Princess

Saturday, August 12, 2023

We were up with the lark to visit Parque Nacional Los Cardones. I think this was my favourite park. As we were beginning to regard as our right, we had the place to ourselves.

There were these incredible spiky rock formations which our local driver went through with great aplomb. I so enjoyed not driving or navigating.

R, our guide spoke eloquently about the flamingos and the salt flats. He told us there were three types of flamingos: the Chilean, the Andean and the James. We all found the contrast between the name of the James and the others exquisitely humorous.

We stopped briefly in a cemetery in the middle of nowhere with adobe walls. I don’t at all see how all this adobe survives the rainy season but it must do. It only rains once a year for about six weeks (in February if memory serves).

Vicuñas are a kind of wild llama (I learnt something about the difference between llamas, alpacas, guanacos and vicuñas but I cannot now tell you what it is – although my favourite llama fact is that if one llama in a string of llamas poos, all the others have to stop to poo in the exact same place making a big pile of llama poo that nobody enjoys except maybe the llamas, I suppose). We went to a farm which is trying to domesticate them to have a look. They are only enjoying medium success. Apparently in the wild, hunters kill them for their very soft skin even though, I think, they are protected. R and the other professional guides and walkers are always on the look out for illicit raiders. In the farmyard, Daniel asked whether the tree with pink seeds like peppercorns was a pepper tree. I thought not, but in fact, it was.

We went to this small one-horse town called Molinos for lunch. It had a beautiful church with lots of cactus wood, including a cactus wood roof which I found fascinating – who knew that cactuses are hard on the inside?

Not sure how everyone feels now about this particular local hero commemorated in the church. Mr. Waffle and I went to visit a small museum which was once his house. I think, yet again, he was important in the liberation of Argentina (cast of thousands).

This reminds me that we heard a fair amount about the Jesuits during our trip. They were expelled a number of times by the Spanish which is probably a good sign. Apparently they were, according to R, the least bad, actually believing that the local population had souls whereas for others the jury was out.

Lunch was in a gorgeous courtyard with a large spreading tree in the middle.

We had lovely limonada and a bean antipasto which is really common in Argentina and absolutely delicious. And more empanadas.

Then after lunch it was off to another winery where there is a famous James Turell museum. I was not previously James Turell conscious but I see from my researches that there is a Cork angle. I found the museum mildly interesting and I suppose the location in the middle of nowhere is kind of peculiar. It’s a slightly whimsical project.

To be honest though, I think I enjoyed our time sitting outside looking at the scenery before going in more enjoyable, is this wrong? We were supposed to be wine tasting again but none of us could face it. In some ways we may not have been the ideal crew for this type of holiday.

We ran into a Mexican couple who we had already met at our last hotel; the tourists are perhaps drawn to similar sites which makes it all the more impressive how often we were on our own.

R suggested that we could go to where they make the best ponchos, where they had, in fact, made the Pope’s poncho. I was genuinely tempted but I turned it down. In part because we were exhausted. But partly also I was mindful of R’s own words that you could buy stuff in Argentina and then when you got home, you would find it was not “comme il faut”. I would wager that happens more to French people than to others but I could sense that I was in real danger of buying an Andean poncho and, let’s be realistic, when would I be wearing that in Dublin?

We pushed on to yet another beautiful hotel with a fantastic swimming pool which I was determined to investigate.

Also quite a friendly cat.

Sunday August 13, 2023

We had a late start! It was alas, too cold for the pool despite repeated checks on my part.

I went for a lovely walk in the grounds and listened to the birds with my Merlin app (I had downloaded the South American bird pack).

Honestly, Merlin is the business; improves any walk. It was amazing to see the snow in the Andes while it was so pleasantly warm at ground level. I do not appear to have captured this in photographs so you will have to take my word for it.

The hotel had a lovely little prayer room which seems to be a feature of a lot of these old colonial buildings and which I also appear not to have photographed although, if you asked my children, they would say that I photographed everything.

We had a wander round Cachi which boasted more cactus wood in the church.

It was a pretty town.

Lunch in Cachi was fine but not spectacular. After lunch, at Mr. Waffle’s request we went to have a look at the place where a local had built a UFO landing station. Peculiar but if they’re coming, why not Cachi, I suppose? The truth is out there.

We went for a walk in another ruined city called Las Pailas. It was very atmospheric and, again, we had it to ourselves. We were climbing a bit and were at 3200 altitude which didn’t knock a bar out of Michael who ran around like a mountain goat but poor Dan got a nose bleed.

There was lots of cactus wood (a piece of which I picked up to bring home – it’s so odd with all the holes). There were also lots of cows and bales of hay. Not really something I expect to see with cacti. Not something I appear to have photographed either, I fear.

We didn’t see a soul except three locals on a moped – travelling off road. The father was in front and there was a small child sandwiched between him and his wife who was carrying a rifle casually over her shoulder. Mildly alarming but they waved in a friendly way.

We had a grand old chat with R, our v French mountain guide. As herself never tired of pointing out, I had been angling for days to get him to talk in French so that I could show off but he still hadn’t bitten. He would sometimes ask Mr. Waffle for quite tough bits of vocabulary but never yielded to speaking in French. Though not yet forty, in a previous life he had been a medical student, a physio in Roland Garros, a ski instructor (he grew up between Val d’ Isère and Paris), worked in a vineyard and owned a bar in Buenos Aires. His father was French and his mother Brazilian. He himself was entirely French in every way though a fluent Portuguese speaker which you don’t get so much.

When we got back to the hotel I met a man from Newry (wearing his GAA top: the indispensable identifier of the Irish abroad) in reception. He was living in London and his wife was Argentinian. They, their children, his sister living in Portlaoise, and her husband (from Kerry) and their children had all made the journey on a big family holiday. One of our children had already spotted one of their children in the corridors of the hotel, “I knew straight away he was Irish, big Irish head on him.” In case you are unaware, big Irish head is a national trait.

That evening the restaurant service was exceptionally slow even by Argentinian standards. The big Irish/Argentinian gang threw off the staff and it was an hour and 45 minutes after our arrival at 8.30 that dinner finally arrived. I thought that Michael was going to faint (from hunger/rage, honestly unclear which).

This gave us some time to reflect on the weird arrangement where on the tables in restaurants, there is no sugar or salt. Apparently, this is a public health measure as the authorities believe having to ask has a deterrent effect. Perhaps. The foodstuffs you buy in packets come with these absolutely terrifying labels which I definitely regard as a deterrent but which herself says is a guide to the good stuff.

The others joined the Irish/Argentinian contingent after dinner while I tried to help Michael find his pyjamas which had completely disappeared to his unspeakable rage (I think we must have left them behind in a previous laundry batch, alas). Probably not Michael’s best evening.

This was the day of the primaries and Argentinians had voted electronically for the first time. Indications were that this aspect did not work well with a video of one of the candidates trying and failing to use it doing the rounds.

During the afternoon (after I had carried it around for hours and brought it back to the car), R told me that it was illegal to export cactus wood from Argentina (he suggested I bury it deep in my luggage as he is not as much of a rule follower as me). That evening I tossed the piece of cactus wood I had picked up in the park out the hotel window. It bounced off the anti-mosquito metal mesh and hit me quite sharply on the arm. Cactus wood, full of surprises. Other than that the remainder of the evening was uneventful.

Are we doing this a mere 48 hours per post now? It would appear so. Stay tuned for, many more, future installments.

Wednesday August 9

As though a punishment for our late start the previous day, we were collected from the hotel at 4.45 am.

All over Argentina there are many signs saying “Las Malvinas son Argentinas”. The British may have forgotten but they most certainly have not. There were also, less controversially, “Tapir Crossing” signs. We don’t have those at home either and I regret not getting a photo of any of these.

At the airport Mr. Waffle dispensed tips to guide and driver. Although Mr. Waffle actually did all the tipping, I found the whole thing very tedious and, I’m going to call it, I totally blame the North Americans (excluding Canadians and, who knew, Mexicans). Or maybe we’d just never had quite so many bespoke services before. This was obviously a cash operation but mostly, somewhat to our surprise, we were able to use cards. We thought that this would be a problem outside BA but not really. Poor Mr. Waffle brought loads of US dollars to change and we did exchange some of that cash for tipping but mostly we used our cards. I found I could only use Apple Pay in the very occasional spot but physical cards were fine almost everywhere.

Due to the inflation issues, there are loads of different exchange rates. One is called the official rate. This is by far the worst rate. The peso could be worth half the official rate. There’s another rate called the blue rate which is kind of official though not actually official. When you pay for something by credit card, you initially get charged the terrible official rate but then the credit card company – a couple of days later – refunds you money (it appears on your statement as credit ) to bring you up to, I think the blue rate, a better rate anyhow. It’s the weirdest thing. I may have some of the details wrong here but the refund is definitely real and I have the credit card statements to prove it.

Overall, Iguazu is totally recommended but two days was probably enough. However, we did add some expressions to our family vocabulary. Our guides spoke fantastic English, far better than our Spanish, but they had a slightly Spanish turn of phrase which was very endearing. We found ourselves saying to each other “Absolutely that is true; in our case yes.” Also, “So nice; the camouflage is perfect”; which was a big feature of the national park. Honestly, the camouflage could have been a lot more imperfect and your short sighted correspondent would have been impressed.

For Irish readers only. Saw these in the airport in Iguazu:

Salta lived up to its name. It is indeed Linda. We checked into a lovely hotel in the city centre and went for a walk with our new guide. Herself was a bit under the weather so she holed up in the hotel which felt like a nice old fashioned Spanish establishment.

In true Corinne fashion, there was a gift waiting for us in our room. Oh yes. A pair of what I foolishly thought were wooden llamas. They were guanacos. Of course. They were adorable. No one, including me, has ever cared as much about my holidays as Corinne.

Our driver took us up to the top of the city and we walked back to the centre admiring the view. It was winter but it was also pretty darned hot so I was glad that we were going downhill.

Here is a statute of a guacho liberator, one of many in the fight for Argentine independence. It’s Martín Miguel de Guemes, if you’re curious.

We saw a nice old Carmelite monastery which was more impressive in the wilds of the new world than it would be at home.

I liked the curtain detail in the cathedral near where we had our lunch.

Our driver went off and collected herself for lunch (I know!) and we all met in the restaurant. It felt very Spanish. Outside was a forbidding length of high whitewashed wall but inside was a beautiful cool courtyard.

Our guide was a French man. I was very surprised by what a relief it was to have a European guide. I find it very annoying when people from the US lump everyone in Europe into one basket but I have found myself reconsidering a bit since this trip. We just seemed to be more on the same wavelength with this guy. Our Argentinian guides were great but they were – true first world problem coming – just a bit too solicitous and obliging. It felt good to be dealing with someone who felt he was just as good as we were (in fact, probably considerably better) and wasn’t afraid to say so. I was surprised about the shared value system we seemed to operate from. Maybe this United States of Europe will take off after all.

He joined us for lunch and told us that in every restaurant in Argentina, you can order Limonada. It won’t be on the menu but it is always available. It is delicious, it’s lemon with water, ginger and mint and it is one of the nicest things I’ve ever had, particularly after schlepping around Salta in the heat.

Michael had steak for lunch again. I contemplated steak also. At this point I was 90% beef and 10% chipas. I didn’t find Argentinian food terrific. The steak is good but as our French guide observed, it is good but it has “no finesse”. It’s far from finesse we were reared in Ireland etc but I totally understood what he meant.

Herself had been getting great mileage from trip advisor bad reviews throughout the trip. One Brazilian review castigated the service in an otherwise very acceptable spot as “very Argentinian”. Once seen, this cannot be unseen. The wait for food in Argentina takes forever.

Our French guide asked how we like Iguazu and we were suitably positive. “They do the best they can with the volume of people going through but it’s like Disneyland,” he said. I knew what he meant.

We dutifully looked at the Plaza Mayor after lunch; the centre of Spanish colonial administration in any town.

After lunch we had a trip to the archaeological museum. Our guide was doing an archaeological degree locally and had many thoughts. I found it quite sad. They had the mummified bodies of three children who had been sacrificed on the tops of mountains. This would have been relatively recently, maybe in the 1500s and the victims were so young and tiny. The fact that there were far fewer human sacrifices by these indigenous peoples than by the Incas seemed cold comfort.

The remainder of the afternoon was at leisure! The thrill, I rushed to use the pool in the hotel; it was really warm outside. But people, the pool was not heated. Herself said that I was like her Uncle’s “Cavan Man”. My brother leans into an unfair stereotype that people from County Cavan, which is a small county in Ulster, are quite…careful with their money. I was determined to get value from the pool even though it was killing me. “The only time Ulster said ‘yes’,” said herself laconically.

The value of the peso went from 550 to the dollar to 600. Poor old Argentines. That evening we went out to a bistro. I have no recollection of what we ate but I can only imagine it was steak again.

While we were overnighting in Salta, we got our laundry done and I can only say that it must have been the best value for anything anywhere. It was a huge pile, we got it back in the morning beautifully pressed and folded and it cost about €2.

Thursday August 10, 2023

We drove from Salta to Cafayate through the desert. It was so quiet and we saw the most incredible rock formations. I’ve never seen a landscape like it before and I thought it was breathtaking.

My photos really don’t do it justice.

Our guide took us for a fantastic lunch in a small place on the side of the road with its own small vineyard and beautiful views of the mountains as well as a range of affectionate cats and dogs. The food was superb and we did not have steak; though I was beginning to see how I might tire of the empanada. I mean, say what you like about the French but you’re in safe hands when it comes to food.

When we got to the hotel in Cafayate, it was truly amazing. I think it was probably my favouite place from the whole trip. It felt very like one of the Spanish paradors. It was built as an estate in 1892 and it was beautifully modernised.

When we arrived at reception, understandably enough, they spoke to us in Spanish. I think Mr. Waffle was off doing something else so I offered my usual “io parlo italiano”. The receptionist replied politely in English that unfortunately she couldn’t speak Italian but did I understand English? I thought herself would have to be assisted to her room so great was her amusement.

My only caveat about the hotel, and a problem I encountered a bit in Argentina, was the presence of those flickering lightbulbs – they are a new thing and I have found them in some places in Europe but more in Argentina. It was only in the dressing room but if you suffer from migraines, definitely not ideal.

Herself was not fully recovered so she stayed in the hotel while we went on a two hour walk in the desert with our guide, R. The first hour was in sunshine and I honestly nearly died. The second hour was in the shade. Mercifully. It was a beautiful, beautiful walk but it really took it out of me.

The guide gave me his trusty walking sticks and they were the only things that saved me. He’s more used to trekking with groups of super fit people who want to climb the Andes so it took some work for him to adapt to us but he got the hang of it eventually. Meanwhile Michael commented casually to me, “You know in films when they get into difficulties, it’s always the person with the stick dies first.” Quite.

Notwithstanding the nearly dying, I would go again like a shot (probably with some different kit). It felt like a real privilege to be in such an incredibly beautiful place on our own, safely taken in charge by a very experienced guide.

After this, instead of going home which, honestly, was probably all we felt like, R took us to meet his friend Javier who was carrying out his Pacchamama ceremony. This is a kind of earth goddess thing where they leave gifts for mother earth. August is the big month for it. My expectations were low but I found it surprisingly moving and one of the nicest things we did on our trip.

Javier himself was a particularly lovely man which made it all even nicer. I see the Pope is in some trouble in regard to this which, I have to say, gives him a thumbs up from me. In general, the Argentinians are, to my surprise, pretty anti-pope. A particular gripe is that he hasn’t visited Argentina, although, to rub salt in the wound, he has visited a number of other South American countries.

On the way back to the hotel, R regaled us with a story of how he found himself in Chile at the start of Covid having just led a 10 day trek through the Andes. Argentina closed its borders very rapidly and he was going to be stuck. However, he and his mate walked back through the Andes and got back into Argentina; pretty cool, I thought.

It was quite late by the time we got back and herself was convinced that we had all been murdered by these people about whom, after all, we knew nothing. Honestly, she should have known, Corinne would never let this happen.

Dinner was a bit slow but we were now familiar with the concept of Argentinian time and quietly resigned.

Friday, August 11, 2023

Herself was still a bit sick and took the morning off. I was quite tempted to join her but my FOMO prevented me. I gazed longingly at the beautiful pool in the hotel and mentally earmarked it for later. If Corinne has a fault, it is thinking that we are as high energy as she is, an impression we may misguidedly have given her in our pre-departure planning zoom chats.

We passed throught the town of Cafayate which was the kind of Argentine town we were getting used to; European in layout but very Argentinian in flora and landscape.

We drove past many vineyards. Vineyards and cacti are a bit unusual for us. Pernod Ricard has a vineyard in Cafayate which turns out more than 10 million litres of wine a year; that seems like a lot.

These were mere sights on our way to the archaeological site at Quilmes. This was pretty cool and like most places we had it largely to ourselves. Very briefly a group of primary school children descended, swarmed and left but other than that it was very quiet. It’s the ruins of an old city, taken over by the Incas who defeated the local people shortly before the Spanish came and defeated everyone.

I was very impressed by the cactuses.

And also these things like quern stone but you put water in and you can see the stars and they’re lined up to particular stars. Apparently they were used for astronomy but no one really knows. It’s funny to think that this dates from the 1400s as it feels much much older.

This is the part of Argentina where most of the indigenous people live and unlike the Guarani in Iguazu, they seem to have a normal standard of living and these museums are run by local indigenous foundations. It seems like a much better set up.

R decided it was time we learnt to make mate which is a special kind of tea that Argentinians drink all the time (did I mention that one of our Corinne gifts was a mate making set?). As you know, I am a big tea fan but mate requires some getting used to; it’s quite bitter. You drink it through a straw and people share it around and Argentinians of all kinds are very keen. Apparently during Covid, people had special masks with holes so that they could drink their mate through a straw. This doesn’t strike me as ideal but apparently in the North they survived without cases for about a year and everything was open.

As we left the site, a French woman came up to Daniel, “You sat beside my husband on the plane from CDG and then we were together on the plane to Iguazu.” Small world, I guess. Mr. Waffle always laughs at the French tourists who always hate meeting other French tourists (I mean don’t we all hate meeting tourists, especially tourists from home?) and as they clutch their Guide du Routard, they look resentfully round at their compatriots, also with the Guide du Routard who have had the same place recommended to them.

We went back to the hotel and spruced up briefly and picked up herself. Had she used the pool? She had not but she had spent time in an amazing lounge upstairs in the hotel. However, to her horror, it turned out to be a suite (!) temporarily open for cleaning and she scuttled away to safety before she was discovered.

We had a lovely lunch in the Piatelli winery which I can thoroughly recommend.

Herself pointed to a perfect table and I said, “Don’t be optimistic, we never get the best table.” However, I had forgotten that Corinne was organising and we were dutifully ensconced there with a view of the vineyards and the mountains and a veranda protecting us from the sun.

After lunch, the others went back to the hotel but having paid for it, I was determined to try the wine tasting. Daniel stayed with me. I am not sure, in retrospect, what my thinking was here but it was something like, I am in wine country, I should do a wine tour. It was very mildly interesting to me as a non-oenophile although Dan found it interesting enough and enjoyed talking to the other punters. Daniel and I had a chance to bond as I introduced him to the world of wine (note to self – good for my 17 year old? ).

When we got back to the hotel, it was really too cold to use the non-heated outdoor pool. Why, oh why had I not gone back earlier? Two pictures because I never dipped more than a toe inside.

Herself was definitely showing signs of improvement by the evening which was good because Corinne had put in a number of calls to R inquiring about the state of her health.

“How much more is there to go?” you ask. Much more.

Sunday, August 6, 2023

We were picked up by our driver reasonably, but not impossibly early. The airport for internal flights is in the city so pretty close. In the airport, it felt like the golden age of aviation; we were right in the city with lovely views out over the river.

Definitely recommended though after our cosseting in BA we were slightly outraged to find that we had to check in all by ourselves.

Argentina is huge and it was a two hour flight up from BA to Iguazu in the North. After some fumbling around we were met by our guide in the airport which she firmly attributed to our ineptitude in going out through the wrong exit from the small airport. We hopped into the car and, thrillingly, drove straight into Brazil and into the national park. Our guide sorted out our passports and we went to a buffet with a view of the falls (the main Iguazu attraction) for lunch. Our guide was Argentinian and, until confirmed by our Brazilian driver, refused to believe that there are loads of Brazilians in Ireland. Strange but true.

Our guide was slightly obsessed with ensuring we had as many bathroom breaks as we needed and, as she led us to our table she said proudly, “See right beside the toilets!” Lunch was a bit forgettable and extremely pricey compared to Argentina. Great view though.

As we went into the park after lunch we saw a young man in a Kerry GAA shirt proving that Irish people are not inactive in this area. Daniel experienced considerable regret that he was not wearing his Dublin top.

In the park we saw lizards, toucans, vultures and very cool butterflies including one with 88 on their wings (it’s the pattern).

We also had another look at the waterfall. It was extremely hot and humid. Our guide told us that “The Mission” was filmed there. Mr. Waffle told her that he was at college with the offspring of the stuntman in the poster who went over the waterfall backwards and upside down. Flex as the young people would say.

Our hotel was amazing, right in the jungle with beautiful pools. Swimming in the pool before dinner I saw a monkey sitting on a nearby tree. The children were less delighted as, for reasons of economy, we put them all in the same room which they regarded with very low levels of enthusiasm.

We discovered that there is a lot of wildlife in a rain forest. We were slightly ambivalent about the frog sitting on the wall over the dinner table.

We fell into bed that evening having had a busy day of adventure and excitement. I have to say that I hadn’t expected the lap of luxury to be quite so exhausting.

Monday August 7, 2023

Up again at the crack of dawn. Herself had some college work to do and having seen enough of the waterfall the previous day sent us on our way with her blessing. Michael who is very attached to his coat really wanted to bring it but I insisted on his leaving it at home as it had been boiling the previous day and I felt that there was a real danger he might pass out.

There was a huge queue to get in to the park but our special vehicle sailed to the top. V pleasing. There was a train to travel within the park and our guide placed us cunningly so that we got on easily. Apparently, traditionally the Brazilian side of the falls is regarded as giving the superior view but I actually thought that the Argentinian side was better.

It started to rain. Michael was raging.

I remembered that we were in a rain forest (you would think I might have expected “rain” in the rain forest but no). It continued to lash. Even though we all had rain gear, it was back at the hotel so we bought plastic ponchos and basically went around wearing bin bags.

I quite enjoyed it – views were amazing and Mr. Waffle and Dan were reasonably ok but Michael was soaked, frozen and furious. Unlike Michael, I was sustained by a local delicacy, a kind of cheesy scone called chipas that he in his fury refused to touch. At least we were still being offered bathroom breaks at half hourly intervals, I comforted him.

One of the highlights of our day was to be a boat ride under the waterfall. I thought that was an exaggeration. We had to queue to get on the bus to the boat but again were wafted to the front of the queue. I did feel a little bad but I also had a sodden furious Michael and I was keen to get through the final bit of the day and get back to somewhere dry. An open top bus took us down to the boat ride. The tropical rain continued. The mood was, frankly, poor.

The boat ride was, in fact, thrilling. Even Michael enjoyed it. We went under the waterfall and we all got even wetter than we had been already. We had special bags to store our shoes and socks but the rest of us was absolutely sodden. Still very worth it.

Notwithstanding the thrill at the the end of the day, we were all pretty glad to get back to our waiting car and put on dry clothes.

Our guide booked dinner in town for us. I suppose we shouldn’t have been totally surprised to be seated near the toilets. I had steak again. Good, but you know, so much steak.

Tuesday, August 8, 2023

Our guide, having got the measure of us, offered us a late start. This was 8.45 rather than 7.30, but look, any port in a storm.

We were surprised to see our guide in the morning as we were supposed to be meeting our bike hire people. But the guide said, slightly through gritted teeth, I thought, that Corinne (you remember Corinne our travel agent) felt it would be best if she drove us to the bike hire place.

I think Corinne had intended for us to have a mountain bike ride through the jungle (we had sent our heights and weights from Ireland so that our bikes could be set up for us) but one look at me – somehow I always seemed to be the weakest link – and they proposed a much tamer ride. As they kitted us out, the bike hire man reminisced fondly about the Irish group he took cycling across the Andes and how their rucksacks clinked because of the presence of alcohol. I mean it is a stereotype and personally, I hardly drink at all, but yet.

The cycle was a little dull but we saw various local flora and fauna (of the leaf cutter ant rather than the tapir variety). To Mr. Waffle’s great disappointment, we didn’t go across to Paraguay which is apparently an electronics mecca.

That afternoon we were slated to visit the Guarani village. Daniel and herself both bailed but Michael, Mr. Waffle and I went. This was the only part of the whole trip that was really pretty grim. The Guarani are indigenous people and Argentina is mostly made up of white European immigrants with only 20% of the population being indigenous, most of whom are elsewhere in the north (more of which anon). This was a bit like a poverty tourist trap and I felt it was unpleasantly exploitative as we were led around the village where people were obviously, extremely poor. The Guarani guide who was taking us around showed us an armadillo trap and various other traps which are not in use. I asked him had he eaten wild animals and he said that yes he had, for example, eaten tapir. I was curious, “Is it like chicken?” I asked. “It tastes like jungle meat meat,” he said. Seeing my puzzled face, he added “Not like meat from the supermarket which tastes like refrigerators.”

The schools on site had a wider catchment area than the village we were visiting and there were 250 in the primary but only 80 in the secondary. I was curious about the numbers of Guarani speakers on the staff. There are only 4. Happily for the future of the language, it is an official language in Paraguay next door. I honestly wouldn’t be relying on Argentinian support. The strong impression I got from our non Guarani guide was “What would these people be doing going to third level? Sure they don’t need it.” Perhaps that’s unfair but the whole thing was a bit grim.

As we were leaving Corinne rang our non-Guarani guide to say that she had arranged for us to meet the cacique (head of the village). Our guide who was about to drop us back to the hotel was not for turning. For once I was pretty glad of her…determination. But eavesdropping on their conversation, it was like diamond on diamond. I might add that Corinne was in Yerevan for a sporting tournament but was keeping a close eye on our movements.

When we got back to the hotel, as penance, I read the UN Rapporteur’s report on the rights of indigenous peoples in Argentina. Actually, on paper not too bad although while we were there they were looking at limiting the rights in granted in the 1994 constitution so alas for the great regime on paper.

A slightly gloomy end to our trip to Iguazu. Tune in next time when out heroes head to Salta.

Friday August 4, 2023

A discussion with the building concierge the previous night where Mr. Wafflehad understood him to say that the water might be off briefly overnight and I had understood him to say that we should fill every available receptacle with water because the water would be cut off the following morning, proved that my Italian was more useful for understanding these matters than Mr. Waffle’s Spanish. Never have I been so sad to be right.

Mr. Waffle and I went across the road for breakfast and shortly after we finished there was a message from the children that water had been restored. Much rejoicing.

This allowed us to shower before beginning our 17.6 km (the specificity is due to a tracking app that I am attached to) cycling tour of the the city. The weather was beautiful. We began in a little park and saw parrots. Very exciting although our guide was surprised by our enthusiasm.

We went to the Boca Juniors stadium. Big club which I had never heard of before coming to BA but as the kids would say, “That’s on me”. We went to San Telmo which is very touristy but I am a tourist, I like touristy places.

Messi is popular locally.

We went into a nature reserve with lovely views over what definitely looked like the sea but what porteños (what the locals are called, look at me integrating) are extremely adamant is a river.

We were met at the entrance to the park by one of the cycle shop employees with drinks for all of us. This was the Corinne (our travel agent) service we were already beginning to expect. I suspect that Corinne did not know that our cycle tour took us in part along a road that had very strong motorway vibes. We’re all very experienced cyclists but it definitely felt a bit edgy. Largely fine however and a great way to see the city. Honestly, we possibly could have done without the nature reserve. We have lots of nature at home.

We had an opportunity to verify that Calatrava builds the same bridge everywhere. Our guide said that it was supposed to be inspired by the tango. “If this is the case, then why is it identical to the one in the Dublin docklands?” I wondered. She said that she suspected as much all along.

We saw the Casa Rosada where the Argentinian president hangs out. Mr. Waffle offered the fantastic fact that it is made with ox blood, hence the pink colour. It is on the Plaza de Mayo which due to the weird distinct form of Spanish spoken locally is pronounced Plaza de “Masho”, calle is “casho” and so on. For those of us whose Spanish is based on Italian and a couple of duolingo lessons, this does not make things easier.

The Plaza is where the mothers of the disappeared used to march and the headscarf logo on the ground is in memory of that. During the time of the generals, left wing activists or anyone the regime didn’t like were “disappeared”, often dropped by helicopter into the middle of the river. I saw a big sign up announcing 40 years of democracy and that didn’t seem like a very long time to me. It’s not so long since these young people were taken away and killed in huge numbers.

After our busy morning we had an afternoon off. As we were to discover, this was a complete rarity in the Corinne schedule which we probably should have looked at in more detail before agreeing to everything. Herself and myself went back to the fleshpots of Palermo Soho for a more detailed look around. This wasn’t a complete success as I was exhausted from my three hour cycle in the morning. However, I did have a significant triumph. As you may be aware, there are Welsh speaking towns in Patagonia. “Who doesn’t know that?” you cry. In a shoe shop, the assistant was from Patagonia. “Do you know the Welsh speaking towns?” I asked. Herself cast her eyes heavenward. But he did, he knew all about them, he had grown up near one but, sadly, spoke no Welsh.

Our driver having abandoned us at our request, we had to make our own way home. I didn’t feel strong enough to try the metro so we hopped in a taxi which set us back 1,7000 pesos or, at the time, about €3.

Honestly, there was no real need to investigate the metro, the Subte to its friends, which, incidentally, I gather is very good though I am unable to speak from personal experience.

We had asked Corinne to book us a neighbourhood pizzeria for dinner. I regret to report that we did not enjoy Argentinian pizza. The fault lay not in the restaurant which had queues out the door and around the corner but we just did not like Argentinian pizza, – significantly more cheese than appeals to an Irish audience. As we were now becoming accustomed to, we were, yet again, whisked to the top of the queue and installed as honoured guests.

After dinner, a car came to take us to a tango show. A triumph for me as the driver had two Italian parents and I was able to chat away in Italian. Herself had opted out of pizza (a wise move in retrospect) and tango but the rest of us were if not exactly gung ho, certainly curious.

The Tango show was excellent in fairness (the theme was tango through the years) but as scantily clad women danced around our table, it felt a bit like watching films with sex in them with your children ( which is just as bad as watching them with your parents as a teenager, just a different kind of bad).

We emerged, impressed by the artistry and sheer athleticism of the dancers but pleased to see our driver (of course) who zoomed us home to bed across the city.

Saturday August 5, 2023

We went to the Pain Quotidien again. I’m not proud.

After breakfast we were picked up to go on a food tour.  We were rapidly discovering that there was a certain danger in being cosseted beings whose every need was catered to by guides and drivers.  Mr. Waffle expressed the mildest interest in the BA water system following our guide pointing out a pumping system and we very narrowly avoided a tour of the local water infrastructure.

Danger averted we went to our first stop on the food tour,  We got choripán which is basically barbecued sausage in a bun.  We went to a small corner café and sat outside.  Delicious.  It was in a suburban part of town and a lot of the buildings were single storey.  It really reminded me of Brooklyn.  This was not the first time I made this observation and it never failed to irritate the children.

Sadly, the choripán was only the beginning.  Argentinians like a lot of food.  We went to a restaurant which was very nice and everything but we were already kind of full from the choripán. Then we went to an ice cream place. Pretty good, I have to say, but we positively waddled away.

We were trying to get a feel for the Argentinian character and asked our guide what other South America countries might say about Argentina.  “Well,” she said, “they might say that Argentines are snobbish because we are the most European country of South America.”  I found that a bit weird but Mr. Waffle pointed out later that they kind of think of themselves as European.  They’re always saying how far away from everywhere they are but of course they are actually surrounded by other countries although they are a long way from European countries.  They cordially loath the Brasilians who they regard as very blingy but, of course, economically, they are doing far better than the Argentinians and they tend to visit and flash their cash in their white and gold outfits while being very loud (say the Argentinians anyhow).  The Argentinians themselves are turned out like chic French people or Italians in dark well-cut clothes.  The cliché is that an Argentinian is an Italian who thinks he’s Spanish and wishes to be British.  Clichés  are there for a reason, people.

After our enormous lunch, the driver dropped the guys home and Mr. Waffle, herself and I went to explore around San Telmo. 

We found a very cool cafe called La Peurto Roico and, suitably fortified, we went on to the Plaza de Mayo for a more leisurely look around.

When we got ourselves home, the guys seem to have enjoyed a peaceful afternoon.

That evening (because we spit on exhaustion), Mr. Waffle and I went to El Ataneo, a very cool bookshop in a former theatre.  There were very few English language books there – just some school textbooks, printed in Argentina – because of the absolutely prohibitive cost of importing goods.  It was still nice to look around though.

Mr. Waffle was absolutely fascinated by security in the residential buildings we passed.  Sometimes there was an actual security gurad but more often than not there was a live video feed of a very bored person looking out at you – presumably each guard looked after multiple buildings and you were to be intimidated/supervise their work as you went by.  Very odd, I have never seen anything like this before.

People, this is only another two days. If you’re feeling strong, join us soon for our next adventure when our heroes fly North to Iguazu.

Well, hello there, did you think I had dropped off the edge of the earth? Well, yes, Argentina is a long way away, since you mention it.

Monday, 31 July, 2023

I spent the day before our departure stress tidying a bookcase. Some people were not enormously pleased. More fool them as we are home now and we know where all the jigsaws are.

I found myself increasingly worried about our 2 hour window to change flights in JFK. We were only passing through the US but we discovered, rather late in the game, that we would have to go though immigration and rescue our luggage and get it on the connecting flight. We also had to fill in ESTA forms. The US is not ideal for transit but we were flying a long way as cheaply as we could (still very expensive, I might add).

Mr. Waffle found a fantastic app for roaming which herself tested out when she was in Italy. I can truly recommend. It’s called Airalo and no one paid me any money for this recommendation. More’s the pity. Mr. Waffle also sorted out cash, insurance, Argentine plug adaptors and gathered tickets, passports and other documentation. Good job I had the bookcase tidying in hand is all I can say.

Tuesday, 1 August, 2023

We arrived at Dublin airport about lunch time to be given the deeply unwelcome intelligence that our flight from London to New York had been cancelled. We would be flown out via Paris the following day. Could we go home and fly in the morning? Are you joking me? We had to take our scheduled flight to Heathrow and once there would be sorted by BA for overnight accommodation in London and onward flights. The man at the ticket desk gave us this comprehensive paper work.

Essentially we would be spending 24 hours getting to Paris which is kind of in the wrong direction from Ireland, if you are trying to get to Argentina. As my sister conceded when I told her about our woes, “It does seem a roundabout way to get to Argentina.”

When we got to Heathrow we queued for two long hours to arrange our new flights and hotel accommodation. A very pleasant French woman sorted us out eventually, “Oh, you’re going to Argentina,” she exclaimed, “I would love to be you!” I did raise a slightly battle hardened eyebrow at that but I suppose her heart was in the right place.

We stayed in the Renaissance hotel in Heathrow airport. The children had a room each and Daniel was touchingly amazed and delighted that it was free. The rest of us were a bit less impressed and herself sent round a poll asking whether the hotel had previously been a prison; honestly, quite plausible.  We were rigorously separated from paying guests and checked-in and fed in separate rooms – obviously minimising costs as they had some kind of deal with BA but these were – you will scarcely believe this – even less appealing than the hotel restaurants.  I went to inquire about buses.  There were no buses to our terminal and they recommended booking a taxi.  I booked.  I will reveal that in the morning it cost us £50 to get to the airport.  What kind of an airport hotel does not have a shuttle bus to the terminals?  The Renaissance Heathrow Airport.  As I overheard a German lady saying to her husband in reception, “Niemals wieder!”

Wednesday, August 2, 2023

Anyway after a forgettable breakfast buffet at the hotel we were off. I still had a couple of the £8 vouchers we had got from British airways and passed them on to other passengers. Daniel continued to be charmingly astonished by the generosity of British airways, “We got an £8 voucher each? I thought it was one between the five of us!” Herself put our bags through the self check-in like a ninja.

We got to Paris without further incident.  As we transferred in CDG, our substitute cleaner rang.  Our own lovely cleaner was on holidays in Ukraine and this was a friend of hers to whom she had given a wholly inflated and inaccurate impression of my ability to express myself in Ukrainian.  As we scooted around the airport, I was fielding new cleaner’s queries about the front door key in Ukrainian.  I had no idea what was going on.  We resorted to texting each other with the assistance of google translate and the neighbours from both sides got involved and I spoke to each on the telephone.  The Chubb key she had didn’t work, at least one neighbour had one that worked, she got in.  I aged by about five years.

After this we enjoyed an extremely lengthy security queue in CDG and I was filled with fear that we would miss our plane. I am pleased to say that we did not miss our flight and we settled into the five middle seats some distance apart from each other which were to be our homes for the next 15 hours.  I have never flown longer than 5 hours before. I would not recommend.

I was sitting beside an Argentinian woman who sympathised with me on my novice long haul flying status.  “Do you know what we say about where Argentina is?” she asked.  “El culo del mondo” she said patting her bottom.  I can confirm that it is a long way from Ireland.  I asked whether my knowledge of Italian would be at all helpful in getting around.  “No,” she said looking at me, reasonably enough, as though I had two heads.  “I heard that there were a lot of Italian immigrants and perhaps…” I said feebly.  Apparently not.

By the time we got to arrivals in the airport in Buenos Aires it was about 11.30 local time and we were met by our local guide. Honestly, I would pay all of the considerable money we paid our travel agent just to be met at an international airport in the middle of the night. Silvia, our guide, was a Convent of Mercy girl like myself and this helped us to bond. She commented rather acerbically on all the Argentinian families emerging from the plane. “I see that although we’re all supposed to be suffering economically, some people went to Europe for the winter break with their families.” Our driver whisked us off to the Airbnb and Silvia pressed a charcuterie board and a bottle of wine into my hand after we arrived and she had ensured that we were safely ensconced. “Your arrival gift,” said she. I was living my best life, I am not sure I
can ever go back to non-luxury travel.

A word on our travel arrangements: when we decided to go to Argentina, Mr. Waffle mentioned it to an Argentinian woman who had done a post grad with him in Belgium asking for tips.  She put him in touch with Corinne, a friend of hers from school who is a travel agent, and this friend organised our trip.  I can never go back; that was an amazing, amazing service.  More details will follow but she booked all our internal flights and accommodation except for the airbnbs and this was only the beginning.  Stay tuned for further luxury travel details.

Thursday, August 3, 2023

Leaving the children to sleep off the jet lag which was fine really it’s only a four hour time difference, Mr. Waffle and I scurried around the corner to the Pain Quotidien, my safe space everywhere. We were staying in what the airbnb owner called “Chic Recoleta” and Recoleta was pretty chic and also spotless. However, the airbnb did boast this sign in the lift which seems to follow me around from place to place.

As well as breakfast our initial foray into the outside involved a trip to the supermarket. It turns out that Italian is not a lot of use in supermarkets in Buenos Aires. Silvia had said that the supermarkets had very little stock. I didn’t find that but any imported products were breathtakingly dear.

As I was to discover, Argentinians love telling you that BA (as we will now be calling it as I am as good as a local) is a very European city. There was a big boom in the period between about 1880 and 1940 and in the early 20th century a lot of European architects were commissioned to design buildings in BA. So as you walk around, you kind of could be in Paris or Rome or anywhere in Europe except you turn the corner and you’re definitely not. It’s a bit uncanny valley.

After breakfast we went out on tour in our big car. It was a bit weird but not unsatisfying. The big draw in our neighbourhood is the cemetery. I love a cemetery. We were driven there; all of 300 metres from our accommodation. Both driver and guide seemed shocked that we felt we could possibly have walked there through the extremely safe streets of Recoleta.

At the cemetery entrance we were wafted to the top of the queue. No such vulgar issues as buying tickets delayed our entry; this was all sorted beforehand and Silvia guided us around. This is one of the world’s great cemeteries.

Admiral Brown, formerly of Foxford, Co. Mayo and founder of the Argentine Navy is buried here.

The misfortunate young woman buried here was allegedly killed by the shock of discovering that her fiancé and her mother were having an affair. She was then buried but not in fact dead and scrabbled unsuccessfully to get out. Unlikely in my view but a beautiful tomb.

In fact there were loads of really beautiful tombs.

Evita’s tomb was surprisingly very much at the modest end of things. There is a long story about what happened her corpse after she died but most people seem to accept that eventually she landed here.

I very much enjoyed this story about an Argentine great man who wanted his tomb to be a monument to him alone.

His wife died after him and the family, despite his clearly expressed wishes installed her in the same tomb. Her rather grumpy looking bust is around the back.

There was a famous boxer’s grave.

There was something I have never seen before and found quite touching, a shared grave for a Catholic/Jewish couple.

From there we went to inspect a large mechanical tulip in the park which rotates and opens with the sun. I mean, grand, nice even but it was no Recoleta cemetery.

Then off for a quick trot across Parque 3 de Febrero, the “Central Park” of BA. It’s enormous and laid out like all these 19th century parks with water features and walks and so on. Honestly, it probably wasn’t at its best in the middle of winter. I was struck though by how clean it was and for all of the ongoing economic crisis there were loads of municipal employees cleaning and raking and tidying.

The car drove around the park and picked us up on the far side. Unheard of luxury but a bit weird. Our driver, A, was a young Venezuelan; very pleasant and hardworking. He had got himself Argentine residency and voting rights (the ease with which these can be acquired was the subject of some ire among the Argentines). I guess the Venezuelans haven’t had a great time with left wing governments but he told us that he would be voting for Milei in the upcoming presidential primaries. Very popular with the the young men, apparently but definitely someone who would have me clutching my pearls. The former Argentine finance minister, Martin Lousteau, was running for mayor of BA. His posters were everywhere and Michael and I were quite excited as we had been to see him at a small venue in the Kilkenny economics festival (otherwise disastrous) and thought he was pretty good. Our driver and guide were unconvinced.

They took us on a driving tour of the Embassy quarter. A bit dull to be honest but the Indonesians appeared to be prepping for some upcoming excitement and my husband and children enjoyed themselves identifying the various flags.

Then we went to trendy, happening Palermo Soho. This was much more exciting. Because inflation is so problematic (when we arrived in BA the peso was 500 to the dollar, when we left it was 780), the young people are not incentivised to save and they spend all their money in the trendy restaurants and cafes of Palermo Soho and the like. We stopped for churros. Very satisfactory.

That evening we walked to dinner. It was quite exciting to get out with our own map and without a driver. We went to a recommended steak restaurant which was, weirdly, under a motorway. A place called Piegari. We liked the steak but, it was the first of many. Argentinians apparently eat more beef per person than any other nation on earth and I can well believe it.

People, it’s not even the end of the first week and we were in Argentina for three weeks. Much, much more content to come.