It's been a long time coming…

Our final blog entry, and its me who has the honours! You see, now we're back home, the computers are faster, the connections are faster, and its more civilised to be sitting at a laptop in the comfort of your own home (well, the in-laws but close enough). I also have booze and tea on tap, so whilst the wife is out at work toiling for us both, I'll take a break from the job hunting and finish things off in Argentina…

We left Salta, and can't hype up this place anymore. This was the quintessential Argentina we'd hope we'd find, in the shadows of the Andes, immersed in culture from the woman hating gauchos to the rather-sexy-flamenco-dancers that frequented the Pena's into the early hours. The Best Wine In The World was found here…Los Haroldos Roble Malbec…my god that stuff in like nectar, and also the best beef I have tasted in Argentina so far. But, like all good things it comes to an end, so all aboard the bus to..erm..Cordoba.

We'd heard two stories about Cordoba. One went along the lines of "awesome place, heaped in culture and colonial flair". The other was more like "it's a sh*t hole". But, its half way to Buenos Aires so breaks up the journey..and for that reason alone, we boarded the bus (and its selection of dubious Spanish DVDs) for the mere 14 hour trip.

Should have gone with the second story. This place is not nice. It's a sh*thole in fact. I don't need to amble on about it in much detail, but previously, in the last week, students had rioted the outer suburbs. The aftermath had clearly migrated to the city centre, and the once great colonial buildings were now draped in tarpaulin and graffiti. We'd booked into a bed & breakfast, the hostel idea well and truly dead till we'd eventually reach Hotel Circus in Buenos Aires (more hotel than hostel). No complaints on the accommodation, and we had a smashing nights sleep. But, the city let us down on the other basics. We marched for like miles to find somewhere to eat, the "my god, this is the worse Rough Guide book to anywhere" was once again completely useless and most of the places it listed were now crumbling shells. We found possibly the only parilla in all of Cordoba where I believe we had the worse meal ever. Slimy (yes, slimy) chicken, floating in oil, barely cooked, with about 4 chips and a sprig of garnish. There was an unlimited salad bar, nicely stocked, but we binned that as well at the point Suze found a fried roach in her lettuce. I'll try and find a positive about this stop…but I can't so we packed, paid and made tracks for the bus station, and crept further to Buenos Aires via the city of Rosario.

Rosario has, apparently, a small inferiority complex because of its neighbour Buenos Aires. The feeling filters down to the inhabitants themselves. We noticed this at the hotel…flashy exterior, smallish room, but very comfortable all the same. The bathroom door was like something out of Prisoner Cell Block H, which was rather amusing. But everything was so..pretentious. We wandered down to the river that runs along the city itself, hoping to find somewhere to eat. We, being barmy, opted for Greek. Don't eat Greek food in Argentina. That's all we need to say…I didn't know red wine sauce tasted, or looked like sweet and sour from my local Chinese! We found our stride later that evening, numerous stop offs at numerous drinking establishments en route to the hotel…and with slightly fuzzy heads, we retired to Prisoner Cell Block H.

Next morning was a slight improvement. We wandered down to the riverside, with stonking hangovers, looking for a decent meal (been 3 days now!!!!!) Unfortunately, we chanced upon the worse café in Argentina, by a country mile. My breakfast of..erm..chicken and noodles tossed in a "soup" of soy sauce was just marginally better than Suze's version accept with mozzarella and tomatos (barmy combination). We waited a year for the "don't-give-two-sh*ts" waiter to allow us to pay the bill. Humoured by him hanging around expecting a tip mind…great pleasure in getting up and leaving him disappointed. Stop it Mike! We wandered up to the main monuments, the names escape me, but they look very impressive. Through the markets on the bankside, sifted through the leather products in the hope of getting a new wallet (easy to get home), Suze trawled through the 3 foot high wine stands made of solid oak (not so easy to get home), we nibbled on some half decent emplanades, and just sat in the marble square admiring the cities inhabitants buzzing around us. It was nice, and relaxed, and we even had time to make a quick phone call to my newly engaged brother and find a decent place to eat online.

Thankful, we were'nt disappointed with the suggestions! At last, a decent meal! Bog standard beef steak, with chimichuri chilli sauce, and glorious chips. It wasn't cheap, and yes..it was void of all charm and very pretentious..but it was a decent meal. We retired that evening to our hotel where the next morning, we woke fresh, packed, fed (good breakfast at this place!) and ready for BA..the final leg.

Ah, Buenos Aires. We've missed it. Welcomed at the door to the hotel with open arms, we snared a decent room, dumped our bags and set out to our fave drinking dens. Desnivel steak house hasn't tasted so good, and fresh. Its amazing how the food varies across the country…great at the extreme ends, rubbish in the middle. Happy hour at Gibralter, post meal drinks at Achtung Bar, nothing changed for the whole final week. We immersed ourselves online, the job hunting in earnest with a flurry of CVs, but..mad as this sounds…it was a relaxing time for us. We'd been marching across the world and now, with home in sight, we were weary..and ready to board that plane. However, a trip to Boca woke us up, the vibrant multicoloured neighbourhood in danger of becoming a tourist's nightmare. As you walk down Caminito street resplendent in its Boca Junior coloured houses (stadium a mere minute walk away), touts and tat sellers practically rugby tackle you into their establishments. Like the Gauntlet in Gladiators…cept thankfully without the spandex..or Wolf. The trick is to take the streets round the outside where they can't get you. Though, the Diego Maradonna lookalike is..well…rather like the great man/cheat.Uncanny in fact.

The Boca Jnr season started a week after we'd leave Argentina. Rats. So, had to make do with the stadium tour. The tour went on for ever…and there was no escape from the place, and unsure as to why they took us into the changing rooms to show us the toilets (!). But, we've done it, tick it off the list. The same night, we'd booked into a tango show..the all singing all dancing type. What a performance! Like hardcore Strictly Come Dancing, with mentalist Gauchos's smashing drums…twirling batons, and a cheesy rendition of "don't cry for me Argentina" to round things off. All this, and steak and chips. Marvellous, and well worth the pesos.

After we'd trawled the antique market for a new wallet (done!), new handbag for Suze (done!) and some soda siphons to brighten up the kitchen back home, it was the final night of our travels. One last blow out at the Gibralter, one last meal fit for kings at the Gran Parilla (best cut of steak, rosemary roasted chips, black pudding and Malbec, Malbec, Malbec) and one last hoorah at the Achtung. We dodged a creepy Mexican who wanted to take us to California, we befriended a mad irish lass and her Argentine contingent, we necked tequila and clunked beers into the early hours. It was a great tribute to 8 fantastic months that we wouldn't hand back for the world.

We boarded the plane, little sad its all over, and a little excited about what lay in store for us back in Blighty. Worse seats in existence, didn't recline for 15 hours, but as the lush green of England came into view over Heathrow we got a bit giddy….and here we are. We hope you've enjoyed our rambles, and pointless labelling of the photos, but we're gonna keep this blog open to chronicle our trips round Europe..as and when we can afford it. It'll be a while…but for now, where's the Malbec.

Much love to all

Mike and Suze xxxx