Travel

Wednesday, August 16, 2023

We had half a morning at leisure! I went with herself for some emergency underwear shopping – some of mine seemed to have disappeared in the various laundry stops in the hotels. We went to this old-fashioned place with many assistants. After some discussion, they went into the back and found some large enough for me; it’s hard not to take this as some kind of insult.

We had been trying to send post-cards for some time. We bought extremely expensive stamps in Palermo Soho early on in the trip and it appears they were for a private courier company and the Argentinian postal service refused to deal with them – understandable enough, I suppose but Mr. Waffle found this out the hard way in the post office in Salta. Though he did see a combined pet shop and butcher which he really enjoyed. “A service from cradle to grave,” he observed.

As we were leaving our hotel there was a big gang of Italian pensioners leaving also. They had questions and I finally had a chance to speak Italian – “Ma come mai parla così bene Italiano?” Come mai indeed. I was delighted with myself after all my false starts with Spanish speakers. Even the family felt I deserved this.

Then R came to take us for a last mild walk in the woods and lunch. He was funny about his relations in Mendoza (his family tree is complex). He says he doesn’t go any more because it’s a sign of status to have European relatives in Argentina and he was paraded around like a show pony.

The walk in the woods was very pleasant and we managed to restrain R from taking us into the jungle. “The north of Argentina is a land of contrasts,” he liked to say and having shown us a lot of desert, he wanted us to see jungle. We, however, were steadfast in resisting as we had a flight to make.

We were quite sad to say goodbye to R and our lovely local driver. Still off we went to the airport where our flight was delayed for the guts of two hours. Corinne, of course, was on top of it and when we got to BA our Venezuelan driver was there to pick us up from the airport and drive us to the hotel where we were overnighting.

I saw these at the airport. Baffled.

Our hotel was in Palermo to give us a chance to explore the area, as Corinne put it. Even if our flight had been on time, I am not sure that we would have been up for an exploration. The hotel was a bit underwhelming, I mean good location and quite flash but the big city staff were not as friendly as up north. When we asked about overnight laundry we were told coldly that it was not possible. Just as well really as it would probably have beggared us. Was there a pool? There was. Did I get to swim in it? You jest.

Mr. Waffle had tired of complaints about accommodation and booked an extra room for the kids. Michael got to have the room to himself – he was delighted. I can’t remember whether I mentioned this before but at one stage Michael was so desperate to get away from us all that he checked fight costs to fly home the following day and found he could afford it from his savings. Herself was outraged when she heard this, as she had done the same thing and would have been unable to afford flights until the following week. I think Daniel enjoyed the trip the most? Did I say that when the kids were asked what was their favourite hotel, they said the Renaissance Heathrow airport because they all got their own room. This was the hotel they compared to a prison. I digress.

BA seemed huge after Salta and we plunged into the city where we found a very nice pasta place with, by Argentinian standards, lightning fast service.

Thursday, 17 August 2023

It was lashing rain and quite wintry for our 8.30 pick up.

We were going out of town to San Antonio de Areco in BA province and then spending the night on a guacho ranch. What, what? We were in Argentina, why not?

Our guide in San Antonio had a name as Irish as mine and when she heard that I had been to the Convent of Mercy gave me a big hug as she had too. She was a retired lady and despite her Irish name, entirely Argentinian. She was a bit polo fan and used to play a lot before they had to sell the farm in one of the many economic crises with which Argentine history is littered.

She had been an English teacher and knew everyone in town. The town is full of artisan workshops. They have the workshops in the back and sell stuff in the front. We bought some jewellery (lovely and very cheap); a heavy leather bag for carrying around your mate kit (lovely but has sat in the utility room since we got home as how much do we need to carry around mate?) and some artisanal chocolate.

The local church was imported stone by stone from Europe as there were no building materials in Argentina. Mr. Waffle and I both find this a bit baffling. Irish emigrants were big in this town and this list of parish priests in the church certainly proves it.

Our guide said that all the houses were only one storey as they were built without foundations, which explains something I had been curious about. We fled from the bucketing rain which had followed us from BA and had a nice lunch.

Afterwards, our guide got them to open up a local museum for us (unsurprising for those of us travelling Corinne airlines). It was run by some past pupil of hers and it was dedicated to an Argentine artist from the first half of the twentieth century who painted funny pictures of guacho life, Florencio Molina Campos. I had never heard of him before but I really enjoyed his work and one of my favourite Argentine purchases is a fridge magnet with one of his drawings of a horse on it.

Then we said goodbye to our guide. She was going on the trip of a lifetime to Ireland and Scotland the following week. We were terrified it would beggar her. Mr. Waffle had some sterling (I dunno, my husband the travelling bank?) and I was glad that he could give it to her but honestly it wasn’t likely it would go far. It also felt a bit like tipping one of my mother’s friends from the golf club, so quite weird. I imagine she quite enjoys the guiding work but that also she needs to do it to supplement her pension. Depressing enough.

We then were taken to our ranch experience in a place called El Ombú. Our driver dropped us to the side of the road and we were picked up by jeeps to take us to the estancia. It was a lovely place. I think all round for everyone, the best place we went to.

It was quite chilly and each room had a wood burning stove. Mr. Waffle had, yet again, sprung for another room and this time herself won the toss (poor Daniel). I’ll say this much for her, she couldn’t have been more grateful.

We handed over our enormous laundry bag to the staff and set about relaxing. There was an outdoor pool (of course) but it really wasn’t the weather for it.

There was a large drawing room with a pool table. We enjoyed playing but as Mr. Waffle said, “The only winner was sport and to be honest sport didn’t do too well either.”

There was table football which we all enjoyed. It was nice to just hang out and walk around the grounds and have nowhere to go other than to the other building for dinner. Herself found an enormous spider in her room so that gave us some mild excitement.

Our host was a descendant of the original German man who came to Argentina to make his fortune and who bought the estancia (in the 1920s, the relief). He was a genial man and chatted away with us. He had a great story about losing the top of his finger in a dog fight. The full details elude me now but they included the startling element that he had to extract his finger from the dog’s mouth and then drive with his finger to the hospital. To no avail anyhow because he lost it. He seemed pretty sanguine about it.

I talked to my sister on the phone. She was gloomy because, as she put it, she had taken a week off work to clear out one piece of furniture and it still wasn’t done. She bought my parents’ house and has been slightly lumped with clearing it out (I’m sorry but I’m grateful) and this enormous bookcase which my Nana bought from the canon in Killmallock nearly 100 years ago and was filled with stuff had to be emptied before her works on subsidence started (spoiler alert, the builders now say that they don’t need access to that room so her work was, if not unnecessary, certainly less urgent than she thought).

I had built up the fire in the bedroom in the afternoon and when we got back after dinner, I thought I would die from the fiery heat. I made Mr. Waffle sleep nearest the fire because I am kind that way. Motto: winter is not as cold as you might think in BA province.

Friday 18 August, 2023

The dawn chorus was deafening. I went out with Merlin and identified nearly a dozen birds. The most muscular cat I have ever seen in my life was sitting on the veranda outside our bedroom door looking grumpy and when I opened the door strolled in for a look around.

The kids loved the place and herself and Daniel both said separately that it reminded them of Ballyknocken where we have had very nice overnight breaks with Mr. Waffle’s family. It was similar in vibes rather than looks they explained and I knew what they meant.

We went horse riding around the estate. Honestly, it could have been a damp day in Kildare. I got Pancho, a very quiet horse that likes to eat grass (classic) and I really enjoyed it. So did herself but the others were, at best, more ambivalent.

When we got back, we had empanadas by the fire (lest we had got hungry since breakfast two hours previously) and hung out in the drawing room. Our host had arranged for us to keep our bedrooms for the day, which was a godsend, so we were able to lounge around very comfortably.

We had our asado lunch which was a lot of meat but fine. The young men who had accompanied us on our ride that morning were serving lunch. They had very much impressed me with their horse riding abilities and it was a bit surprising to find them handing out chops. Multitaskers, clearly.

Then we had some folk music and a truly impressive demonstration of horse training where our demonstrator seemed, if you ask me, to risk death.

Before we left, I went to pay for any extras – mostly laundry, I thought. And they said no. But what about the laundry, and so much of it, washed, ironed and folded overnight? “On the house,” they said. Honestly, would return in a heartbeat.

We were then driven back to BA. When we arrived the Airbnb was v nice but I found the explanations over-elaborate and the owner a bit over-anxious. We were all exhausted – I hadn’t thought it but maybe horse riding is tiring.

I made dinner for the first time on this holiday. I mean, it was pasta and packet pasta sauce so not a huge effort. The sauce, alas, had the consistency of soup. Unsatisfactory.

Will my next entry be the end of the Argentine odyssey? Stay tuned for further excitements.

Monday August 14, 2023

We went up to 3,500 metres in the Cactus National Park (show them what they like). Finally, here are some pictures of snow in the mountains.

Note the extremely unpaved nature of the road. Was I glad not to be driving? I most definitely was.

I became even gladder as we went up to “the bishop’s viewing point” along extremely narrow, winding unpaved roads. Weirdly it reminded me a little bit of Kerry.

Braving R’s disapproval we went to inspect the local tat for sale nearby. Herself got a necklace with a stylised suri bird and I bought a little polished stone chinchilla (“the animal of love,” the vendor told me earnestly, not everywhere you would have to say).

We saw many cows (weird), llamas, horses and donkeys in the desert landscape.

Also there were lots of places that weren’t connected to the electricity mains but were solar powered – even houses that looked pretty basic tended to have their own solar panels. I couldn’t help thinking it would be a great place to shoot a period film as electricity lines seemed to be non-existent.

R had taken the opportunity to pick up some goat and also some llama salami at the market. We ate it in the van. I can definitely confirm that it does not taste like chicken. Notwithstanding our consumption of exotic salami, we stopped for lunch in a traditional road side café. I should have said that the van always contained water and a range of snacks lest we needed to be nourished at any point during the journey. I don’t know when I last ate quite as much.

R pointed out to us that the jacaranda flowers were out and that spring had started very early. We made some combined gloomy noises about the impacts of climate change but those of us who had flown 10,000 kms to be there felt poorly positioned to take the high moral ground.

We wended our way back to Salta where, to my disappointment, we were staying in a different hotel from the place where we had got the brilliant laundry service. R said we would love it as a trendy boutique hotel and it was nice with huge bedrooms but it felt a bit like a boutique hotel that you could find anywhere. We were given the afternoon off which was a huge thrill. However, deep regret here, the boutique hotel had no pool. Was I to be forever thwarted in my desire to enjoy swimming pools in Argentine hotels? Spoiler alert: broadly yes.

We needed to change money and R took Mr. Waffle off to some exciting street corner operation trying to find the very best rate (something R regarded as a personal challenge). Mr. Waffle went with some trepidation. Following the primary election results where Milei did unexpectedly well the exchange rate went 700 pesos to the dollar, up from 500 when we arrived. It did fall back a bit later as the markets calmed down but this is a country that has defaulted on its debt nine times since it got independence from the Spanish in 1816 and, probably, more pertinently three times since 2001 so the markets are a bit wary. The poor old Argentinians.

The rest of us went to a second hand book shop with, sadly for us, no foreign language books at all, and then repaired to a café for a restorative cup of tea.

R, finally acknowledging my need to buy local tat brought us to the most brilliant market slightly outside Salta. The stuff there was amazing and I bought so many nice things. Delighted with myself. I bought a cactus wood bread basket, safe for export, since you’re asking.

For dinner, we had expressed a desire to have choripan again – reliving our first experience in BA. Our lovely driver M, said to R, “Leave it to me” and brought us to a local street side place. We had so much fun. R said, “You are an all-terrain family.” Which he meant as a compliment because he loves his jeep but also was not true as we were definitely not the kind of Andean climbers he was used to. In fairness, he was an all-terrain guide.

Tuesday, August 15, 2023

The boys decided that they would like to stay home and it was with some hesitation that I abandoned them in Salta while the rest of us headed off.

First we went to Tastíl to inspect more ruins. Again, we had the place to ourselves. 

There were rabbit like animals all over the place.  “Not rabbits, viscacha,” corrected R.  Although like rabbits, they are apparently unrelated. On first inspection, they have very different tails but quite similar ears. Cute.

R showed us how when you hit some of the rocks they were musical because they had metal in them.  More entertaining than it sounds. Your genius photographer took this snap.

We went up to 3500 metres and all was well.  We saw the old railroad for the mines.  R told us that there were huge Chinese operations extracting lithium around here.  He said that up in some of the mines all of the signs were in Chinese as well.  We all felt a bit ambivalent about this but the Chinese will lend to the Argentinians as I understand it and this is something most people seem to be backing away from.

R said that the fifth largest salt flat in the world is in the Andes.  Who knew?

Then we went to this old mining town (now much expanded), San Antonio de los Cobres, for our lunch.  This is a bit like what I imagine the Klondike was like.  It all felt thrown up and very rough and ready.  I see from the internet that the water there comes with extra arsenic. This was not covered over lunch.

We went for a walk near the highest point we had been to (4080 metres).  Herself and I felt fine but poor Mr. Waffle was really not very well.  The altitude did not suit him.  R spent a long time explaining the concept of Puna to us.  It seems to mean high altitude in the Andes but it’s related a bit to how you feel as well as the altitude.

There were many fields of llamas all of which I failed to photograph.

I finally broke R and we started speaking French.  God, I was delighted with myself.  He was very complimentary about my companions’ French and he took it upon himself to correct mine (that sounds sarcastic but we welcome opportunities for self-improvement).  He asked herself about how her French got so good and she explained that she had spent time at school in Tours.  She has previously told me that all French people know Tours and they know two things about it: i) it is where they speak the best French and ii) it is the most boring town in France.  R conformed to type.

When we got back to Salta it was to find that the boys had managed very well in our absence and rather than sticking to the hotel and room service (which was what I thought would happen) had been out and about and got themselves lunch in town.

That evening we went out to a “Peña” which is dinner and music and a big feature of Salta.  Mr. Waffle stayed home to recover but the rest of us trotted out.  We didn’t have dinner (an asado, the famous Argentine barbecue) until 10 but we were totally adapted to Argentine hours so that was fine.  The music was all very atmospheric and that but those of us who had been trekking at altitude earlier in the day were exhausted so we called it a night relatively early.

Stay tuned for further adventures when our heroes return to the big city.

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.

Then 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 nice bistro recommended by R. I have no recollection of what we ate but I 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 through 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. After fighting and defeating them, the Spanish made the locals walk to a town near BA which is now called Quilmes. Even after having been to the museum, I’m a bit unclear what the Spanish thinking was. I suppose to get rid of any last temptation to rebel. It’s a two hour flight away so they must have been walking for a very long time and very many of them died en route.

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.