Finally Pucon and my disorientated self was comandeered and driven to a hostel that had only opened the previous day. Too tired to argue, I was shown every single room of the brand spanking new building by the immensely proud and nervous owner Cesar. He explained that the tables were arriving today and he´d still got to put the curtains up but it was clean, bright and comfortable which was the first time I could say that about my accommodation in 10 days. I glanced out the window and saw some familiar figures, JA and Anne, trekking from the bus station.

After almost 2 months apart, we had lots of tales to tell. Our routes for at least the last month had followed the same paths and we´d only been seperated in time, in Cuzco we´d only missed each other by hours, so we could compare our experiences of each place. Celebrating our reunion and my belated birthday they treated me to dinner and drinks, suitably late as is the custom in Chile. Having drunk almost exclusively beer or spirits, and not much of those on my trip so far, I indulged my love for Sauvignon Blanc with the Chilean varieties with delight. The next day was suitably dreary for a hungover lie in and internet. Cesar and Marcelo our hostel hosts were wonderful bringing juice to our room when we failed to appear for breakfast, finding our drunken attempts to get back into the hostel, including JA´s spiderwoman impression hilarious and when we did get up for breakfast about midday, whipping us up eggs, toast, coffee and juice. We were spoilt but their attentive hospitality and jovial bantering. Cesar took us to the thermal springs (about as active an excursion as my hangover would allow) and we alternated between the heated pools and the freezing river. I left feeling almost human again.

JA and I enjoyed a run the next morning and it was time to leave. The weather had been pretty foul all our time in Pucon but hadn´t taken away it´s charm. We´d entered into the world of Swiss type five star resorts, log cabins, spas and lakeside hotels (alas we weren´t staying in any o them), expensive boutiques and clean streets.

So I joined the girls on their southern slalom of the Chile - Argentina border, first stop in Argentina San Martin de los Andes. The countries, so similar in landscape became a blur to me, differentiating themselves by the costs rising (Chile), time differences (1 hour), ´000´s appearing on the prices (Chile again), accents (Argentina wierd distinctive accent) and Men´s haircuts (the awful mullet) but mostly by the tightening and slackening of rules. Coming from Bolivia where anything goes, Chile was uptight, receipts were given even for payment to go to the loo and there was a pervasive sense or adherence to law and order, I mean cars even stoped at Zebra crossings! Argentina had more of a cavalier feel about it, but we weren´t too sure about the Zebra crossings so our policy was better safe than sorry.

We arrived in San Martin ¨where all the rich like to holiday¨after a wet and wild journey. It poured with rain as we trudged to the bus stop, I had a guy have a go at the zip on my daysack, he´d have been lucky to have found anything he´d have wanted in it, it always takes me 10 mins of rifling at best to find something I´m looking for. By the time we arrived at the border it was snowing. Leaving the comfy warmth of the bus through the blizzard was unpleasant but we discovered with delight in the Argentinian immigration a large roaring log fire, a ping pong table and customs men with a sense of humour. An Argentine nudged us and said, ¨See told you Argentina´s better¨ on first impressions I was inclined to agree! The travellers on the bus revelled in the Ski lodge type atmosphere, and when we got back on the bus a couple of American guys cracked open a bottle of red to share and while away the 2 hour longer than scheduled remainder of the trip.

We were in high season, summer in Patagonia and last minute accommodation was becoming elusive. After wandering around San Martin for an age with our backpacks, it seemed everything within and outside of budget was full. At last we struck lucky. A cute wooden building, full of ¨homeley¨style knick knacks and an owner that resembled the woman out of ¨Misery¨ but luckily without the psychotic tendancies. The German/Swiss look had intensified, lots of the chocolate box chalets still had the the bright red bows, a legacy from Christmas. The architecture was accompanied by european style food - hallelujah! Although on some things they claimed European style, Argentinian quality, which I took to be a positive thing. In fact San Martin felt a cross between somewhere in the Swiss Alps and a U.S ski resort, perched on a lake. Mid Summer in Patagonia and the sun shone lighting the snow capped mountains around the lake but the chilly air kept us wrapped up. Our short stop in St Martin allowied for a morning hike to a Mirador and an intensive ring around almost exhausting all the accommodation in both the Lonely Planet and Footprint guide books to secure a spot in Bariloche, and thank goodness we´d prebooked. Oh yes, completing a bus journey is only half the battle, bumping into same other travellers on the same route on similar timetables, collecting bags, queuing for tickets for the bus out as soon as we´ve arrived, then the accommodation search. Hallelujah for JA´s mobile, although if I had 10 pesos for every time my call has been greeted with ¨No hay lugar¨(There´s no vacancies) I´d be a very rich little backpacker. Bariloche is the Argentinian centre of the Lake district and after our regular travelling duties it was on to booking the following days activities and wandering around the town and markets, and leaving dining until 11pm. I was booked onto a cruise of the lake the next day, which I missed by arriving at the port 5 minutes late. So I headed off on a hike in the Nahuel Huapi National Park and spent a wonderful morning in the solitude and peace of the trees stopping for my packed lunch, a read and relax by the lake. On the way back people coming the other way kept asking me where the forest was, I was a little confused as we were surrounded by trees and it was looking very forestlike to me! I later found out as I caught the afternoon cruise instead that they had been after a particular forest we visited by boat, 3 hours further on from my morning trek, I wonder if they´d ever found it. The cruise was loud, packed and touristy. On any of the stops we were herded around wooden walkways. I got my stunning views on deck but I was glad I´d had the tranquility of my morning. So time to head back to Chile and another border crossing. We´d done a supermarket stop on the way to the bus and got yummy salad and fruit, nuts and cheese for the ride. Unfortunately the approach to the border took us unawares fairly early into the journey and so after going through the Argentinian immigration we had the choice of stuffing as much as we could down us before we hit customs, or ditching it. Being true backpackers throwing it out wasn´t an option. I´d however just finished the lunch the bus had supplied, a ham and cheese sandwich on white bread, ham and cheese on brown and a ham and cheese roll- not known for their sandwich artistry these bus companies. I nobly managed to stomach a salad and cream cheese sandwich, banana and cashew nuts before we diligently dropped the rest in the customs bin. Unlike the woman we saw who stuffed a salami down the back of her trousers to get it through the border! Feeling holier than thou for not breaching the customs laws it was only later I discovered I was guilty of far worse a crime. I´d been smuggling drugs!!!! I´d crossed 3 borders with Coca leaves in my bag. They are illegal in Argentina and Chile, in fact I´d even been expressively asked if I had any Coca leaves and said no. My bag had been searched and xrayed , yet the bag of leaves had unnoticed even by me. I ditched them quick smart. We delighted at our arrival in Puerto Varas, a quaint lakeside town, with a comfy hostel and a lovely evening of tapas and chilean wine on the waterfront. Our last night on dry land for a few days.