Pro's: Well, Argentina has it all: culture, nature, great food & wine, friendly locals. Safe, modern, convenient; good roads, high standards of the hospitality & catering industry.
Con's: The distances are enormous. Gotta habler Español in the countryside.
In a nutshell: One can't get enough of Argentina.
Argentina truly has it all: the sultry tropics of Misiones and the alligator- infested swamps of Formosa, the Incan ruins of Jujuy and the Antarctic glaciers of Ushuaia, grand old cities and rustic wine-growing countryside, the mesmerizingly blue Alpinesque lakes of Bariloche and the dramatic sky-propping Andes, llamas in the mountains and penguins on the Atlantic coast. One thing for sure: no matter how much time you travel there, wonders never cease.
Our 6,500-km drive took us from the sentimental boulevards of Buenos Aires by way of the marshlands of Littoral to the tropical North, then through the sun-scorched northern pampas to the snow-capped Andes, down to the wine-growing region around La Rioja and via the picturesque hilly Sierras back to Buenos Aires.
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Contrary to what many, including the US Department Of State, would have you believe driving in Argentina is a breeze. Signposting may sometimes be far and between but out of the six and half thousand kilometres just about 30 were rather bad, the rest allowed easily for cruising at over 100 kmph. European-style multi-lane highways are rare but the country is sparsely populated so the traffic outside big cities is very light. The police were courteous if hardly English-speaking. Reading po-faced bile-spouting by culture-shocked Americans on TripAdvisor and Frommers gave me a gnawing suspicion that I must have travelled to an Argentina in a parallel universe.
There are document checks on the provincial borders but thanks to that general safety on the roads is pretty impressive. There are thousands of cattle grazing in the fields, but we hardly saw any on the roads. None of the Third World hazards, this is Argentina!
Argentina is so full of tourist wonders that many are not even marked on any map. The locals must be so used to such a natural abundance or, perhaps, it is assumed that Argentines already know it and foreign visitors are too few to cater to. The lovely brochures we found in the Argentine Embassy in The Hague were full of generic lovely pictures and vacuous write-up, good enough as a coffee-table read but hardly of any use to a curious explorer.
You really need to know how to get to the Cabra Corral Dam to find it. An unsignposted exit off the national route leads to an unpaved road that does not promise much to a sightseer. We kept persisting because we were lucky enough to have the only existing map where tourist attractions were designated. Our reward was a magnificent view of a huge water mirror rimmed with picturesque mountains. White yachts moored along its shores and the warm humid air made Ascona on the Lago Maggiore immediately spring to mind. The water is kept inside this artificial lake by a 93-metre dam, a remarkable feat of engineering highly popular among bungee-jumpers. Our further descend from the Saltan heights brought us to the phantasmagoric rocks of the Quebrada de Las Conchas, the Gorge of Shells in Spanish. Whimsically monickered Devil's Throat, Amphitheatre, Toad, Friar and Castles quite live up to their names. Such bizarre rock formations crafted by thousands of years of water and wind erosion would be a national park anywhere else but in Argentina they are just a drive-by curiosity of nature.
Thousands of cawing crows nest in towering ochre cliffs. This eerie landscape was once inhabited by a number of native tribes. There are still people living here in mud huts with llamas grazing nearby. into The abandoned dwelling we peeped inside looked cramped and austere, haunted by the ghosts of obstinate persistence in the face of hopeless poverty.
We did not pay enough heed to the clouds gathering on the horizon but we really should have. We could see them unloading far away and that gave us a false sense of relief. But things in nature are connected in mysterious ways. Just a few kilometres from Cafayate, a swollen stream apparently fed by that distant downpour flooded the road and the traffic stopped. Long rows of vehicles lined up on both sides of the water vigorously eating its way through the softened road. Watching the stones noisily rolling down the stream, we were thinking about our almost empty gas tank. Other disheartened travellers stood around excitedly chatting or quietly contemplating the water slowly spreading wider and wider.
This big despondent stalemate continued until a huge antique bus loaded to the brim with farmers and their produce braved the troubled waters without even pausing to ponder the risks of such an undertaking. The weather-bitten face of the driver had just half a smug smirk as the muddy water splashed into all directions under the bus wheels. First the trucks and four-wheel-drives followed the suit. After a few smaller passenger cars made the crossing we summoned enough guts to try it too - with a success!
We made it to the outdoors capital Cafayate on our last drops of petrol. Rarely does the Esso sign stir such an explosion of joy and celebration. Cafayate, a laid-back and atmospheric town is surrounded by nature wonders that attract thousands of local outdoorsy types ever year. The street between the Plaza de Armas and the post office is full of excellent - and this comes from someone who really does not care for mantelpiece dust-gatherers of any kind - souvenir shops. An abundant choice of beautifully designed and useful handicrafts and clothes, medicinal herbs and herbal teas, all reasonably priced sent me into a wee shopping spree.
This town is worth staying for at least a few days but we only have time for dinner to reward us for the stress of fording the wayward stream in the Quebrada de Las Conchas. The Native American influence is strong in local cuisine and local wine is a perfect accompaniment to gently flavoured tamales and humitas - corn husk wraps.
The picture- perfect vineyards sprawling around Cafayate are home to the fragrant Torrontés, Argentina's trademark white wine: think Alsatian Riesling, fresh and just vaguely sweetish, with an overpowering field flowers bouquet. At about 1,700 metres above sea level, it is owing to the area's mild microclimate that viticulture is possible at all.
The sunset is nigh but we decide to push on. There is never enough time for all worthy sites: we have to whiz by the site of a fortified city built by the Quilmes people who put up a fierce resistance against the Incas only to succumb to the Spaniards in the end. Well, perhaps, next time. As the darkness sets in, the road climbs up higher and higher. The tarmac grows thinner until what is designated as a national route on the map turns into a gravel path. By that time we are way up in the clouds that our car lights cannot cut through. Switchbacks follow one after another every few hundred meters.
Those very same rains that thwarted us just a few hours before caused a landslide block the road right after Tafi del Valley. Hunky policemen turn us back
The Talampaya - Argentina's own Monument Valley.
La Rioja is an unassuming little city with a strong countryside vibe set amidst Argentina's second largest wine-making area.
the quaint resort town of Capilla del Monte famous for Spanish villas, cabrito, holisitic medicine, a spectacular dam amidst some lunar-looking landscape as well as the Cerro Uritorco Mountain allegedly frequented by UFO's;
Making it to Salta, as any other road to a treasure trove, involves a true hurdle race. You have to cross a scarily long bridge over the Paraná, then drive many hours through the sun-scorched plains of Chaco, including a certain place called Pampa del Infierno roughly translated as Grassland from Hell.
As a blessing in disguise, herds of goats will slow you down on the way, so that you won't end up stuck in an occasional pothole on the road. Somewhere half way the misty-blue Andes start looming on the horizon like a promise of salvation from the ever-pervading heat. Just like us, you may happen upon a major butterfly breeding festival and you will find yourself driving through white fluttering clouds of those creatures, sticking in droves to the windshield and smothering the radiator.
There are, however, nice perks to the journey too, like dinner of surubí, a giant catfish, freshly caught from the Paraná, casual tango dancers in shopping malls and giant bull frogs in the streets - but don't let them dupe you into kissing them, just keep pushing on along the melting tarmac while the sun is steadily taking you over in its celestial heights!
The drive is long and arduous but so much the more alegría will brim your heart when in the dark of the night you make it over an eerie mountain crossing and from the top of it you finally get to see a sprawling valley flooded with electric light - Salta the Beautiful.
Salta is a moveable feast of the Andes. Its brightly lit streets lined up with nicely preserved colonial architecture exude a strong celebratory vibe. To confirm this, you only need to go to any of the many restaurants, where every night Salteños and their guests break down in joyful song and dance. Dining out in Salta is more akin to joining an extended family reunion than simple filling your stomach in a public place - everybody seems to know the lyrics of every song sung by the band and the punters' singing is nothing like drunk pub brawling but more like an amateur choir rehearsal. People are seated along the long tables, crowded with wine and food, children in tag, everything is enjoyed with mindful dignity and unhurried gusto.
It is not just about the atmosphere - wherever we went, food was cooked to perfection, the empanadas - meat and vegetable filled pastry - in Salta are among the best culinary experiences I ever had in my life. Matched with superb local wines grown on mineral-rich volcanic soil of the region, parilladas - mixed grills including everything from spicy sausages and lamb kidneys to llama steaks and beef spareribs - are indeed the proverbial experience not to be missed.
The area around the city is well worth exploring for its natural beauty, Salta's advertising slogan is Linda Por Naturaleza - "beautiful for its nature" - and it lives up to its every letter. Of the many spas, we visited the atmospheric Rosario de La Frontera, an all-inclusive balneological resort founded in 1880 that offers several types of locally extracted mineral waters for bathing or drinking as well as radon mud. For mere 20 pesos you will find yourself smeared and soaked in warm barro radiac that will make your ole tired joints and bones feel like new. You can finish it off with a dip in a warm mineral water pool or a beauty treatment session that involves fragrant essential oils and, surprise, local mineral salts.
Thence on, you may want to return to Salta, which after the sunset will cool down enough for Salteños to, as the local custom duly obliges, crawl out in the streets and fill the café terraces for night-time lounging over coffee, beer or even better, a bottle Argentine wine. Rested during the daytime siesta, they will stay up until very late, so it may not be wise to try and outstay them - for more natural wonders are awaiting you in Salta's wilderness tomorrow!
Whichever cardinal direction you choose to go the next day, no slightest whiff of disappointment will ever be in sight. To the east are the cool and damp cloud forests of the El Rey National Park, hiding tapirs, anteaters and peccaries amongst its epiphyte-covered thickets. To the north, though technically in the adjacent province of Jujuy but just a short ride away, lies the surreally multicoloured Quebrada de Humahuaca, rich in indigenous vestiges and heritage. To the west you can take the Train to The Clouds, which ones again lives up to every letter of its name - a vertiginous engineering feat that will transport you at mind-boggling altitudes through all shades and shapes of Andean scenery.
But the road to the south will take you the farthest: by way of the serene Cabra Coral Dam and the bizarre rocks and outcrops of the Quebrada de Las Conchas. If you don't pay attention to the rain-pregnant clouds on the horizon, you may, just like we did - not without a fright, need to ford a flooded road.
But, as always in Argentina, you will be rewarded manifold for your ordeal in the next stopover destination - Cafayate, Argentina's self-proclaimed capital of outdoor tourism. The vineyards surrounding the town produce torrontés - grape indigenous to this area used for making a most fragrant white wine reminiscent of the best Rieslings of Alsace. And the crispy clear mountain air is the best condiment one can think of for tamales and humitas served at 1700 metres above the sea level.
One of the most enjoyable aspects of travelling in Argentina is that even you feel lost out there in the spectacular wilderness, you are, in fact, never far away from the refined excesses of modern civilisation. Just when we thought that the landslides trapped us in the midst of the night, we only had to drive half a mile back and off the road to find ourselves served filet of sole by tuxedoed waiters. Every Andean village we visited had an ATM to duly supply us with cash and a camera shop to burn our digital pictures on a CD-ROM.
The magnificent Iguazu Falls are well worth the two-day dash from the moderate, very European climate of the capital to the tropical sultry abundance of Misiones, the province where the falls are situated. The elevated eight-lane speedway stops abruptly after Rosario and from the sophisticated Southern Europe-esque urbanity you descend into rural Latin America. It is not bad as it sounds: the traffic is light and the roads are well maintained.
We overnight in the next city on our way, the provincial capital Santa Fe de La Vera Cruz. It sits in the midst of a huge flat area, dominated by two mighty rivers: Paraná and Cayastá. The abundance of water makes sure that there is enough grass for the millions heads of cattle and horses raised for meat and milk here, the source of prosperity for local people, but there is a dangerous side to this. The year before we came, the whole city was flooded in the matter of just a few hours after torrential rains had swollen the rivers. Many areas stood under water for a week, the damage was devastating. As we walk in the streets, on every building wall you could see the marks of the water level at the time of the flood. Many were restored but quite a few were still left buried under rubble.
As elsewhere in Argentina, many central streets in Santa Fe are pedestrianised. Brightly lit-up and abuzz with casually smart crowds at night they are the centre of social life here. Many shops are open until 10 and most restaurants and bars are open well into the wee hours. There are no gangs of rowdy males making noise or constellations of binge-drunk females sleeping on street benches in their own vomit like in London or Dublin though. Latin drinking culture is of moderate enjoyment that accompanies copious meals.
Next morning we cross the Paraná through a subfluvial tunnel - that is a tunnel dug under a river . We emerge on the other side in the city of Paraná and get completely lost: there are no signposts and my 5 -day-old Spanish is enough to ask for directions but not understand them. Encouraged by my clear enunciation (I can parrot almost any sound) locals most accommodatingly erupt into detailed explanations of which I understand precious little. We follow more their energetic gestures than what they say and after long two hours we finally hit the right road. The journey goes on.
The Niagara may be larger in volume but the Iguazu makes good in sheer spectacularity: the multitudes of roaring cascades spread out over a long precipitous bend grown over with lush vegetation, the thunderous Garganta del Diablo ("Devil's Throat"), all crowned with a cloud of water mist rising 100 meter high.
A true feat of ingenuous engineering, the sprawling network of sturdy steel walkways allows you to walk under, over, across, through and behind the waterfalls in a kind of touristic Kamasutra. If that is not enough, you can take a bumpy speedboat ride inside a cascade - and you won't really know how you got wet! There is even a beach where you can cool yourself in the water whilst enjoying the dramatic backdrop. High tea at the nearby Sheraton is a nice way to finish the day without losing the falls completely out of sight.
For a change from the noisy water falls, we went to San Ignacio Mini - the Baroque ruins of a Jesuit- managed self- contained commune, complete with a canteen, school, workshops, penitentiary and cemetery. In the 17th century Guaraní Indians led by Spanish monks were studying there Latin, arithmetics and the Bible while working 6 hours a day making watches and building a 74-meter-tall cathedral in the middle of the wild jungle, thus escaping for a while extermination by the conquistadors. It was a somewhat condescending project aimed at civilising the "poor savages" but it did - if only for a while - save thousands of people from the horrors of slaving at sugar plantations. The ruins remaining today are a poignant monument to human idealism in this cruel world.
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A short drive from the falls there is a place where you can stand in Argentina while seeing Paraguay to your left and Brazil to your right across the river. Ciudad del Este on the Paraguayan side is reputedly the world's capital of trade in pirate goods but we are too tired from a day walking in scorching sun. It is time for some steak, wine and ensalada mixta, the omnipresent side order. Argentinians are notorious for their protein-rich diet and I understand why: there is no more flavourful and succulent beef anywhere else in the world. All cattle here is free-range, raised on wild grass and fresh water and any fodder enhancers and steroid injections are not allowed.
Paraguay is also the name of a wide and muddy river. There is a string of spacious camping sites on its shores. Red-earth beaches naturally equipped with barbecue ovens - this is Argentina! - are quite a sight to marvel, even if just for the vivid colours. The river bottom covered in thick grass is a bit eeky but the water feels like warm milk, enveloping you in soothing warmth!
When you land in Buenos Aires after a 14-hour flight mentally braced for the proverbial Latin American deal, you are in for a quite bizarre, alternative universe kind of experience. You find yourself in Mediterranean Europe but with a twist. As it goes, your brain first picks the familiar and only a little while later the differences start dawning on you. Laid back but efficient, Buenos Aires is a snazzy if a little faded mix of Barcelona and Milan with a princely dollop of Paris. There is no shortage of space in the New World, so the city is laid out generously. Its central thoroughfare, the 24-lane Avenida de Nove Julio is world's widest street and the enormous Teatro Colón that takes up a whole block is world's largest, seating a whopping two and half thousand.
Founded as early as in 1536 - just four decades after America was discovered - Buenos Aires has ever since been cultivated as a piece of the Old Country transplanted over the Atlantic. Every European architectural trend can be found here: Baroque and Neo-Classical cathedrals, Spanish colonial mansions, grand Art Nouveau buildings, Art Deco high-rises and a few obligatory Corbusier-influenced monstrosities. Until WWI Argentina was world's third richest country, and the opulence of those days is imprinted of its capital's grand architecture.
The wish to be as European as can be even led to some excesses when indigenous flora was mercilessly weeded out to give way to chestnut and poplar trees painstakingly imported across the ocean. Luckily, the city fathers came to their senses and lush jacarandas, ombús and eucalipti give the grand boulevardsand resplendent plazas of this fast and glamorous metropolis the exotic look that, considered the location, it deserves.
Porteños may speak Spanish but it is mostly Italian blood that pumps through their veins. Brisk and lucid, the local Rioplatense dialect sounds a delightful Italian staccato. Even McDonald's joints here have café sections where tiny cups of powerful aromatic espresso are served with fine cakes. But never is the indulgently hedonistic Mediterranean heritage more evident than every day at about 9 PM when the city comes abuzz with smartly dressed urbanites pouring out into the streets looking to quench their appetite for steak and wine, never-failingly superb here. Coincidentally, it is the same crowd that employs world's second largest army of shrinks (after New York) and plastic surgeons (after LA). There is something nostalgic about this city, a poignant flavour of half-forgotten dreams of an era gone by. Unscathed by both world wars and largely untouched by the excesses of post-modernity, Buenos Aires is what Southern Europe might have become without the Marshall Plan and EU directives. Its Subte - the underground system adorned with colourful Art Deco panneaux - is world's cheapest time machine. Two pesos deliver you straight into the Roaring 20s. The creaking carriages with the interior of leather handles, vintage mirrors and polished wood are the same that took around Cortazar and Borges around the oldest metro in Latin America, the Southern Hemisphere and, for that matter, the entire Spanish-speaking world. Sadly, they are being slowly but surely phased out by fast and cushy but faceless Japanese-made trains.
Argentina truly has it all: the sultry tropics of Misiones and the alligator- infested swamps of Formosa, the Incan ruins of Jujuy and the Antarctic glaciers of Ushuaia, grand old cities and rustic wine-growing countryside, the mesmerizingly blue Alpinesque lakes of Bariloche and the dramatic sky-propping Andes, llamas in the mountains and penguins on the Atlantic coast. One thing for sure: no matter how much time you travel there, wonders never cease.
Contrary to what many, including the US Department Of State, would have you believe driving in Argentina is a breeze. Signposting may sometimes be far and between but out of the six and half thousand kilometres just about 30 were rather bad, the rest allowed easily for cruising at over 100 kmph. European-style multi-lane highways are rare but the country is sparsely populated so the traffic outside big cities is very light. The police were courteous if hardly English-speaking. Reading po-faced bile-spouting by culture-shocked Americans on TripAdvisor and Frommers gave me a gnawing suspicion that I must have travelled to an Argentina in a parallel universe.
