Buenos Aires at last - I reach my hotel at eight. It seems there is a general transport strike in protest at the government's response (or lack of it) to proposed tax cuts. Aerolineas Argentinas isn't operating today. They don't pass on this useful piece of information until I am in the taxi on the way to the airport, so I hitch a ride on the first leg of an Air France flight to Paris from Montevideo. I'm lucky. Some poor souls camped out in the baggage hall, when I arrive, have been waiting five hours for their luggage, as the handlers are on strike too.
Larceny features large now. Wikipedia tells me that Buenos Aires is generally one of the safest cities to visit in South America, safer than Los Angeles and Brussels. Nevertheless, the guide who meets me spends a great deal of time warning me about petty thieves, pickpockets and the necessity for not looking flashy when I go out. He obviously hasn't had a good look at me. And I've already been robbed in Uruguay.
Anyway, I go wandering in Buenos Aires. My hotel is in leafy Palermo but a guy still stops me and tells me to hide my camera. Nobody here seems to have read Wikipedia. Buenos Aires is known as Bs.As. Or just BA (as Evita said). It's the most visited city in South America, known for its vibrant multi cultural heritage and European style buildings.
I walk for fifteen miles ending hot and sore (it's 30 degrees) with blisters. I knew I was in for a long tramp, as it's a huge city. The population is three million, but it's 13 million if you count the whole of the Buenos Aires conurbation. My map doesn't help, as not everything is marked in the right place. And for some reason many of the parks and plazas only have one entrance so you can't just saunter through. You walk for several hundred yards before discovering that there is no other exit - salida unico. Someone has a wicked sense of humour.
I've marked out a route right across town. It meanders, as there is a lot to see. The botanical garden and the rose garden, the museums and churches, the ritzy shops, the majestic squares, the verdant parks, the giant obelisk, the opera house and the elegant cafes. Like Montevideo, BA is on the River Plate estuary. There are just a few glimpses of the water as I walk.
The gardens are formally laid out with red earth paths and decorated with white sculptures and pergolas The rose garden is particularly fragrant and at its best, with a great sea of blooms. There are statues of famous poets, a lake with a quaint bridge and over 1,000 different species of rose.
La Boca is possibly the most well known barrio or tourist area in Buenos Aires. It's vibrant and colourful and tango artists perform on the pedestrian street, the Caminito. It's actually only a very small area of the city and is surrounded by relatively poor housing. But the locals have made the most of what they have, with street murals, market stalls and tavernas. Most of the restaurants are, somewhat surprisingly Italian, but the original settlers of La Boca were Genoese.
My final destination is the Avenida del Mayo for nationally important buildings and the Casa Rosado (Pink Palace) especially - it's the seat of government. I saw it last time I was here, but my photo was poor and I'm determined to do better. Someone has other ideas. The palace is surrounded by barricades and hordes of excited policeman in and out of cars. I skirt round to the plaza on the opposite side. Here the barricades are decorated with pictures and slogans. At least that's something to take a photo of.
And half an hour later (I've been indulging in the delicious ice cream - if it's not beef it's dulce de leche flavour here) a protest march proceeds down the street. There is drumming, a mass of red T shirts and huge Che Guevara banners. Presumably, the strike, the parade, the police presence and the barricades are all linked. It's an interesting spectacle to take in before I wend my way home, taking in the United Nations lotus sculptures and the Cafe Biela. This is a traditional spot for watching the world go by. And they do a very strong caipirinha.
My last morning in Buenos Aires. Just enough time to visit the Evita Peron museum - the story just like it is in the musical - and wander the streets of Soho. This, as you would expect, is the hipster area of the city. Very colourful, very trendy.
The airport is not the best organised I've ever been to. For most of the time I'm queuing there is only one check-in clerk operating eight desks. Just as I get to the front six more saunter back from lunch. In the departure lounge they operate the loudest tannoy announcements ever. No one is going to miss their flight by falling asleep, that's for sure. On to Asuncion.
In Patagonia, from Chile over the border to Argentina and El Calafate, the gateway to Los Glaciares National Park. The tour group takes an excursion to the colossal Perito Moreno glacier. Nearly 300 feet high, 19 miles long and 3 miles wide at its terminus on Lake Argentino, a land area the size of Buenos Aires and a mass of blue peaks, like giant frozen penguins marching into the sea. (There are more real penguins, too). This is one of 48 glaciers fed by the Southern Patagonian Ice Field, the world's third largest reserve of fresh water. And it's one of the few glaciers in the world that is not receding as its mass is continuously replenished. No-one is quite sure how.
We watch the glacier calving icebergs into the iridescent lake. They fall with a giant roar, creating mini tsunamis and an explosion of ice before floating off.
The Argentinians are not like the Chileans. As the Chileans say:
“How does an Argentine commit suicide?”
“He jumps off his ego.”
The weather is colder now and whenever anyone remarks “It’s chilly”, we chorus: “No, it’s not, it’s Argentina”.
We venture out to sample the renowned Argentine steaks, but our food arrives overcooked. Duncan, the guide complains and they eventually bring another round, so we end up devouring two meals. I haven’t felt hungry since.
The expedition is becoming a little sedate. Duncan has foolishly told me that, in his opinion, Mount Fitzroy is the most impressive sight in South America, but it isn’t on our itinerary. So I decide to see it anyway, sign off the tour for two days and take a four hour bus ride to El Chalten, the capital of Patagonian trekking. I end up in the middle of nowhere at midnight with a map I can't read and I have virtually no Spanish. I'm rescued by a lanky drunk musician, toting a guitar home after his gig.
My walk is great. I get a taxi to the end of the trail and work my way backwards to the start. it's easier for transport back to Calafate, I'm told. Duncan warned me it would be busy: You'll have loads of company', but he is wrong. I wend my solitary way for two hours accompanied only by a large, noisy, persistent horsefly who will not depart despite my constant entreaties. He keeps reappearing, not satisfied until he has stung me hard. Perhaps, like the locals, he doesn't understand English.
Fitzroy, a wall of stone, is carved out of the sky, like the Last Lonely Mountain in The Hobbit. It is a beautiful, beautiful day. Parrots peek out of holes, gunacos leap and hares lollop. When I finally get back, I scan the park noticeboard. 'A steepy (sic) trail', it warns. 'To prevent bad encounters with pumas do not walk alone.'
From Calafte to Tierra del Fuego and it's national park. Lucas Bridges, the son of a Missionary, and one of the first Europeans to settle in Tierra del Fuego poignantly referred to this land as The Uttermost Part of the Earth in his 1948 book of that name. He wrote about his youth among the coastal Yaghans in Tierra del Fuego and his adult initiation into the Ona tribe, Their culture is now virtually extinct. However, there are replica huts in the grounds of the Estancia Harberton, the family home. built by Lucas's missionary father, Thomas. in 1886. The estancia was named for the Devon home of his wife. Tourism keeps the ranch afloat today.
It's very strange to think I'm poised at the bottom of the globe. The weather is a little fresh, but not too uncomfortable. Zodiacs again on the (windy) Beagle Channel, probably the most famous of the three navigable passages down here. The channel separates the larger main island of Isla Grande de Tierra del Fuego from various smaller islands and its eastern area forms part of the border between Chile and Argentina.
On to Ushuaia, southern most town on earth and gateway to the Falklands and Antarctica. It's a windswept place, perched on a steep hill and surrounded by the Martial Mountains. There are maps of the former hanging in the port, though of course here they are called The Malvinas. There's another sign in the harbour:
Smile, it really is the end of the world.
I re-organised this part of my tour as I thought New Year in Buenos Aires, the capital of Argentina would be fun, but in the event it's a quiet and sobering experience. There's a nightclub fire the night we arrive and many people are killed and injured. This is a city in shock and mourning. Much is closed.
.On New Year's Eve all the office workers throw last year's files out of the window to make way for the new. The streets are covered in paper. I just hope they have an electronic back up. Then it is a steak dinner and early bed.
On to Los Angeles and then Thailand.
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