauty of Arthur's Pass was, for then at least, put in the shade by the simple savagery of nature in Christchurch.

Glaciers Galore

One of the magical geographic highlights of the South Island are the famous glaciers, Fox and Franz Josef. It is quite staggering how these huge blocks of ice remain intact without melting despite being in between the coast and some forest on a lovely summers day, but due to some complex meteorological madness, they do. We were able to walk right up to the fascinating Franz Josef, all azure blues and luscious white curves. It is far more impressive in the... er... ice

Getting rat-arsed in Ross

No fears, pop-pickers – there was no drunken defiling of the aforementioned Mr Evans or anything odd like that. But, after being happily reunited with our good friend Jen for the last leg of our trip, we did spend our first night together in the  wonderfully bogan town of Ross getting pretty stiffed in the even more bogan Ross Inn. With it's stuffed animals on the walls, country music open mic, roaring open fire and unabashed racism and confused homophobia (see the sign from behind the bar below), it was certainly a night to remember.

With our very own Kiwi guide now travelling with us, we were treated to a New Zealand finale filled with insider knowledge and memories of Jen's road-trips past. As is so often the case travelling in New Zealand, half the fun is the journey itself – the stops were often fab bonuses.  A night wolfing down homemade spag bol on the banks of Lake Wanaka was magic, even after the sand flies attached with such ferocity that were forced to cram into the back of the Spaceship. But one of my happiest memories of New Zealand involves – shock, horror! - the meal we shared in Queenstown on our last night together. Queenstown itself is a charming quay-side town fit to burst with great food and drink as well as being an adrenaline junkies wank fantasy. Obviously, the idea of bungee jumping appealed to me about as much as a sleepover at Colonel Gadaffi's – but the notion of gorging on some of the finest food in the country was another matter entirely.

And boy oh boy, did the Botswana Butchery deliver on every level. Décor, service and setting were all impeccable, but it was the actual plates that delivered. Highlights? A toss up between my trio of lamb and my trio of chocolate, both crotch botheringly fine examples of good things coming in threes. But the real top marks were in the little things, such as the red cabbage and apple side dish that tinged on the tongue, or the mashed potato that was as fine an example of the specimen that I've ever tasted. And that's one hell of a lot of mash.

And as parting shots go, that's how I remember New Zealand, as our drive towards Christchurch – from where we dropped off the van and flew to Australia – was like a weird movie, people still too stunned to know quite how to react to what had happened. But in typical Kiwi style – and this is a true measure of the nation – they were carrying on with not only a quiet determination, but a smile.

Stay warm,

Luke and Louise

(Posted by Luke)

I'm going where the sun keeps shining...

As we set off in our campervan there were a few grains of doubt in my mind. A whole month sleeping, living and driving in just a small vehicle with a man who not only can't drive, but refuses to map read. But maybe it was the unbelievably beautiful scenary, the Kiwi relaxed attitude to life or the fact that Luke learnt to navigate (I promised not to shout if he got it wrong) but travelling round the North island was one of the most laid back and relaxed couple of weeks of our trip.

First stop was the Waipoua Kauri Forest. We spent the first night of many in a New Zealand Department of Conservation campsite (DOC), which are basic campsites which cost little to nothing and are alway situated in the most amazing locations. This one is on the edge of the beautiful Trounson Kauri Park. This whole area is home to New Zealands most famous bird the Kiwi. Sadly, due to the fact that Kiwis are shy, nocturnal and endangered Luke and I didn't see any of New Zealands most famous birds,but  we were however amazed by the beautiful Kauri trees. I know, I know - how exciting can trees be? Very/ They are literally enourmous, completely stright and incredibly old -living for thousands of years, at one point they covered large parts of New Zealand. Sadly as they also provide some of the best timber in the world many were cut down following the first settlers, and as they take thousands of years to grow are difficult to replace.

On day two we reached our most northerly point of Opononi, and saw our first beautiful coastline -something that would be very much a theme of our time in New Zealand. We then travelled east to the Bay of Islands. The Bay of islands has important historical significance for New Zealand. It's the place where the Treaty of Waitangi was signed between the Mauri's and representatives of the British crown establishing the first Governer in New Zealand. It is still generall regarded as ther founding document of the New Zealand nation. It is also the basis around much of the land disputes between Mauri groups and the government. There is still much controversy over the treaty as it was translated wrongly -so the Mauri version was different to the English, so they appear to have fundamentally different meanings - a mistake anyone could've made. You can go and visit the place where the treaty was signed, see the exact spot, see the house where General Hobson lived and a meeting house built where the Mauri chiefs met. There is also a little museum where you can read all about how it happened and who was involved. There is also a video shown every the hour explaining how it happened and who was involved, with a very real reinactment. And finally if thats not enough we got a free booklet and DVD explaining how it happened and who was involved. Well when you’ve got an interesting story to tell, why not tell it over, and over and well, over again. And anyone who hasn’t had enough of the Waitanghi treaty by now is in for a treat. After they signed the treaty (did I mention they signed a treaty?), the treaty went on tour and was signed by different Mauri tribes across New Zealand, all of which you can visit for free.

After being treatied out we had our first fight over the map, got lost and ended up in one of those overpriced family holiday campsite for a night, where a bird tried to steel our dinner. But this was all but forgotten by the time we pulled into a DOC campsite, for our final night in Northlands on the most beautiful and seemingly abandoned beach, apparently a popular nudist resort. We avoided the nudist part of the beach in a true British style were delighted to sunbathe in clothes for a few glorious sunny hours.

Our next stop was the charming if very touristy Rotorua. Rotorua is famous for its geysers, which spout steam into the air –and smell of sulphur, caused by constant geo thermal activity underground. We spent a fantastic night at some natural thermal baths just outside Rotorua –which was ridiculously cheap, in a beautiful location and also a campsite. We didn’t spend very long in Rotorua itself. I think we started to see that New Zealand isn’t about the towns -which (with some exceptions) can be relatively uninteresting and modern - instead it’s all about the stunningly perfect countryside and coasts.

From Rotarua we headed North to the Bay of Plenty, shocking as it may seem here we hit more fantastically magical coastline. And so it was we spent a night by another gorgeous beach encircled on the other side by wetlands lined with reeds. We made a quick stop in the small charming, (if not modern and slightly boring) Whakatane - where there was once a signing of the treaty of Waitangi -before heading along the cost to the East Cape. Before the East Cape we made two significant stops. One for probably the best fish and chip meal in the southern hemisphere, at a van selling fresh oysters at the side of the road. The second, to a bonkers supermarket in the middle of nowhere. It’s unusual that I feel overdressed in flip flops and shorts I've been wearing for a week, but this was a world where people don't wear shoes and there had recently been a fundraiser involving pig wrestling. Luke tried to subtly warn me about the shoplifter lingering behind me in the queue, which I pointed out, was actually the store manager. If you thought Auckland was laid back the East coast is horizontal.

None of these strange and insignificant goings on however, can prepare for the awesome and magnificent East Cape magic. This is the coast line of all coast lines, the vistas of all vistas and beach after abandoned beach of crashing waves, broken driftwood and jawdropping cliffs. All topped off with clean, gorgeous sand, a bit of sun and not another car or campervan for miles and miles. If you are ever in New Zealand it really is not to be missed!

Keep warm until next time,

Luke and Louise

Posted by Louise

Islands in the Stream

After a dateline crossing mix up and some delays, Luke and I arrived into Aukland airport, dazed, confused -and I imagine looking a little worse for wear. We were delighted to arrive at the luxury and comfort provided at the house of the lovely Jen.

Arriving in New Zealand instantly resulted in a feeling of confusion. Having spent the last seven months travelling round distant and foreign lands, it was quite crazy to arrive in the most distant of all lands -in fact, the furtherest I've ever been from home - and feel like you are back into familiarity. Brand names like home; speaking English like home; TV shows like home; cars stopping at pedestrian crossings like home... and yet it's not home! This confusion resulted in me speaking in Spanish to a baffled imigration officer and Luke baffling car drivers with his strange pedestrian ways.

After 12 hours on a plane that appeared to be held together in places by black tape and string (after 7 hours in Buenos Aires airport waiting for the delayed said-plane and 22 hours on a bus from Patagonia) we were hoping for a pretty laid back and relaing time in Aukland. And in what better city to relax than this laid back metropolis? Aucklanders (and quite fankly Kiwis in general) are happy, friendly and so laid back they are barely standing. Walking through the financial district and high street in the city centre, I - being from London - expected to find people dashing around in suits, looking serious and slightly agitated, with a look that imediately reads "get out of my way, I'm rushing to do something very important."  Instead you find people in shorts and flip flops, dawdling along without a care in the world.

Auckland isn't packed with touristy things to do, but is lovely to wander around. Drenched in sunshine and surrounded by sea it's an incredibly scenic city, complete with two harbours. Sitting as it does inside a ring of volcanoes it is also surrounded by majestic volcanic hills and islands.

A great introduction to New Zealand and all things Kiwi is the Auckland Museum. The highly aclaimed display on Maori artifacts and culture are brilliant, and give a newcomer to New Zealand a good overview of Maori life. There are also some really informative history sections covering New Zealand's history -both white and Maori. Unusual for me to say, but more fascinating still is the natural history sections which explains how and why New Zealand has such unique wildlife, and illustartes evocatively New Zealand's earthquakes and volcanoes. The museum itself is in a beautiful park and the walk from there to the skyscrapers is enjoyable.

Auckland is New Zealand's biggest and most vibrant and mutlicultural city. Ok its not New York or London or even Mebourne, but then it doesn't pretend to be. It's a great place for eating and drinking -I imagine it would be even better if you weren't on a tight backpacker budget. Due to its proximity to Asia it does have a prolifertion of good and cheap Thai, Vietnamese, Malayasian and other Asian food. Aukland, like the rest of New Zealand, also has great coffee and an array of great coffee shops. We stayed in Ponsonby which has a mouth-watering array of of cafes, bakeries and restaurants as well as a selection of beautiful, typically New Zealand, wooden houses.

The best thing about Auckland is its position as a vibrant city in touching distance of countryside, beaches and beautiful islands. Its good for the city lovers and outdoorsy types in one.

A must do in Auckland is to take a ferry either over to Davenport or to one of the many surrounding islands. Thanks to our lovely Kiwi host Jen we had a great day out on one of the less touristy and clearly underated islands (Tiritiri Matangi Island) with Jen, Richard and Nathan. Not only was Nathan lovely, he had a fantastic knowledge of native birds and a good eye for potting them -something Luke knew little to nothing about.

New Zealand has no native mammals and before the arrival of humans was a land of birds. It really was like the land that time forgot, with a variety of unique birds -many of which were  flightless -the largest of which was the giant moas which were three and a half metres tall. Sadly, like other native birds moas are now extinct, due to hunting, destruction of habitats and the introduction of unnatural predators, like dogs, rats and possums to New Zealands. Many more of New Zealand's birds have become endangered for the same reasons including the famous kiwis. Being two remote islands, New Zealand has a very delicate and unique eco system which can be easily damaged by the introduction, not only of predators but even ants, fruit or soil -New Zealand has a constant battle to protect its natural habitats and its farming industry -hence its strict custom and excise on the importing of foods or soil.

Tiritiri Matangi island is a protected reserve which has only native trees and birds -no dogs, rats or even ants are allowed to travel to the island and visitors are asked to ensure their shoes and clothing is clean. As a result this tiny island has birds  and wildlife you don't see anywhere else.

We had a great day on the island, enjoyed a picnic down on the beach, and topped the day off with a kiwi beer (as in a beer made in New Zealand -not with the fruit or the bird) on the quays looking out at the harbour. Could it get any better? How about a great Thai meal, New Zealand wine and fabulous Italian ice cream and tea back and Nathan and Deborah's.

A big thank you to Jen, Nathan, Deborah and Richard for a perfect Aukland day!

And what these four all have in common with other Kiwis we met later on our journey is their enthusiasim for New Zealand and all it has to offer. The really love their country and were bubbling with good ideas for a great road trip.

So having introduced us to the food, flora and fauna of New Zealand, as well as the very lovely Kiwi film Boy, Jen took us to pick up our spaceship campervan -a converted people carrier, loaded up with a DVD player, a fridge, cooking facilities and a very comfy bed.

And from there we headed North...



Until next time, stay warm!

Luke and Louise

Posted by Louise

Every day when I wake up, I thank the Lord I'm Welsh

"You’ve got to go to Patagonia when you’re away. It’s full of Welsh speakers, just like a little Wales.” (Spoken by a London-based work colleague who had self-evidently never visited either place.)

Long before we set out on our travels, the lion’s share of which we’d planned to spend in South America, Patagonia had already begun to annoy the shit out of me. We were heading to a continent unlike any other, fit to burst with complex and varied histories, cultures and peoples. We planned to visit emerging democracies and glorified dictatorships, view unparalleled natural wonders – and some unspeakable ecological travesties. Our trip was also to be a culinary adventure, from the thick soups of Ecuador, via the one-pot wonders of Bolivia, to the meat-eaters’ Mecca that is Argentina.

So why were so many of our family, friends and casual acquaintances so fixated on our travelling half way around the world to eat Welsh Cakes and hang out with some people who were… er… a bit Welsh? More to the point, why the hell would I want to? I’d already spent enough time doing just that as a kid – it was called going to my Nan’s. It seemed to me the very worst sort of safe, narrow and ultimately pointless travel; seek out the familiar, squint your eyes a little and wish really hard, and you could almost be back home. Worse still, the whole concept of Welsh Patagonia, so savage and beguiling in itself, had to me become all too often a lazy reference point for those looking for a knowing, slightly-exotic-Welsh badge to stick on their book, restaurant or (most horrifically) film.

Of course, as is so often the case when travelling, the reality of the place turned out to be a million miles away from the Wikipedia-based recommendations we’d received. The Patagonia that Lou and I visited was an indisputable highlight of our time in South America, but for precisely none of the reasons that had been urged upon us back home.

But history class first, with a disclaimer that this is a travel blog and not a University thesis. Dates may be a bit out, orders a bit skewif. If you want comprehensive accuracy (and some pretty fine turns of phrase), look here. Anyhow, for anyone who doesn't know the story, back in 1886 Welsh settlers on the ship Mimosa arrived in what is now Puerto Madryn (named after Love Jones-Parry Baron of Madryn) with the dream of setting up a new Welsh speaking colony – again, a handy history here. The Argentine government encouraged immigration of Europeans to settle outside Buenos Aires, as this chimed with their wish to expand the country.

The Welsh settlements of today are a few towns in the Chubut region which now have a distinctly Argentinean flavour, and of course the official language is Spanish. However, the town and street names remain as Welsh as they come, along with indisputable dashes of Welsh culture, some preserved in aspic, some with a keener eye to the future. Indeed, following the centenary celebrations of the first Welsh settlements in 1965, there has been a revival of the language with as many as 1500 people now speaking Welsh in the area today, thanks in large part to some savvy investment by the Welsh Government. The annual Eisteddfod, a major event in the locality and widely participated in, is also a unique testament to the area’s Welsh heritage.

Outside of Wales, however, Patagonia is not synonymous with all things Welsh. Covering 1,043,076 km2 square kilometres of land and traversing the Argentina and Chile, the main reason so many people from across the world make the journey to this remote part of the world is for the magical array of wildlife and walks afforded by Patagonia’s vast, apparently desolate but most definitely enchanting steppe.

And so it came to pass that our Patagonian adventure was spent entirely in this Welsh region, ostensibly because of Lou’s love of penguins. I can also admit, though, that after seven months of travelling the world I was a more than a little drawn by the thought of this little bit of home away from home, a far and distant land so often talked about. Was I guilty of the travelling laziness that had so infuriated me back home, six months and a thousand years earlier? Possibly. Regardless, I could at least visit with the handy excuse that the nifty town of Puerto Madryn also makes an ideal base for exploring the area, and is only a 22 hour bus journey from Buenos Aires.

Though there are longer, more arduous and possibly even more rewarding ways to experience the landscape and its inhabitants, you’d be hard pushed to better a day driving around the Punta Tombo reserve for sheer bang for your Pesos. Only a couple of hours drive from Puerto Madryn, the reserve is one of the best marriages of sustainability and accessibility that we’ve experienced on our travels so far. Walking through the gates is like stepping into ‘Happy Feet’ – surrounded by penguins, all going about their business and oblivious to their uninvited guests. With their habitat largely untouched save for some sympathetically installed wooden walkways and bridges, the whole experience can be a little overwhelming, especially for those who’ve only witnessed these fabulous creatures in a Zoo before. It also makes other more hands-off ventures – like Phillip Island near Melbourne – seem overpriced and oversold by comparison.

Equally enchanting, though far grander in scope and scale, is the Peninsula de Valdes. A veritable cornucopia of fauna and – less obviously to the untrained eye – flora, it’s almost impossible to remember that you are in a reserve as you trundle along dusty dirt tracks. Armadillos, elephant seals, sea lions and yet more penguins abound, along with stretches of deserted beaches and rugged cliff-faces just waiting for to be lashed by frothing waves.

But what of the Welsh? Despite my earlier misgivings, it would have been wilfully contrary (even by my standards) to be in town and not scratch beneath the surface. And to tease out the most rewarding parts of today’s Welsh culture in Patagonia, you need to scratch a fair bit. Aside from the aforementioned street names, Puerto Madryn really doesn't retain much of its Welsh heritage, happy in its current well-established role as a visitor hub and port. To get a real feel for the Welsh heritage in region, we bundled into our entirely unsuitable three door and headed for the towns of Trelew and Gaiman.

In many ways, Trelew felt to me like the most ‘Welsh’ of any place we visited in Patagonia – it was certainly the place that reminded me most of home. Though destined to disappoint visitors looking for the green, green grass of home, its brutal industrialised appearance bore a remarkable resemblance to parts of the Valleys before the post-Thatcher regeneration schemes had made the slightest impression. Indeed, looking out over Trelew on the bypass road is strikingly similar to the Heads of the Valleys, complete with sculptures that are as vast as they are ugly, and gardens of garbage that seem as old as the verges they sit upon.

For the traditional Welsh money shot, however, Gaiman is the final destination. We arrived in the middle of a sandstorm, but managed to follow the bilingual signs to our first port of call, the Welsh museum. Once inside, I was immediately transported back to a childhood of day trips with my immeasurably knowledgeable – and with the benefit of hindsight hugely Welsh Nationalist – Godfather, Terry. It was Terry who started a lifetime’s fascination with steam trains and associated adventures by rail, which often took in many of the parts of Wales that he lived, worked or holidayed in throughout his life. (It was probably also Terry that helped invest me with an occasionally foul temper that still causes me problems today). But here I was on the Argentinean steppe in a small building so wonderfully, yet so intangibly, Welsh that I welled up with tears. I could hear Terry’s voice tell tale of the Gwalia Stores in the Ogmore Valley, see his rain-splashed face on the beach in Aberystwyth, smell the musty odour that the self-published volumes of Welsh history would carry whenever he showed me an article that he liked or had written.

The brown-spined books, faded photographs, Welsh dressers and chairs and… out of nothing, a gentle questioning in a language I recognised but could not understand from behind me. I turned to find a hunched, shawl-wearing woman of at least 80 years of age speaking to me in a lilting, mellifluous Welsh. Unable to reply in kind, I tried English, but to no avail. We (almost entirely through Louise) eventually settled on Spanish, her other language, to establish that she was born and brought up in Gaiman, but was a proud Welsh woman and worked at the museum every day it was open. I was Welsh, I explained, from Cardiff. But we’d already lost her a little, a smile that struggled for acknowledgement turning instead to vague confusion. But her blue eyes, doubtless once piercing, were milky with age but still retained an enchanted sparkle. And I struggled to turn away.

But every silver lining has a cloud, and we encountered ours as made our way to the door. A heavily perfumed clotheshorse stopped us as we were leaving, asking where we were from. She spoke no Spanish, despite living in Argentina, opting for the “get in the locals face and talk loudly in English” approach so beloved of ignorant Brits the world over. After I explained that we were from Cardiff (Louise now being an honorary Welshie in most circumstances), she told us she was from Penarth and asked if we could speak Welsh. When I explained that we couldn’t, she remarked – in deadly seriousness – “Oh. So you’re not proper Welsh like me, then.” No I’m not, I thought. I’m from Splott – and a whole lot better than that.

But it was our time in one of the many Welsh Tea Rooms that things became properly bizarre. Gaiman has a multitude of Tea Rooms, all professing to offer a traditional Welsh tea and give the visitor a real Welsh experience. Well Louise and I certainly enjoyed the experience, but Welshness – like beauty – seems so often nowadays to be in the eye of the beholder.


And I am certain that the large Union Jack that greeted us at the Princess Diana Welsh Tea Room wouldn’t have gone down that well with everyone back home – though the even larger Welsh flag draped over the doorway did look damned fine in the Argentinean dusk. We filed past Welsh dressers filled with lovingly presented trinkets of the Royal Family, and ate plates after plate of cakes, scones and sandwiches. The Dulce de Leche pastries certainly didn’t remind me of home, but the pot of tea – knitted cosy and all – was the first decent brew I’d had since leaving Cardiff, and reminiscent of the dark brown elixir that I remember my Bop (granddad) drinking from the moment he woke up to the time he went to bed. And I was thinking about this weird cultural mish-mash while availing myself to the (very frilly) toilet facilities in the Tea Rooms when I found myself humming along to the piped music. And what were they playing? Why, Jerusalem, of course. As an unashamed and proud Welsh Brit, I found the whole shebang pretty damned amusing, though I can imagine that our friend from Penarth would have baulked at what she would have no doubt viewed as a lack of cultural purity.

So did Lou and I find the Welsh-speaking Mecca that our London friend had urged us to visit? Was it like a little slice of Carmarthenshire on the other aside of the world? No, of course not. Equally, it was so much more than I’d hoped for or expected, and an experience that will stay with me forever. I can only hope that the money that the Welsh Government spends on language and cultural programmes in this part of the world - relative chicken feed in the grand scale of things – survives any follow-on cuts as a result of the UK Governments slash and burn economic approach. In terms of 'bang for your bucks', it's delivering on the ground in a big way, even if the ground in question seems like a long way from Cardiff Bay. Former Culture Minister Alun Ffred-Jones wisely extended the scheme until the end of 2012, and I’d certainly advocate extending it again, if only to keep those milky blue eyes that so captivated us in the museum in Gaiman sparking for a few years yet.

Stay warm,
 
Luke and Louise
 
(Posted by Luke)
 

And it looks like we might of made it to the end...

So for anyone who was wondering if we would ever finish with Buenos Aires, here are our final Buenos Aires highlights... and on to the next part of our journey. 


 
Palermo
Palermo is a large 'barrio' north west of the centre, and is split in two by the central road Avenue Santa Fe. The mainly residential northern part is filled with parks and posh houses, and as the greenest part of BA is beautiful on a sunny day. Palermo Viejo, its older neighbour, is the trendiest part of town, and is choca block with fancy boutiques, funky craft markets and a vast array of bars. Its the perfect place to spend a sun soaked day wandering aimlessly round shops even if you don't plan on buying anything. It's also a great to sit outside drinking ice cold beer at one of the many bars watching those much trendier than yourself shopping to their hearts content. It also the place where Luke and I spent a month living in an apartment, and it was certainly our favourite part of town.

Whilst Palermo isn't filled to the brim with tourist atractions we managed to fill the majority of our time in BA just hanging out in this part of town. The parks, especially the Japanese Gardens, are stunning and great for people watching in the summer. Luke, Frances and I also had a fun day out at the zoo. As well as the array of clothes and music shops which kept us amused for hours Palermo is also bursting with restaurants, cafes, posh empanada shops and ice cream shops -stocking enough flavours for a different flavour every day for a month. The number of delis was christmas present enough for Luke.

Both on our own and with all four of our different guests we had many a good night in and around Serano Square. From New Year fireworks let off in the middle of the street by random people to a mute magician who wowed us with his awesome tricks to sunny Sunday afternoons with a beer.

Museums and Galleries

Buenos Aires is a culture vulture's dream, teaming as it is with a varied and sometimes weird, collection of museums and galleries, catering to all interests. We didn't go to any where near all of them, or even all of the good ones in the month we were there, but then that is th real joy of choice. If your not into pots and textiles there is an array of other wierd and wonderful places to choose from.

Personal highlights include the Evita Museum was a great museum detailing the history of one of Argentina's famous icon. Eva Peron divides opinion as to whether she was a national hero or tyranical villian -though its fair to say the Museo Evita make it clear they view her as a hero. Either way she's a facinating character. One of Argentinians most famous galleries Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes in Recoleta had an interesting if sometimes bizzare collection of Argentinian and European art. I prefered the MALBA (Buenos Aires Museum of Latin America Art), a relatively new modern art gallery (free on Wednesdays). When David and I visited amongst other things they had a Marta Minujin display-Argentina's answer to Warhol and a room made of beds that you could get into.

Recoleta

Recoleta is the original wealthy neighbourhood of Buenos Aires. Following the cholera outbreak in San Telmo all the wealthy families moved up the hill north of the city to escape the disease, leaving San Telmo to those who couldn't afford to leave. Recoleta was the place they moved to, and it is to this day still a swanky surburb. Recoleta is full of beautiful houses, shops and restaurants, a particular highlight being the cinema turned into a bookshop.
Recoleta, however is most famed for its cemetary. It may seem strange to refer to a cemetary as a highlight, but anyone whose been to Paris will know how spectacular a cemetary can be, and Recoleta is BA's answer to Perlachese. Argentines glorify their dead, and its fair to say there's more to this cemetary than a few gravestones. The burial place of the rich and famous is far more decadent, with each family tomb competing to out do the next. You can wander for hours through the crumbling statues and maginificent stain glass of mausoleums. You can of course search out the graves of several famous Argentines. The most famous being Evita's grave.

Luke, David and I certainly spent a good few hours here, before heading into Recoleta for an amzing ice cream.

Porteňos

From some mad performances on the underground to the lovely waiters in el penguino Beunos Aires is filled with interesting and kind people, who lack the snottiness we were forewarned about that this city is so famed for. That said being from London, everywhere I go I find people friendy.

Being tourists you often an inevitably end up hanging out in places where there are other tourists (especially if you don't speak good Spanish), like hostels and tourist spots. So for a change we took Chris along to a night of Spanglish -a speed dating style night where English speakers and locals rotate round the room practicing speaking in Spanish for 10 minutes and English for 10 minutes. Chris having not ever spoken Spanish before was very nervous, but surprised himself by having a great night learning Spanish and talking to an array of local people, brimming with enthusiasm for their city.

And so it looks like we've finally made it to the end of our Buenos Aires blog and I didn't even get chance to tell you about the day trip to the countryside, our day out in Uraguay or the sunny River Delta - it's a city with just too many highlights. You'll just have to see the photos.

After a truly wonderful fun packed month in this seductive capital we set of for Patagonia.

Until next time stay warm,

Luke and Louise

Posted by Louise

To flesh-coloured Christs that glow in the dark...

Buenos Aires Highlights Part II

Having neglected to write a blog for over a month we have returned with an updated and new look blog, and with the long awaited continuation of some Buenos Aires highlights we started long ago!

So here it is. For anyone whose been on the edge of their seat unable awaiting part II, apologies for the delay and I hope the wait was worth it!

Ok if you've only got a few days in Buenos Aires then maybe a religious theme park wouldn't be on your list of things to see.  But not only is Santa Tierra the only religious theme park in the world, but it hosts the world's largest (and I suspect only) all year round animatronic nativity scene.

And if thats not enough for you it also hosts an emotive, life size antimatronic reconstruction of the Last Supper, a kitsch (if not very life like) electronic recreation of the Creation and - to top it all an - 18 metre high Jesus who is ressurected every hour, on the hour.

I should at this point clarify that Tierra Santa doesn't have rides - it's a park with a theme, more than a theme park  - but it is however a fun and educational day out for all the family.  And a bargin at just over a fiver (Nuns and Monks take note - you get a discount if you belong to a religious order).

The whole park is a plastic Disney World style reconstruction of Jerusalem around 30AD. All the staff are dressed as Roman soliders or put upon Israelites, there are tasteful Arabian dancing shows and you can enjoy a beer and a kofta in the Road to Damascus Cafe.

Throughout the park there are life size statues of Jesus at different points in his life, from the time he turned water into wine or Palm Sunday he was greeted by crowds riding into town on a donkey. You can even get in on the action and get a photo.

Quite bizarrely, perhaps as a step towards inclusiveness or for educational purposes, there are some other relgious big hitters in plastic form as well, including Martin Luther and Ghandi. And of course, no Jerusalem would be complete without a Synagogue or a Wailing Wall, though I did wonder if the Mosque was a bit before its time. All down one side of the park you can see the Stations of the Cross, culminating outside Jeruselem in the true to life (if plastic) Cruxification on the hill... with the Argentine flag blowing in the background.

I think it's fair to say that if you've been to Disneyland - or even on the Bubble Works at Thorpe Park - you may find the animatronics a little limited, especially the Nativity. That said, if you're an Argentinian Nun then your unlikely to have visited either, in which case you'll find the Creation recreation pretty magical. The nuns sat behind us certainly did.

And yes - there really were real life Nuns there. Lots of them. Ironic as it may seem ,this park is not a joke - Monks, Nuns, Priests and families alike take the whole day very seriously. There were people moved by the Last Supper, gasping at the appearance of a gorrilla with a moving finger during the Creation and stood in awe and amazement at the Resurection, although that could be because the resurection was cancelled twice the day we were there due to a technical fault.

Kitsch and crass as the whole thing may appear on the surface, and far from the Bible's teachings as it may seem to many, it's easy to see the whole park has been put together with well intended love and devotion. It also achieves some quite frankly harmless Jesus related fun.

Luke, our friend Jo and I planned to spend an hour or so at the theme park, but six hours and a bottle of wine later, we finished off our perfect day with a photo with a giant Jesus and view from the Cruxification hill out of Jerusalem at night.

Tacky, inappropriate... or just what Jesus would've wanted? I'll let you decide. What I can tell you is that its a fun, if not rather bizzare, day out.

Stay warm, until next time.

Louise and Luke

(Posted by Louise)