A side note on Bolivia

As it would happen, the day I wrote my 'I love Bolivia' post (below), I got a confronting insight into a very ugly side of the country: the dangerous and unregulated child labour. We went to see a documentary called 'The Devil's Miner'. I've mentioned it before in my Potosi post. It follows 14 year-old Basilio Vargas who, raised without a father, is forced to support his mother, brother and young sister by working in the once silver-rich Cerro Rico mines of Potosi. It gives a raw depiction of Basilio's reality, his fears, hopes and dreams. It also captures the stark contrast and contradiction of his, and other miners', devout Catholicism outside of the mine, and the self-torment that results from their fear-fuelled devotion to the miners' 'God' inside the mine, the 'Tio' or Devil.

The idea of a 14 year-old boy bearing the burden of supporting his family in this way is particularly awful. However, Basilio's sad story is, I'm sure, shared to different extents by thousands of other Bolivian children. These children are ubiquitous, perhaps not in mines, but on streets, in plazas and outside restaurants. They beg or sell lollies and handcrafts, with a not-far-off adult awaiting profits. This is a reality that shouldn't be.

'The Devil's Miner' has stayed with me and I expect will continue to do so. I'd definitely recommend you see it.

A step back in time: return to Bolivia

Ok, so things don't always go to plan, especially when you're travelling. We were really keen to volunteer at the Inti Wara Yassi animal sanctuary, so much so that we travelled over 40 hours by bus from Buenos Aires to get to the tiny town of Villa Tunari (somewhere between Cochabamba and Santa Cruz de la Sierra), only to be told that the Park was full. This was very frustrating as we'd emailed what we thought was the Park - actually just an office in London - to tell them the date we were coming. 'Just turn up and feel free to volunteer whenever you wish', they said. Unfortunately for us, a group of 14 GAP organisation volunteers just 'turned up' a couple of hours before us and, as fate would have it, it just wasn't meant to be. Well that's not entirely true. There was the option of joining the construction team for 15 days, but we were told there would be very little interaction with the animals, which was the whole reason for our coming. Nevermind, that's the way the organisation works and we may make another attempt in another month or so.

So after 14 hours of bus travel that required a sports bra - gotta love those unpaved Bolivian roads - we're back in our favourite Bolivian city: Sucre. The plan was always to have a month of Spanish lessons and we chose Bolivia after experiencing the uniqueness of the Argentine accent (and the dent Argentina made to the hip pocket!) Luck finally went our way when our contact at the Academia LatinoAmericana de Espanol agreed to bring forward our starting dates for Spanish lessons at short notice. So here we are, back in the White City!


A couple of weeks ago we bumped into a Danish traveller we'd met in La Paz at a bus terminal in Buenos Aires. His response to our plans was: 'What? You're going back to Bolivia voluntarily?' I was surprised at this because I love the country. It has so much to offer with it's unique culture and diverse landscapes, it's such an interesting place.

Coincidentally, my Mum recently referred me to an article in the Australian newspaper online (Mum's are great aren't they?) It was in the travel section and the topic was Bolivia. Entitled 'In slow motion', it acknowledged Bolivia as the black sheep of South America in terms economic progress. The author, however, also labeled the country 'the sweetest, most unspoiled and engaging country in South America, the continent's hidden jewel'. I kind of like this perspective.

Bolivia is a fascinating world of its own. The women are particularly striking. They wear their long braided black hair in pigtails, often under bowler hats, teamed with knee-length Spanish-style skirts, wrapping themselves in brightly coloured shawls that carry anything from household goods to children. In Bolivia, if you need anything - a camera or even a new toilet seat - you don't go to the local department store, you hit up the black market. Need to exchange money? Just have a chat with the old man standing on the corner with the wad of cash in his hand and the minute 'money exchange' sign. And don't expect a print out of your bus ticket, or a receipt of any kind that isn't handwritten.


For some, I can see why Bolivia may appear backward or stuck in the past, and might not be the first stop on the South American itinerary, but I think those people are missing out. It's true, the poverty is at times overwhelming and confronting, but that's not what defines the country. In my opinion, Bolivia's true colours are to be seen in a scenic bus trip between cities, a wander through the local fruit market, or an afternoon of people watching in a plaza.

So did I come back to Bolivia voluntarily? You bet I did and it's great to be back.

Farewell Argentina in true Argentina style: meat, wine and a different kind of crowd surfing

It’s been well over a month since we arrived in Argentina and we’ve loved our time in the beef and wine country. Having decided to head back to Bolivia to learn Spanish, we’d been dreading the 37 hour bus trip from Buenos Aires to Santa Cruz de la Sierra. But, come the end of Carnival, it was a reality, a next day reality! So, with no sleep at all, we caught a bus back to Buenos Aires and, having a mere twelve hours left in the big city, we did the essentials. We had our last taste of street food - a choripan (sausage sizzle), smothered with our all time favourite, chimichurri. This was followed (after a long siesta) by a final meal at the amazing San Telmo steakhouse, Desnivel, accompanied by a good bottle of local red.

The following day on our way to board our 9.15am bus, we were given one last parting memory of Argentina, provided this time by our ride on the metro: peak-hour. The backpacking way means we take public transport whenever we can, and this includes when we’re laden with our heavy packs. So you can imagine the look on our faces when, 45 minutes before our bus left, we physically couldn’t fit on the train. It was impossible. There were just too many bodies crammed into each carriage. So we waited for the next one, hoping for a change. Same deal. This time, however, the urgency of getting to the bus station on time took over. Like front rowers charging a scrum we did the same to the pack of unsuspecting passengers on their way to work. Surprisingly, us and our packs (which made us four people, not two) made it on unscathed. So my parting memory of Buenos Aires - and Argentina - is not the meat or the wine, but standing like an upright sardine in a can, swaying with the movement of a sweaty crowd as the train took corner after corner, hoping desperately that no one person would send us all falling down like a set of dominoes.

So thanks for the memories Argentina, I’ll miss you!

Before heading to Sucre, we’re off to spend two weeks volunteering at an animal sanctuary called Inti Wara Yassi, near Villa Tunari in Bolivia. I have a feeling that the monkeys and pumas there aren’t huge users of the internet, which means the blog’s going to have to have a two week siesta. Not to worry, sure there’ll be plenty of material in the making over the next fortnight. Until then xo

Who said Argentina can't do Carnival?

Having previously attended the mother of Carnivals in Rio de Janeiro - which I describe as being like the Sydney Mardi Gras parade times 100 - I was skeptical when I met Jorge who raved about Carnival in Argentina and said I just had to go. Yeah right, I thought, Argentina may have some great things, but it certainly ain’t Carnival. This was a while back. We’d just crossed the border from Bolivia and were waiting for a night bus to Salta. Jorge was the very chatty Argentine sitting next to us in a restaurant and was on his way to Bolivia for a holiday. It was the usual scenario. He spoke no English and us, no Spanish.

Well this ‘conversation’ (what the rest of the restaurant would have perceived as an ongoing game of charades) resulted in our getting on a bus last weekend to attend Argentina’s biggest Carnival celebration in Gualeguaychu, Entre Rios. We had planned the week well in advance. We’d spend the weekend in Buenos Aires followed by a week split between Rosario and the ‘G spot’ as we playfully named the tongue-twisting Gualeguaychu.

First up was Rosario. We’d heard a lot of good things about the University city, mainly about its beauty. Perhaps being from Sydney, with its twinkling harbour and unspoiled beaches, my perspective on waterside cities is slightly biased, as both Bec and I weren’t overly impressed with Rosario’s aesthetics. It sits on a peninsula encircled by the murky Paraná River. We went to a “beach” called La Florida on the River’s bank. The 12 peso entry fee seemed like a bit of a waste as the water was so uninviting that the most we got out of the visit were burnt bums from lying in the sun all day avoiding any temptation to swim. I wont harp on but I wouldn’t visit Rosario for a beachside holiday. In saying that, I can’t say we gave the city our full attention. As we were saving our pennies for Carnival, we didn’t get to the islands that face the city, nor did we eat out, so let’s not rule poor Rosario out completely.

 Rosario's Florida Beach

Thankfully, things looked up when we reached Gualeguaychu. It’s obviously a busy time of year for the little holiday town. We were lucky to get a spot in the Family Hostel, which was right in the centre, close to the action and well priced, considering the time of year. The night before the big outdoor event it poured non-stop with rain, and there were bursts of rain the following day, making us think twice about outfit selections. Thankfully it cleared up just in time for the 11pm start.

So, donned in face makeup (my attempt at the Carnival spirit which I made a slightly apprehensive Bec take part in) we headed to the Corsodromo. First port of call? The cocktail stand of course, where we selected a concoction served to us in a hollowed-out honeydew melon. Whatever they put in it, it was good, so we had another, and another.

And then there was the parade. Well ok, it wasn’t Rio, no, but it was a very impressive small-scale version. Our seats were great. We were three rows from the action and surrounded by excited onlookers, including a bunch of Argentine guys who were really keen for us to glitter them up with our supply. The parade had all the stock-standards – music – folk and samba, multi-leveled floats draped with vibrantly coloured oiled-up semi-naked bodies, masses of glitter, beads and feathers, and dancing, dancing, dancing.

What more could you want? Well in Rio I don’t think you’d get away with what we and many others did - jumping the fence and momentarily joining in on the energy of the parade. That made it all the more memorable. So I say kudos to you Jorge, you’re on a winner with this Carnival.

Buenos Aires' culinary gems

Her name is Christina Sunae and she is the woman behind Concina Sunae, a 'puertas cerradas' (closed door) restaurant on the outskirts of Belgrano.  I'm a lover of good wine, but also of good food, so I just had to blog this one. Another local recommendation, we thought we'd stumbled over a little unknown. It seems, however, these restaurants are quite the scene in Buenos Aires. The list of them is extensive and their concept simple. They're run by people who love food, know a thing or two about cooking and whose passion leads them to open their homes as 'restaurants' once or twice a week.

Christina - or Sunae as she prefers - is of American-Korean descent. The first 'pan-asian' restaruant of its kind, its website describes her food as luring. Well we were lured before we'd even tried her delicious creations. Coming from Asian-influenced Sydney, we've craved many dishes since being away, particularly big bowls of Vietnamese Pho. Unfortunately, quality Asian restaurants are far and few between in South America and, since now, we haven't found one that meets the Sydney standards. Enter Christina Sunae.

Open on Fridays and Saturdays, we booked for Saturday February 13th. Via email we were told that we were welcome in her home at 9pm, starters to be served at 9.30pm. We arrived promptly and were led into her candle-lit home. The place was set up just like a restaurant, with table settings for the capacity 20 guests, but with personal touches also, such as family photos, wall artwork and colourful couch pillows - we were in her living room after all!

We started by treating ourselves to the cocktails on offer that evening. For Bec who hadn't enjoyed lychees in a long time, this was a lychee and lavender blend, for me, it was lemon and ginger. Things were off to a good start. We followed this with a bottle of Mendoza Chardonnay. Next to come were the starters: Vietnamese Crispy springrolls served with Nuoc Mam sauce and lettuce leaves, which we were instructed by the waiter to use as wrappers for the rolls. Verdict? Delicious. This course was followed by an equally appetising mango and avocado salad.

Along came the mains. The no-seafood eating Bec was served Khao Soi - chicken in thai yellow curry served over egg noodles which kind of tasted like laksa without the soup component. I got Tamarind prawns which had a beautiful sweet and sour taste. The presentation of the food was superb and only added to its lure. And what would a culinary experience such as this be without dessert? The banana puff served with sticky rice and green tea icecream definitely hit the spot.

To top off the evening, the charming Christina took time out of the kitchen and spoke to each of her guests and even showed us both out at the end. This was a nice touch as we were able to tell her in person just how much we enjoyed her cooking and that we were sure we wouldn't be eating a meal like this until our arrival back home in November. I suspect this is true, at least in the pan-asian department. I just wish I'd discovered Christina Sunae sooner!

A comedy of errors in Mendoza

If you're like me - a lover of good wine - it would be unthinkable to be in Argentina and not visit Mendoza, the centre of the country's wine-making industry. I went there on my trip two years ago and loved it. It's amazing to think wine can be grown there, considering its desert-like terrains. But it is, and it's good! This might have something to do with Mendoza's impressive irrigation system that runs in channels around most of the city, apparently a hand-me-down from the Incas. So, like my trip to Iguazu, I had no qualms in getting on the 13 hour bus ride from Buenos Aires.

Getting some exercise in the streets of Mendoza

Unfortunately, as suggested by this post's title, Mendoza round two did not score rave reviews. This was certainly no fault of the wine, but more the sequence of mishaps and annoyances that occurred over the five days we spent there. So let the rant begin.

First were the navigational issues we had leaving the bus terminal. I wont try and say that Bec and I are especially good with maps, but the streets' random changes in name did not help at all, nor did our hostel's false advertisement of being ten minutes from the bus terminal. Yeah, by cab maybe. Once at the hostel,  we were told the four-bed dorm we booked online  did not actually exist and instead we were put in an eight-bed one, with two measly and ineffective fans. Team this with the 40+ degree heat and, voila, we had a sauna...literally.

Unsurprisingly, we thought we'd try our luck with another hostel, one closer to the action on the social street of Villanueva. Here we were placed in a tiny six-bed dorm room which had no space to house all six people's backpacks. This was particularly hazardous when the two of us entered our room late one night in search of dry clothes, having come back from dinner and been unsuspectingly thrown into the hostel's scummy green pool by some drunken guests (and a hostel employee). I wont lie though, the shock it caused was funny at the time, but I still count this random and unprovoked act as another mishap to add to the list. Sure others wouldn't have found it quite as funny.

Finally there were the wine tours - or lack thereof. To save some dollars, we thought we'd do one tour ourselves and one through a hostel. The first hour of our self-navigated tour of Lujan de Cuyo was spent trying to find the public bus stop to get there. Turns out the girl at reception didn't know where it was, nor which number bus to take. After finally arriving, we found out that you actually need a car to visit this region, as the wineries are so far apart (probably something we should have looked into first). So our tour of the region turned into a cab ride to one winery and a long wait for the bus back to Mendoza.

Thinking organised tours might be the way to go, we attempted to book a bike riding one of Maipu through our second hostel. Unfortunately all tours were booked out until after we had planned to leave. Not a problem. We went to the hostel next door and booked a better tour, one the girl at reception said 'has everything': bike hire, an enormous asado lunch, three wineries, a distillery, visits to chocolate and olive oil factories, a swim in the 100,000L swimming pool. Was this too good to be true? Apparently so. Having fasted in anticipation of the asado, we arrived at 2pm for pick-up only to be regrettably informed by reception that three of the five people who had booked that day had cancelled, so the company had called the tour off.

Am I ranting? Ok, maybe a bit. There were some good points. The hostel quickly organised another tour that same afternoon, unfortunately this one had no lunch and no bikes. Although our empty tummies were rumbling and we got tired of hearing repeatedly the ins and outs of wine vats and fermentation, we finally got to taste some wines. The best was a shiraz harvested by a local family-run vinyard called Don Arturo. Bec and I bought two bottles. We also learned a thing or two about olive oil and tasted some good ones.

 

The gorgeous Don Arturo winery

All in all, we were there for the wine and drink it we did (even if it wasn't at the wineries). Over the following five days we had numerous boozy lunches and dinners and enjoyed sampling the local produce, the Malbec in particular. I guess the lesson was that you don't have to visit the touristy city of Mendoza to taste its fruits. Being in South America for another few months luckily means the good stuff is pretty much on tap.

Tigre from a local perspective

The best travel advice I’ve had so far is to befriend a local and get their tips and views on what to do and where to go. In doing this, often you can avoid overpriced tourist activities, experience quality wining and dining, or discover an interesting suburb that’s been overlooked by the guidebooks. You can also make some great friends. I had a stroke of luck in that not only did I have a connection in the Argentine capital, but she was also generous enough to invite both of us to her holiday house in Tigre! Alex is a dear friend of my mother’s, having met in their twenties when Alex moved to Australia. They haven’t seen each other in years but, nevertheless, she welcomed us with open arms.

The first benefit of this connection was the discovery of Alex’s neighbourhood, Belgrano. Here we found Buenos Aires’ Chinatown, and also some fantastic Chinese supermarkets which import many items that aren't found in the average city supermarkets. For us curry lovers this was curry paste and powder. Another noteworthy item is peanut butter, but the search continues for vegemite.

After a tasty lunch in a cheap and cheerful Belgrano café, we had the treat of driving to the ferry terminal, a luxury for those used to negotiating busy trains with large backpacks. It was also a bonus as it was pouring with rain outside.

Tigre is an island on the Parana Delta and is about an hour outside of Buenos Aires by train. After an hour long ferry ride, we arrived at Alex’s little wharf. Painted a striking shade of pink with blue trimmings, like most, her gorgeous place is perched right on the riverbank. Through Alex we met her niece Diana and boyfriend Rodrigo, San Telmo dwellers who were staying in Alex’s sister’s place next door.

Apart from sun baking on the wharf, watching boats go by, the next twenty-four hours spent with our new local friends was filled with firsts. We tried mate for the first time. You’ll notice in Argentina and Uruguay that people walk around religiously sipping from silver pipes in ornate little cups, clutching their thermoses for refills. This is mate and it’s everywhere! Mate is difficult to describe in words. It’s kind of like a bitter tasting green tea, but much thicker. Actually, what am I saying? It’s not like green tea at all. You just have to try it. Rodrigo performed what Alex labeled a ‘mate ritual’ for us, and sweetened it up a little with some brown sugar and orange zest. It’s definitely an acquired taste, but I got to like it.

Another first was melon with prosciutto for dinner. I’d seen this on menus everywhere but never ordered it. It’s delicious, if you're into mixing savory and sweet. Diana and Rodrigo also recommended a San Telmo steak house, ‘Don Ernesto’. We ended up going the following evening and boy was it good, as most local recommendations are.

Futbol with all the trimmings

We happened to breeze into Buenos Aires the night before a La Boca Juniors v Argentinos Juniors soccer match. Not huge fans of soccer, Bec and I thought twice about going but we decided the stadium atmosphere could be fun so we booked tickets through our hostel. I can now safely say that you definitely don't have to be a fan of soccer to enjoy a match in South America. You must, however, be prepared. For those back home, this is no friendly Sydney Swans match, no beer-guzzling day at the Cricket. You will face a riot squad. You will be frisked not once, not twice, but three times on your way in. Any alcohol, cigarette lighters, lip balm or aerosol cans will be confiscated. High fences and barbed wire will prevent any contact with spectators from the other side. Oh, and you will see a lot of men who probably shouldn't take their shirts off, with their shirts off. In saying that, you will also see the most passionate of sports spectators. Armed with flags, drums and wistles you can't help but wave your hands around, shout and chant with them.

Getting used to the half-naked bodies behind me

Heading to a football match is not for the faint hearted though. Don't expect a seat, you will stand, shoulder to shoulder with strangers, for the entire time. It was a little like being in a chicken coup. This could, however, have been my saving grace as at one point, when Boca scored its second goal, the crowd got a little over-enthusiastic and surged forward sending about ten of us toppling forward also. Luckily there were too many people for us to go too far and nobody was hurt. Finally, a cold beer at half time is out of the question, which was a little disappointing when beer o'clock rolled around. All alcohol is banned but the locals seem to make do by smoking other substances.

One image that will remain in my mind is that of a father holding his son triumphently in the air whenever Boca performed well. Every time I turned around, there he was. The only problem was the child, who looked absolutely terrified, could not yet have been six months old! You can imagine the conversation this guy's wife had with him before the match: 'Honey, I've got a girls night tonight, so you'll need to watch little Diego'. If only she knew.

The result was a little disappointing (a draw of two all with Argentinos scoring in the last two minutes). This meant that both sets of supporters had to be released from the stadium separately to avoid any 'disturbances'. The Argentinos side were the unlucky ones to be literally locked inside as we filed out past the ready and waiting riot squad. All I can say is it was certainly an experience, at times jaw-droppingly so, but it's one I'd do again if I had the chance.

I'll always come back to San Telmo

We've come and gone from Buenos Aires a few times now and stayed in different neighbourhoods. On our first weekend we headed to Palermo with the intention of taking full advantage of its thriving club and bar scene. This suburb is one of the city's trendiest. Full of young bohemian-types, the streets are lined with boutique shops and stylish cafes, and the nightlife is pumping every day of the week. My Mum would say this place has panache.

San Telmo, on the other hand, doesn't have the panache factor. The streets are comparatively dirty, the neglected buildings are smeared with graffiti and wafts of dog poo are constant. Many homeless people congregate in surrounding parks and some say it's not the best place to walk around in at night. But that's San Telmo and we keep coming back. Once you get past its superficial lack in aesthetics, you fall for its character. Whether its the funky Sunday antique markets, the ubiquitous street performers, impromptu jazz quartets, or amazing steak houses, there's something about this place that brings us back each time. It's the only place where I've noticed people walking along the footpath singing audibly as they go! There's something in the air.

Conveniently, it's also crawling with hostels, so there's never a shortage of options in that department. It's close enough to the slightly tacky Centro if we need a department store (and far away enough to avoid altogether). A hearty walking distance from the colourful La Boca and the modern Puerto Madero, to me, this is the place to be. Long live San Telmo!

And the winner is...Uruguay!

We'd heard mixed reports on Uruguay. Some people said a day-trip from Buenos Aires to the pretty Colonia del Sacramento was all you needed. Others labelled it boring and uninteresting. One person raved about its beaches and laid-back lifestyle. These reports only made us curious and, as I think any traveller should, we decided to find out for ourselves. This meant a big day of travel. From Iguazu, we jumped back on the bus for 17 hours back to Buenos Aires (first-class of course) which was followed by a one hour ferry ride across the Rio de la Plata. Warning: this post's a big one!

Our first stop was Colonia del Sacramento in southwestern Uruguay. At first glimpse, you can see why the 'Barrio Historico' of this sleepy little town is UNESCO heritage listed. We spent ages wandering the cobblestone streets, enjoying the colonial vibe and colourful buildings covered with creeping bougainvillea. While pleasurable, our wandering was also purposeful. Having not booked a hostel, we were trying to find one. For those who aren't in the habit of booking online in advance, this would be the place to do so. Furthermore, having arrived during the high season we soon realised we'd be paying a little extra. After many aimless turns we found two hostels, the first was booked out so we settled for the second. The rest of our afternoon and evening was spent eating and relaxing. We especially enjoyed dining al fresco at a little restaurant called 'El Drugstore' (random), where I had a delicious warm seafood salad (and copious amounts of sangria). Unfortunately, as there were three of us, we were unable to dine in the vintage car that sat outside - pimped out as a romantic dinner setting for two - but we happily settled for the table near the chilled out music guy and his drums.

Next on the itinerary was Punta del Diablo on Uruguay's east coast. Time restraints meant we had to toss up whether to go here or Punta del Este - a more expensive resort town, apparently resembling Australia's Gold Coast. This description made the decision easy. Diablo turned out to be our highlight. Another sleepy town, this time with a fishing focus and a touch of hippy, it is obviously a favourite holiday spot for Argentines and Uruguayans alike. We booked our hostel this time, a little one called El Diablo Tranquilo which was again a little over the budget but, being smack bang on the beach, was well worth it.  Bec and I learned our lesson when we attempted exercise, consisting of a walk to a more secluded beach, Playa Grande, and a wander through the nearby Santa Teresa National Park. After a wrong turn, our one hour walk became three, resulting in an impressive exercise pants tan line and a painful neck burn. At this point we decided relaxing on the beach was more our scene. And that's just what we did.

By far the best experience in Diablo was horseriding. Through the hostel we booked a three hour ride with Fabien, a local painter whose horses are 'my family'. Surprise, surprise, my horse had a mind of its own, but we got to like each other. Fabien took us on the beach and through the National Park, after which we stopped for biscuits and red wine and chatted about our lives outside of travel. Maybe it was the red wine, but my horseriding confidence increased ten fold, so much so that on our return, I galloped alone the Playa Grande shoreline, just like the movies! Very romantic. In short, for lovers of horses, good wine and nice company, this is a must.

Reluctantly, we said goodbye to Punta del Diablo and headed south to rough it in Cabo Polonio for a night. This place is only accessible by 4x4 jeeps (unless you want to walk 7km through sand dunes, not an option for us with our packs), and has no electricity or hot water. What it does have are stunning beaches and a sizable community of noisy sealions, a nice change from local stray dogs. A walk around town, a nice cold helado (icecream) and a trip to the lighthouse to see the sealions occupied us for the afternoon. This was followed by a walk on the beach where we examined various animals -  sealions, sea turtles, jellyfish - that had washed up on the shore. Not a pretty sight was two women hacking away at a dead sea turtle in a conquest for its shell. Some people will do anything. Like any tourist, a few sunset 'Funky Squad' shadow poses on the sand dunes were in order, after which we strolled, aided by moonlight and candles lighting shops and restaurants, to find a local haunt for dinner.

I said this would be a long post, and that was just the highlights. Uruguay went far beyond our expectations and I'd love to go back sometime. We did however have to get back to the big smoke to farewell Jules. As per our typical experience with public transport, this was not without incident. Lack of announcements (well that's what I'm putting it down to) meant we missed our ferry back to Buenos Aires which had Jules - who had a 12pm flight the next day - in a sweat. On the upside, those friendly laid-back Uruguayans had us on the late ferry and back in Buenos Aires at 'Desnivel' (our favourite steakhouse), before we could say 'where's my backpack?', which, having been loaded on the earlier ferry, was thankfully waiting when we arrived.

 The prize at the end? A bien jugosa Desnivel steak.

Proud moment

Photo speaks for itself: THONG* TAN.
(* for North American readers: flip-flop; for New Zealand readers: jandal).