Villa La Angostura, Argentina
We arrived in Buenos Aires on an overnight ferry, bleary-eyed and begging for more sleep, and things pretty much continued that way until we left a month later.
BA is the kind of city that you gorge on until you feel a bit sick. So many atmospheric bars, quality restaurants and little pavement cafes give it a decadent Parisien feel. Tempting treats like platters of cheeses and cured meats are practically waved under your nose every time you order a drink. Amazing cakes and ice creams leap out as you try to innocently walk along the street. There’s steak and wine everywhere. Even the bloke at the greasy sausage sandwich stall in the market sells red wine by the glass. Bloody hell, what’s a person supposed to do?
Like a couple of kids who hadn’t seen sweets in years, we crammed everything in until our cheeks bulged.
As if all of this isn’t bad enough for you, everything in BA happens exceptionally late. Turning up to a restaurant before around 10pm more or less makes you a social leper. Steak houses are rammed by 11pm-to-midnight. Most bars only get going sometime after this.
So not only are you getting fat and pasty, you’re knackered as well.
I realise that makes me sound like a whining old lady. We had a blast, although we were certainly woefully lacking in training for the city life. Years of living on the road and camping had got us into a routine of early starts, active days and ridiculously early nights. Most other countries in Latin America exist on a different schedule to Argentina – meals are eaten early and (except for in larger or more touristy cities) going out late for drinks is not really the norm.
We’d got used to that, but we were up for the BA challenge – it was sink or swim.
Our friends Karen and Gustavo, helped set the scene when we arrived at their apartment from the ferry port.
“We’ll have dinner later and go out to a bar tonight,” they said.
After dinner we went out. It was 12.30am. By about 3.30am we cracked. We’d been awake for about 25 hours straight, so left Karen and Gustavo in the bar and went home.
The next morning Karen got up and went to sit a Portuguese exam, having had about 90 minutes sleep. She passed with flying colours.
We realised what complete wimps we had become.
We had a bit more time to prepare for their welcome barbeque with some friends a few days later, which slowly got going at about 10pm and, in true Argentine style, involved enough meat to feed a small town.
Over the next few weeks we consolidated our initiation with some more training, helpfully aided by our overlanding friends James and Lauren, who have this uncanny knack of getting everyone around them completely roaring drunk, without anyone realising quite how it happened. It was great to coincide with them again in one of the continent’s most renowned party cities. What could possibly go wrong?
We also reunited with Marek, whom we´d first encountered with his partner Zuzka in Puerto Iguazu, and finally met Stevie, Tree and little Sol from Sprinter Life, who’d been travelling around in their van for five years and were preparing to return home to the US. Added to that were new overlanders Rike and Martin, which made quite the little crowd. The over-excitement of having a proper social life again only added to the kids-in-a-sweet-shop atmosphere.
It would surely bore you silly to read a list of all the meals and wine-soaked nights we had. Some of it´s covered in the photo gallery below, but stand-outs include a couple of stupendous steak nights at Gran Parilla de la Plata in San Telmo with James, Lauren and co, great seafood at El Obrero in La Boca, and a sublime way-off-budget meal at Casa Coupage with Stevie and Tree, that involved a 7-course gourmet Argentine tasting menu and a wine-tasting menu so extensive that Tree remembers very little about what we ate that night.
Over our time there we said farewells to Marek, James and Lauren, and Stevie and Tree, who were all at the end of their long road trips and heading home. While we were sad, our livers were quietly grateful.
Of course there were sensible, practical and cultured things to be done as well. As with most of our visits to a major city, there was maintenance work to be carried out on the van. We already had a list of jobs planned, which became a bit longer when we were driving to our apartment on day two and heard a rather loud clunk every time we turned a corner.
Thankfully, we again had the required parts – ball joints and a tie rod end, if you really want to know – stashed in the van, so no drama there. [makes a change – ed].
We ran in the park and walked all over the city – visted Evita’s family vault at the grand cemetery of La Recoleta, gazed at the Casa Rosada, wandered the streets of La Boca with Karen and their little boy Santino and later went to a roaringly loud Boca Juniors game at the stadium. Living in an apartment in San Telmo gave us easy access to its lovely Sunday market and numerous little quirky shops and cafes. We went to a tango show at a cultural centre, and watched an outdoor milonga (tango club) in the square near our place.
And on a more serious note, we were fascinated by watching the Madres de Plaza de Mayo on their weekly march in the plaza near Casa Rosada, and by our trip with Karen and Gustavo to the former Naval academy ESMA, an ex-detention and torture centre which we covered in the last blog post.
Much of the internet we have found on the road in Argentina has been surprisingly poor, so we also used the time to catch up on some jobs and admin, including arranging some things for my parents’ upcoming trip to Patagonia.
When we left BA, we would be driving 1,600km over a few days, to meet them in San Martin de los Andes, in northern Patagonia.
“Shall I pack my flip-flops?” asked my mum. “Well probably”, I said, “but it’s still spring so really you’ll need to pack for all weathers.”
I wasn’t wrong. But little did we know that late spring in San Martin could mean actual snow blizzards. Little did we know that the very day they were travelling was to coincide with the start of some remarkably extreme weather in Argentina. And little did we know that San Martin’s airport was not equipped to cope with landing planes through a puff of cloud, never mind an all-out blast of snow from the Antarctic.
No, that was all to come.
Things we now know to be true: You can plan all you like.
MORE PHOTOS IN THE GALLERY BELOW..