USA, Mexico and beyond...

We mooched around the city, and were amazed at how busy the place was. We had known that it was a popular destination, and that this was the busiest time of year, but we had no idea that the place would be as packed as it was. We already knew that Argentineans liked to go out late at night, and here in Mar Del Plata, the place started buzzing around 11pm, when the early birds would go out for dinner. Clubs didn’t even open til midnight, and the revelry continued until well into the morning of the next day.

We spent the next few days exploring more of the city, we hung out with Adrian, visited my distant cousins, and ate more meat than advisable.
Luis was a perfect host, with many friends, who took it in turns to come to his house to eat Asada with his British guests.We spent the next few days exploring more of the city, we hung out with Adrian, visited my distant cousins, and ate more meat than is generally advisable for human consumption.

I had wanted to visit the falls at Iguazu since I’d lived in St Martin and heard stories of how amazing the spectacle was to behold from travellers I had met there. It was sure to be one of the highlights of the trip.I had wanted to visit the falls at Iguazu since I’d lived in St Martin and heard stories of how amazing the spectacle was to behold from travellers I had met there. It was sure to be one of the highlights of the trip.

The "Carnival Show" at the hostel in Iguazu

The city had a slightly oppressive feel to it, and try as I may, I couldn’t get excited about it. After being in Buenos Aires, which had turned out to be one of our favourite cities, Cordoba was definitely a step down, to say the least. We rode out of buenos Aires in searing heat, northeast towards Cordoba, and arrived in the city centre 8 hours after we pulled out of Luis’ garage.

On the way to Cordoba, at last , the Argentinian roads began to get exciting again

We headed out of town, our third attempt to get out of Cordoba, we passed Capilla del Monte, and rode north toward Salta. The rain had had a serious effect on much of the road we travelled, sections were washed away and replaced with brick red mud, others under a good few inches of water.We headed out nice and early again the next day, but had only been going for a half hour or so before I heard an unusual sound coming from the bike. We pulled over and tried to find the noise, but after several attempts, we couldn’t find its source. We got back on the road, and the sound returned.

We noticed immediately the difference between Brazil and the other South American countries we had visited.
There were far less jalopies on the road, and no more grazing cows or wandering horses by the side of the pavement. The roads were in pretty poor shape, yet there was a tollbooth almost every 150kms.

The only thing that eased the pain of having to pay to ride on potholed, single lane highways, was that the symbol for a motorbike on each of the toll booth price lists was an old Harley Davidson FXR.A couple of recovery days later, with our bags full of clean clothes, a fresh tub of Marmite, Jacquie’s favourite, and a few extra plastic bags full of herbs from Myles’ cabinet, we left our mates behind and made our way to Sao Paolo. We rode out of the city, and onto the highway. We passed through another bunch of tollbooths on this road.

We were put in a dorm with no fan, no air con and no windows, and were told that the rate quoted on the Internet was incorrect and had now gone up. We took the grumpy reception staff to task, and soon found that almost every guest in the hostel had a gripe about something or other, and soon there were a dozen disgruntled guests behind me voicing their complaints, which must have proved to much for the receptionists, who after telling us to go forth and multiply, promptly walked out of the building, leaving a group of dazed and confused travellers in their wake.

We booked ourselves on a trip to see the largest favella in Rio, Rocinha. We wouldn’t usually for the organised group tour, but an unguided stroll through a Favella of some 250,000 inhabitants, policed and run by machine gun toting drug lords and narcos didn’t hold much appeal either. We booked ourselves on a trip to see the largest favella in Rio, Rocinha. We wouldn’t usually for the organised group tour, but an unguided stroll through a Favella of some 250,000 inhabitants, policed and run by machine gun toting drug lords and narcos didn’t hold much appeal either.