Thankfully the normal travel experience resumed after leaving Uruguay as we continued out journey west across Argentina to Cordoba. We didn't arrive until after midnight but the norm in Argentina is for restaurants to be open until 1 or 2 in the morning. So four hungry lads arriving off a six hour bus hit a local pizza place for all we could before hitting the hay.
Tuesday morning we were met by some familiar places at breakfast - Murph and Lorna had arrived from Salta. We managed to get a football (or should that be futbol) from the hostel and made our way to the nearby Sarmiento Park. The surface wasn't suited to a barefoot kick around, but next to it was a lush, green university rugby pitch. We snuck under a hole in the fence and lasted about 15 minutes before a security guard approached us. Jimmy's attempt at Irish charm - "Soy Irlandais" (I'm Irish) - didn't have the desired effect and we were escorted out.
Cordoba is the second largest city in Argentina and the home to the oldest university in Argentina, the National University of Cordoba, founded in 1613 by the Jesuits. The city has six universities, which means the population is young and the nightlife is pretty good. Sean, Jimmy and I got some free passes for a club, Maria Maria, where we sampled the popular local drink of Fernet and cola. It has a distinct medicinal taste, but we drank it anyway. Again, we were the only gringos in the club, which led to a minor celebrity status - the three white boys were asked to pose in a few photos. Maybe it was more freak status than celebrity.
We amassed a large crew in the hostel as Murph and Lorna brought with them English, Welsh and Australian people. So there was ten of us that headed off to another river beach called Cuesta Blanca. It was an hour and a half away but it was in a beautiful location and really quiet.
There was a bigger group when we went out on Wednesday night. We started off in Black Sheep, a hip looking bar near the cathedral with glass doors. The Welshman in the group provided the best laugh of the night by walking into the glass door as we were leaving. A face smudge and his dignity were left behind as we went to a jammed club called El Sol.
I think my own Spanish is bad, but enough to get by on. But there's always some one worse off, as I learned on Thursday. We got chatting to a pair of blonde, Dublin girls in our hostel and we all needed to get bus tickets so headed off to the ticket shop. They were a little surprised at the expense they were quoted to get to Puerto Iguazu. One of the pair asked "Can we fly there instead?" Realising she was talking to a Spanish speaker, she promptly raised her voice, repeated her question, still in English (classic in itself), then raised her arms horizontally and waved them about imitating a plane. The entire shop was laughing!