Departure from Salta was delayed due to the enduringly dodgy paperwork, so we left for the 2 day journey towards Salta rather later in the day than planned. Which meant that having just crossed into Argentina (they even had *shock* laser passport scanners and *gasp* computers at this border crossing) Guff in his wisdom decided we would camp on an open bit of landscape at 3800m. The sunset was beautiful, and this time we did have a fire for random wildcamp so we were lulled into a false sense of security - I felt at this point that flip flops and legwarmers were keeping my tootsies warm. But no. Oh no. It happened again. This was DEATHCAMP Part Deux: upon inspection, the mercury displayed MINUS FIFTEEN DEGREES CELCIUS. Twas a rather uncomfortable night - really, really cold, but also incredibly dry atmosphere but no water to drink because it was frozen. Left at the crack of dawn because no brekkie to eat (frozen milk) and also felt like stupid be-flip-flopped feet were going to disintegrate with cold. But in typical South American winter fashion, by 11am it was time to peel away the thermals and get the sunscreen out again.... Reaching Salta was all the more wonderful for the Deathcamp experience. Faith and I pitched our tent in "enemy territory" in the midst of tents of travellers with rival companies and we hit Salta to savour Argentinian steak and red wine. Rather a lot of that last item was consumed and remember returning to the campsite in the wee hours and playing football (have never even had a kickabout with a football in my life) on the (empty) biggest swimming pool in Argentina (or maybe even South America?) in our campsite. Spent the next day mooching in hungover fashion round Salta, which is a great little city. Really colonial feel to it, and just so different to the other countries we've been in...it's pretty clean and well, organised and civilised. Lacks the characterful chaos have seen elsewhere, but has its own charms. People are friendly - customer service exists here - and I could really get into this cafe culture they have going. Went to the cinema that night to see 'Prime' (Uma Thurman and that fittie from One Tree Hill) - chickflick (written by a fella) but quite enjoyed this one; even dragged a couple of the boys along... "His (*****) was just so beautiful I wanted to knit a little hat for it" (?!?!?! answers on a postcard, please). Team Fanny (my new cookgroup comprising me, Faith and Alex, so-named after the peculiarly branded tuna, jam and - we one day hope to find - cheese) struck again with a real powerfeul breakfast of fry-up, Argie style: fried bread in chorizo fat, anyone? Then a group of us trouped off for another riding sesh in the hills (waiver forms, hard hats and - get this - chaps. Christina Aguilera eat your heart out). Another group went out quadbiking and true to form, at least one bike was flipped...Sarah (our Bajan girl - she's from Barbados - imagine how cold Deathcamp was for her) is rather accident prone. Another night on the tiles beckoned - would be damn rude not to when you can savour tipples such as pink Champagne at a tenner a bottle. Caroline and I tripped home at 4:30am (having trawled the streets searching for empanadas and chips in our best espanol) and the truck was due to leave at 6:30am. Had a rather sore head in the morning. Off again en route to the estancia - another 2 day journey. On the way to that night's campsite we stopped off for a little wine quaffing at Etchart's winery and vineyard. We had a very informative tour around the factory (there has been a vast turnaround in the production of reds rather than whites, due to a massive swing in demand in recent years) then a generous winetasting...reminded me of Venice, Lex. Good times. So, a soothed by a little hair of the dog, we made it to the campsite by some ruins at Quilmes. These are the oldest ruins in Argentina, the last stronghold of the Quilmes against the Spanish. Took a stroll up a precarious path to get a stunning view of them, in the middle of this vast desert (no rainfall has ever been recorded here). Proper western American looking desert as well - huge great green cactii and all. Another wildcamp and a windy night later (laundry drying on tent was located buried in sand in the morn) we had to modify our trip slightly as our intended campsite was found to be shut. Ended up having a night at the municiple campsite in Cordoba, Argentina's second city. Continued on the next day to the Estancia, the part of the trip about which I had been most excited... But there was more fun to be had along the way! Namely, a stop at Walmart. Or, for the smelly Encounter traveller, Mecca. Now. I'm not usually one to bang on about the glories of South America, but this place was massive. And full of stuff we hadn't seen for ages....Team Fanny had a mammoth task ahead, shopping for five meals in one go, and in we plunged with gusto. We hunted high and low, but eventually we managed it - we found curry. Two hours of relative torture later (thirty kinds of flavoured yoghurt, no plain; only teeny tiny gherkin-esque cucumbers; no bacon), food had been purchased, miraculously on budget (to be fair to Faith and Alex, I couldn't have endured that shop with anyone else). Just time to grab a maccy D's (dulce de leche sundaes here....mmmmmm....am going to make my fortune importing dulce de leche to England) and search for bin bags. May not have mentioned that am bin lady on the truck, which has already involved me having to clamber into the grate on the roof and pick bits of chicken carcas out of the firewood. Am having issues with bin bags and am developing bin rage. Not a good look and think I am turning into Kat's sister's once-psycho housemate: "The bin is STILL full". Clearly, have been groomed for this by years of top-class education. Managed after much pleading to convince Guff to drop me and a couple of the boys off in the town of Rio Ceballos to catch the second half of the World Cup Final - they clearly didn't see many tourists in this place. Managed to get to the end of 'real' time in one bar then had to traipse to another for extra time. Geoff had drawn us a (rather crude) map for directing a taxi driver to the Estancia but we struck gold with a chap in the cafe who had lived in Miami and spoke perfect English (none of us spoke Spanish) and helped us get a cab and sort out the directions...made it up the various dirt tracks to the Estancia, Los Potreros de Niz, where we would have missed the turning but for the truck's large comedy TAXI sign perched on the gate, bearing my name. Made it in just in time for another round of wine tasting (they produce their own wines) and also managed to miss the laundry (doh). Team Fanny (aided by Gunnar) cooked up a feast, producing the best dinner ever of two kinds of curry, properly fluffly rice and the piece de resistance: Banofee Mess - crushed up sponge fingers, dulce de leche, bananas and cream. All went down a storm, except with the gaucho, whose response was, "the gringos eat fire". All got unexpectedly hammered (largely on dessert wine) and had to face a day of riding rather worse for wear. Not just worse for wear but decidedly confused: woke in the morning to discover Faith's jeans outside the tent (she had been wearing them when we chucked her in there in quite a state in the night) and her riding-ready clothese soaking wet in the middle of the tent (she hadn't been wearing those). I had also managed to get out of my sleeping bag and line, remove my jimjam bottoms and get back into my bag. Was also rudely awakened in the night to the cries of "where's my sleeping bag?!?!?" (I thought she was in it)...