In the last decade Moscow has received a major uplift. All historical buildings have been restored or even rebuilt in place of ugly 70-s structures, asphalt walkways are being replaced with paving-stone, the city is full of neat restaurants and cafés catering to all tastes and budgets.
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Night Moscow
Moscow at night, all lit-up and fancy, is quite a marvel. All the oil and gas mega-billions pumped out of the whole country of Russia transit its capital city on the way to Western banks, not without leaving a mark of vapid self-congratulatory consumerism and sheer opulence of new construction and restoration projects.
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Kursk
An old industrial city amidst Russia's fertile Black-Soil Belt, it is situated on the very edge of the original agricultural area bordering the nomadic steppes, and until the 16th century was a part of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania.
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Countryside
What is better for a jaded city dweller than a getaway to the quiet pleasures of the countryside: forest walks, sunset-watching, mushroom-picking, gardening, barbecuing and all imaginable types of gluttony.
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Korennaya Pustyn'
The Hermitage of Theotokos of Kursk, Found Among the Roots is the somewhat cumbersome literal translation of the name of this great Russian monastery. A big part of its fame it owes to one of Russia' most famous saints: Seraphim of Sarov as well as the fact that it used to host one of the largest fairs in Imperial Russia.
Right nearby the monastery is the fortified bunker from whence Marshal Zhukov commanded over the largest tank battle in history: over 2 million infantry, 6,300 tanks and 4,400 aircraft involved on both sides.
Morocco truly is a fairytale land. Pushy market touts, dignified poverty and dubious hygiene may never merit a mention in fairytales, it is a fairytale land nevertheless.
A step away from the swank Art Nouveau boulevards packed with latest import cars there are sun-scorched comely men in jellabas and pointed-nose slippers pensively drinking fragrant mint tea in fountain-cooled tiled patios while storks watch them perched in their nests on top of half-crumbled minarets. It's exactly the kind of Orient you thought only existed in 19th century travel books. Dive into the baffling maze of a medina, breathe in the ubiquitous gentle whiff of spices, mix in with the colourful jostling crowds in the souks and it's so easy to imagine yourself in a Hauff's fairytale.
Morocco is abuzz with great home-grown music. Local styles - rai and chaabi - married with modern beats produce some really catchy tunes that unfortunately do not make it outside the Maghrebi world. Moroccan Arabic sounds beautiful sung.
Casablanca
Fast sprawling metropolises like Casablanca can be found in any modern developing country. The signs of uncontrolled growth are everywhere: high-rise office towers and shanty communities, traffic jams and fancy night clubs. Chic an squalor rub shoulders here in a heady mix of rush for success and desperate resolve. Morocco's New York, its tempo of life is fast-paced, keep up or give up.
Casablanca is a convenient arrival point rather than a tourist destination in its own right but it does have its charm: stylish government buildings dating from the Protectorate era, the Sqala fortress, French Art Nouveau and Art Deco architecture on Boulevard Mohammed V, the frenetic markets of the Old Medina. The second largest religious building in the world, the Mosque of Hassan II sending laser beams towards Mecca is the only one in Morocco which non-Muslims can visit.
First it shocks you, then you get used to the sight, but you still want an explanation: the peculiar Moroccan custom of banging your weenie against the wall, fence, or a tree after peeing. Is it a hygienic measure or a sort of territorial assertion? We did not summon enough guts to enquire...
Rabat
Verdant and nicely laid out, the capital of Morocco is a very pleasant city. In the unmistakeably French ville nouvelle, Moorish Art Nouveau official buildings are lined on wide boulevards graced with fountains and rows of palm trees. The dazzlingly white Cathédrale Saint-Pierre is a beautiful specimen of French entre-les-guerres architecture.
The charming kasbah in the Old City picturesquely perched over a busy beach is a real tourist delight. The houses are painted white and deep sky blue making you feel as if you were swimming in a fish bowl. The Andalusian Garden offers a Moroccan folk art museum and a welcome shade from the scorching sun while the café right next to it - delicious drinks, snacks and pleasant sea views.
Rabat is Morocco's official capital and the never-ending white walls and gleaming green (the Prophet's colour!) gates of the vast Royal Palace remind you of the King's presence in the city. The palace is not open for casual visitors but you are welcome to the dazzling Mausoleum of Mohammed V guarded by remarkably good-looking horsemen in traditional military outfits. Designed by a Vietnamese architect, the Mausoleum overlooks a gigantic square that was meant to be the praying hall of the largest mosque in the Muslim world back in 1195. However, only its monumentally tall minaret, the Hassan Tower, was finished. All that architectural exuberance is situated on top of a hill that offers panoramic views of the city and the Atlantic Ocean.
The abandoned Chellah fortress on the outskirts of the city dates back from the 14th century and has a sadly nostalgic air about it, straight from a Hauff's fairytale. Even from the ruins, that have never known any restoration, you can appreciate the scale and sophistication of what used to be the Sultan's palace. The site claimed to be founded by Carthaginians, contains such unlikely neighbours as the ruins of a Roman city, a Sultan's mausoleum and derelict tombs of Muslim saints. Stork nests perched on top of forlorn minarets overlook a lovely flower garden - the only signs of life in this once mighty stronghold. A true necropolis - city of the dead - it is a poignant reminder of the transience of human ambitions and aspirations.
Safe, clean, efficient and inexpensive railway system is one of the good things Morocco inherited from the French Protectorate era. There are a plenty of excellent photo ops as the train unhurriedly chugs along but these days may be numbered as plans for a high speed train link have been revealed.
Tangier
Its rough reputation a thing of the past, Tangier is quite a pleasant place very reminiscent of Southern Spain. Just avoid the ferry port area with its notorious touts and arrive at Tangier's squeaky clean train station. There is an air of certain nostalgia lingering in this city full of vestiges of the bygone times when, under international administration, it became a melting pot of nations, a hotbed of international espionage and a meeting place for world celebrities.
Famed for its romantic and sensuous exoticism during its heyday, Tangier was the place where "throbbed the heartbeat of the world", a sort of North-African branch of Paris, then the intellectual and cultural capital of the world. Its bohemian lifestyle attracted and inspired the likes of Eugène Delacroix, Edgar Degas and Henri Matisse and later Tennessee Williams, Truman Capote, William Burroughs, Ernest Hemingway and Gertrude Stein.
These days the once infamous Petit Socco is only alive with afternoon coffee sippers and the floridly ornamental Hotel Continental once patronized by the mighty and famous is now more full of charm than guests.
The tombs of Phoenician seamen who established a port here in the 8th century BC can be found on the sandy beach next to the medieval kasbah. Half-worn letters engraved on the ancient tombstones are remarkably similar and, in fact, directly related to Morocco's native Berber alphabet. On top of the hill, the graceful white-washed Palais du Mendoub boasts a charmingly unkempt Andalusian garden and mosaic fountains. From there one can enjoy sweeping vistas of the busy haven and the hazy shores of Spain.
Palm tree lined Avenue d'Espagne, running along the seashore, is where local residents go for paseo, a customary evening stroll, or a cup of flavourful mint tea in one of the many cafés. A powerful mix of fresh mint and green tea, it goes perfectly well with traditional Moroccan sweets, of which there are tens of sorts, all richly sweet and delicious. Pungent and colourful fresh markets in the ever busy medina hide underground from the heat and overflow with tantalising produce.
One thing I learnt in Morocco is to be generous. There is no social security like in Western Europe, the powers that be do not care and people work hard long hours to support their families, so a few dirhams you give a craftsman or a professional story-teller for taking a picture of him can make a difference for that day. Just don't go ego-tripping and feel rich and mighty! Your humility is the purpose of this exercise.
Fès
For the truly medieval, mysterious, Harun al-Rachid kind of experience go to Fès. Brace yourself for a shock, because if you thought that "claustrophobic maze of streets" was a just figure of speech, you were very wrong. It will be definitely like nothing you have ever seen before. Any sense of direction will be baffled in the endless labyrinth of crowded narrow lanes splitting at impossible angles into myriads more, ending up in most unexpected places. No map or friendly stranger will be of help, just pray for your luck and keep going until you reach your destination, if ever at all.
Houses in Fès are fascinating the way all the design and architectural style is present only on the inside - and it is very often truly stunning - while on the outside you will see but faceless mud-coloured walls. Only the richly decorated doors may betray what wonders are hidden behind them.
World's oldest university in continuous operation, the Al-Qarawiyyin, was founded here in 859. While Europe was still suffering through the Dark Ages, Arab scholars were receiving scientific degrees and upholding Classical learning tradition in Fès.
Moroccans are easily one of the best-looking peoples I have ever encountered. Genetically close to Iberians, they come predominantly from the ancient Berber stock, hence the ubiquitous green, grey and even blue eyes. Genetic studies confirm that Arabization was mostly cultural so, technically, it is not even completely correct to call Moroccans Arabs. Whether lighter tinted or with Black African traits as in the South, they are a gorgeous looking nation. As you walk in the streets, you are confronted with scores upon scores of stunning men and women, a true feast for the eye.
Marrakesh
Once known as Morocco City, Marrakesh is the heart of the country. Its bustling souks (markets), country's largest, and the night extravaganza of the Jamaa el-Fna Square are quite a heady experience. All quintessential Moroccan delights are to be found here: exciting aromas, exquisite handicrafts, traditional street performers, the art of bargaining, sultry hammams and tranquil riads. It is the kind of experience you have to pause for, take a break, kick back and let the vibe envelop you.
Outside the traditional quarters, go to be amazed with the modern architecture of Marrakesh. It is always a tasteful mix of the old and modern: Whether a faithful copy of the typical Maghrebi style or a Moorish-inspired Neo-Classical, Moroccan Art Deco or functionalist structure. Local architectural and decorative traditions easily blends with modern building techniques and aesthetics but a lot of credit should be given to the artistic sense of beauty and measure and a mindful adherence to native heritage.
Tizi'n'Tichka, Ouarzazate and Aït Benhaddou
Adobe-brick fortified towns, lush palmeries, multicoloured canyons, whimsically shaped boulders, oases in arid mountain valleys - that is the Ouarzazate region for you. Founded by the French Foreign Legion in 1926, the city is entirely built in the local mud fortress architectural style, of which the French-managed Ibis Moussafir Hotel is a good example.
The road from Marrakesh to Ouarzazate goes via the perilous Tizi'n'Tichka crossing lying at the altitude of 2,300 metres. It consists of hundreds of hairpin turns, none of them with any trace of railing. It can be very treacherous at night, what we discovered when we nearly fell off a precipice in a torrential rain that was washing off huge boulders onto the road surface. That may have been the closest brush with death I have ever had.
The fortified city of Aït Benhaddou lies not far away from Ouarzazate. Its spectacular appearance attracted generations of film-makers as it served as a location for, among others, Lawrence of Arabia, The Last Temptation of Christ and Gladiator.
The Dadès Gorges
'Totally worth the long and arduous trip' - that was our resume about the Dadès Gorges -- a photogenic crack in the Atlas Mountains with a rapid stream and ochre-coloured villages at the bottom. Breathtaking views all along the ride will be your reward for navigating the never-ending serpentine. Barren ochre landscape is interspersed with green oases where date palms and even what looks like birch groves thrive on underground water.
As we drove back from the Dadès Gorges, the sun sank down beneath the horizon and soon total darkness engulfed the rocky desert. The only sort of light now were the headlights of our car. When we stopped and turned them off, the world vanished into complete blackness and our stomachs plunged. It was so terrifying, we could not take it for more than a minute, a dip into nothingness our brains were not prepared to take. As we sped away, I cranked up the radio as a reassurance that the populated world is out there and put the spine-chilling experience behind.
Zillij - Maghrebi mozaic
Drawing humans and animals being prohibited by Islam, artists had to resort to developing highly intricate and - to the knowing eye - meaning-loaded geometrical and plant-inspired patterns. Arranging those - apart from the labour involved - is definitely no easy business.
Real zillij is made by hand - coloured tiles are broken into even pieces and then are painstakingly arranged in beautiful patterns. This bone-breaking job is by far underappreciated and underpaid and, unfortunately, the craft is slowly dying out.
Moroccan countryside
Ranging from dingy to awesome - the Moroccan countryside is an experience for a seasoned adventurer. If you manage to laugh off the inevitable annoyances, your reward as a traveller will be manifold. Scorched and parched during the dry spells it springs to life in lush ochre, red and green after a rain - you understand then why Moroccans love their land.
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!
In the last decade Moscow has received a major uplift. All historical buildings have been restored or even rebuilt in place of ugly 70-s structures, asphalt walkways are being replaced with paving-stone, the city is full of neat restaurants and cafés catering to all tastes and budgets.
Moscow at night, all lit-up and fancy, is quite a marvel. All the oil and gas mega-billions pumped out of the whole country of Russia transit its capital city on the way to Western banks, not without leaving a mark of vapid self-congratulatory consumerism and sheer opulence of new construction and restoration projects.
An old industrial city amidst Russia's fertile Black-Soil Belt, it is situated on the very edge of the original agricultural area bordering the nomadic steppes, and until the 16th century was a part of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania.
What is better for a jaded city dweller than a getaway to the quiet pleasures of the countryside: forest walks, sunset-watching, mushroom-picking, gardening, barbecuing and all imaginable types of gluttony.
The Hermitage of Theotokos of Kursk, Found Among the Roots is the somewhat cumbersome literal translation of the name of this great Russian monastery. A big part of its fame it owes to one of Russia' most famous saints: Seraphim of Sarov as well as the fact that it used to host one of the largest fairs in Imperial Russia.
