Chapter Eleven

ON our way out of Brazil we had our entry visas cancelled at the Border and after crossing a bridge over the Iguazu river which divides Brazil from its southern neighbour, we stopped and were granted our Argentinian entry visas. It might of some interest to know that all citizens of the EU, and that includes Ireland, of couse, get virtually automatic entry visas to most countries in South America unlike, say, citizens of the US, Australia, New Zeland and South Africa as well as others who require pre-entry visas. A bit of a chore when you are visiting many countries consecutively.

So being a citizen of the EU does have its advantages, another of which is the strong value of the Euro against most, but not all, world currencies. When one goes into a Casa de Cambio , literally a Money Exchange House, either at an airport or at the border, you can exchange your 'old' money for that of the country you are now entering. In most countries, we instead used our plastic Cirrus cards to obtain the currency of the country we had just entered, with one exception - Venezuela - where some unofficial money exchangers were offering up to 50% more than the official exchange rate provided one was selling either Euros or US Dollars. It is a measure of the respect with which the European currency is now regarded around the world. We had dollars to sell.

On the streets of Puerto Iquazu one noticed indigenous Indian men, complete with feathered headgear sell their artisanal work to visitors and tourists like ourselves. But on reflection it was a sad sight to see these 21st century descendants of a once proud people sell their craftwork for little money to those whose ancestors claimed to be the 'discoverers' of their 'New World'.

On to the Argentine side of the Falls where Tony and I, like thousands of others, walked along a specially constructed and extremely safe platform right over the top of a section of the Falls. Tony, as you may know, has a fear of heights. But he plucked up the courage to 'walk the walk' over the Falls, though it was quite obvious to other people around him that he was extremely nervous.

For myself, I had no difficulty but I was emotionally overwhelmed by it all, especially that part of the walkway which took us to a spot known as Diablo Garganta or, in English, The Devil's Throat. And well it might be called by that name, for the roar of the water as it plunges to the deadly depths below is, if I may borrow a phrase, gargantuan in all respects. I was, I am slightly ashamed to admit, overcome with mixed emotions, both with the sheer terror and danger of theis natural wonder and the beauty and energy of it all and, I must add, I cried a teaar.

The bus journey from Pureto Iguazu to Buenos Aires was over 1,600 kms or 1,100 miles in length. That may seem like a terrible long distance to spend in a bus. In all, it took 17 hours to make the trip. By the way, the tickets cost the equivalent of 37 euro each.

But I discovered that by paying extra, and going to a bus operator which provides more comfortable reclining seats, one could take much of the tedium out of such journeys - though not in all cases. On route to the Argentine capital, for instance, we were served a hot dinner by an on-board hostess with accompanying red or white wine. While it was not Chateau Neuf de Pape or Chablis, it was palatable and welcome. Dinner was finished off with a free whiskey. Then it was out with the blankets and pillows, supplied by the bus company, for pleasant dreams while our drivers drove through the night.

Not all bus journeys were as civilised as this.

Next morning we arrived relatively fresh in Buenos Aires, a city with a population of 13 million, accounting for about a third of the 39 million population of the country. It is the most 'European' of South American cities. It's people look like Europeans and well they might, since many of them are descendants of the Spanish, German, British, Italian, not forgetting us Irish, who helped found this once great and still proud nation that is a shining beacon in sports, the arts, culture and literature.

Our hotel was in a pedestrian shopping street called Lavelle, just a few ninutes away from the beating core of the city - Avenida de 9 de Julio (9th of July Avenue). The taxi man who drove us to the edge of this precinct smiled and joked and said he understood the name Lavelle was a French one, but Tony mentioned its popularity in the West of Ireland.

On the mention of Ireland, he asked how the former bette noir of the Argentine military - Margaret Thatcher - was doing. On hearing she now had Alzheimers Disease, he laughted and said it was rather funny that she was now 'loco'. We did not share his amusement. But, truthfully, neither had the steel-hearted and brass-necked former Iron Lady impressed us and millions of others when she held power.

The weather in Buenos Aires was pleasant and temperate, like a pleasing May day in Ireland. It was now Spring in the Southern Hemisphere and it took some mental gymnastics for us to accept the sun was coming over the northern horizon to greet us each day. We were comfortable in this city. Our visit was not in the nature of a culture-vulture one; we ate the traditionally big Argentinian steaks, drank the national wines, and I took the opportunity to buy jewellery and trinkets from hippies and indigenous people who sell from the pavements from 6pm onwards.

The city of the Southern Cross newspaper and the Buenos Aires Hurling and Social Club is not, however, without social problems; timber shacks serve as home for the poor on the outskirts, within the city we have seen hungry children grasp partially-eaten left over meals and drinks on tables in cafes and flee. Street begging is also a problem.

Peugeot 504's are still a frequent sight on the streets of the capital. Outside BA, old Renault 12's are still plentiful. A Renault 16 of the type we once owned was spotted and Tony said he saw several very old Fiat 600's, one of which he owned sometime in the 19th century. But, me being a young one, I know nothing obout motor antiques !!!!!

A free open-air concert of circus-type music held our attention one day in the theatreland section of the city and on another we were treated to exhibitions of the tango - the sensual dance that has a long association with this country. We resolved that should an opportunity occur in the future to re-visit, we would grasp it with open arms, no pun intended.

Now on another long journey, almost 1,200 miles, this time to a city in the north called Salta. Some might describe it as an undistinguished place, though it does have a population of 465,000, and a Swiss-made cable car which climbs 1,016 meters (3,150 feet) to the top of San Bernardo Hill on the outskirts in just eight minutes. Needless to say, we could not resist the challenge. Tony again turned up trumps and came to the top with me. But he hung on for dear life on the way up and turned his back to the city on the way down in order to avoid sight of the sheer drop underneath.

It was in this city that we first tasted Salta negre cerveza, a 100% black beer, not a stout mind you, with a head on it that disappeared much quicker than that of a Guinness. Naturally.

Next it was off to an Argentinian Border town called La Quiaca, with a population of 15,000 and standing 3,640 metres high or 11,285 feet above sea level. We had, after all, to accommodate ourselves to the much greater heights that were yet to come, and there was no point in 'parachuting' in to these places at the last moment. That would only be a recipe for disaster. Before leaving Ireland we decided not to fly into countries or locations at great altitude but to gradually accommodate ourselves by climbing steadily on a graduated basis.

La Quiaca was a sad, forlorn and miserable border town. Some streets were dug up, pavements were broken up, and it was hard to find a decent place to eat, though the accommodiation we stayed in was impeccable. Above us the sun shone brightly with great heat and intensity. Not a cloud in the sky. But it was the absence of those clouds at night and the great height of the landscape that quickly changed the heat of the day to the cold of the night, as anyone whos has lived in high altitudes knows.

Next morning it was up bright and early. Apart from having to adjust and take a deep breath after minor exertion, we werre feeling no altitude ill-effects.

As we made our way out of this characterless town to the Argentinian border post to have our entry visas cancelled, for we were now leaving this pleasant land, the sun was again shining.

We crossed a nondescript bridge over the almost dried- up Rio Villazon and, suddenly, a new country beconed us. We were heading for The Roof of the World.

Mas adelante (More later).