No hablo Español (day 1-3)
Day 1 - 3 (15th - 17th January)
Argentina: Buenos Aires
The intention of this trip was to travel lighter and be more liberated from 'stuff', not carry every tool and self-reliant piece of kit I could ever possibly use for every eventuality, and plug into the world of backpacking methods a little more. To that end, I had bought a 55L bag to be delivered whilst I was in Croatia, capitalising on the Black Friday offers to get a good deal. My logic for the size was that I had managed 4 days carrying full camping kit and survival stuff when I walked Hadrians Wall in Oct '23, so an extra 20L would be enough for more socks and a cosy hat.
When I got home after the biking trip I looked back at photos of the bag I took to hike Hadrians Wall and I realised that I had stuff strapped to the outside of it and I also split the weight of a tent with Tom. In that bag I had nothing beyond cooking, sleeping and walking stuff with me and begun to realise that I may not actually have the volume I needed - the 55L bag had already arrived by this point. I wanted to recover some of the fitness I had built up in 2024 whilst on this next trip by doing some more running, and I didn't want to only have the option of hostels to sleep so had intended to carry lightweight camping gear for multi-day hikes along with my running kit. I had fallen foul of not having decent camera kit with me on incredible trips in the past so I bought my DJI Mini 4 Pro drone for this year specifcally, and my mirrorless Sony A6400 too. I wanted to blog this portion of the trip simlar to how I had the previous, and I wanted to bring some basic bits of kit as get-out-of-jail cards, because.. it's who I am. In short, I did the thinking about packing and equipment too late, and looking at the 55L bag on my living room floor, it wasn't big enough.
I spoke to Ali about his trip to Peru a few years ago about the things he did and saw, which was one of the first times I begun to practically think about what I might do and where I might go when I was in South America. That conversation also confirmed to me that I needed to change the bag I had, so I bought the 75L in the series I had settled on from Osprey, the Farpoint Trek, and hoped it arrived in time with a few days left before my flight.
I had been assembling bits and pieces on the floor of the living room for a week or so, but only started assembling stuff into my bag the 36 hours before my flight. After shoving the various items of camping and travel kit into the bag, along with a fairly small selection of clothes (enough spares for a week, and I rarely change what I wear anyway), the bag still weighed in at 21kg. I hadn't doubled up on anything, and short of dropping entire activities from my plan, I was stuck with the weight - c'est la vie.
My ticket to South America was the result of some solid uncle-duty support from Will who helped me out with his connections, and I was set - Business Class ticket booked to Buenos Aires, bag packed, hair getting longer, memory cards empty, batteries charged. I had been saying farewell to various folk over the past week, concluding with a celebratory meal with family of slow roasted lamb, undercooked dauphinoise potatoes, and a bottle of hand-delivered Georgian wine.
Pa drove me down to T3 at Heathrow and the trip was on. Once checked in I was able to blag my way into the Club World Lounge (not formally permitted by standby-ticket holders but with enough ambiguity and orchestrated confusion, the lounge sentinel crumbled). Once past the formality of access, I had to ask how 'it' worked at reception because I've never been in an airport lounge, and was told that I basically just help myself to anything I want. Unlimited food/alcohol/coffee and a selection of cosy seats with a view over the planes pottering around on the runways without bustle of the airport to distract me - what a way to travel.
I had a selection of mains because they all looked tasty and exotic, followed by some brownie (but I've developed a fairly high standard for brownie so this fell short, as per) and a coffee. I was tempted to crack open a bottle of sparkling white, but was still under the illusion that I was going to resist drinking until Ben & Sarah's wedding in August (forgiving the slip of Georgian wine which would have been a crime to miss).
Suitably stocked up on free food, I made my way to the gate and was amongst the first aboard as I was directed to my corner of the craft. Slightly diagonally orientated, my booth had a mini fridge, remote control for the 18" entertainment console, a few other cubby holes and a welcome packet with quilted blanket, a proper pillow, a greeting bottle of water and a little cosmetics bag with toothbrush & paste, lip balm, eye mask and ear plugs. As I was working out my environment for the flight, Jake came over to introduce himself, handing me a menu to browse and a welcome glass of champagne or orange juice to keep me sated whilst the rest of the plane loaded. Figuring I was almost certainly in a 'once ever' opportunity to fly with such decadence, I went for the champagne and was told he would keep them coming throughout the flight.
The plane finished loading, the glasses collected for take-off and we were airborne, Jack then popped back with another champagne to see how I was getting on, and asked what I would like from the menu. I had regretted eating the food in the lounge as I now had the option to have a 3 course with salmon, avocado and caviar starter, Herefordshire fillet steak and a crispy chocolate and praline bar for desert (or other options but that was my selection).
Luckily the hour or so of admin at the start of the flight gave me the chance to do some digesting such that I was suitably prepped for the finest in-flight meal I've ever had. I finished watching Dune 2 then reclined my chair entirely horizontal for the remaining 7 hours of flight and got a remarkably good night's sleep 40,000ft above the Atlantic Ocean. I have been spoiled.
I woke and was greeted with a morning coffee an hour from Rio, the first stop our journey to Buenos Aires, then brushed my teeth and had a full English breakfast (without beans, savages). The flight made a stop in Rio De Janeiro, some passengers disembarked and I was intended to swap seats at this point to the Premium Economy area as I hadn't managed to get Business the whole way. Once the plane had been cleaned and new faces joined us for the final 3 hours, I had a ticket clash with another customer holding exactly the same seat reservation. I found a stewardess to resolve it and discovered I had been bumped back up to Business for the final leg of the journey, and now had the option of a window seat - insane. I let the other chap know he had won the battle as I returned to the front of the plane with no remorse, for second breakfast and a view over Brazil as I tried to concentrate on The Joker (not the best film, I don't recommend).
I landed in Buenos Aires, picked my bag up and set about orientating myself with some logicistics. I needed an eSim for my phone, some cash and transport to the city/my hostel. I got a months data through Airalo for £40 so was online again in a foreign country but failed at the cash machine, unable to withdraw as much as I'd intended with a disproportionately expensive fee for the transaction, so figured I'd have better luck at a bank in the city. Using the travel guide Mum bought me for Christmas I found a bus company that would take me to the centre for 9500 peso (£7.20), and was hit with a wall of heat leaving the airport to find the bus. I was in trousers, shoes and backpack in 36 degrees, it was not comfortable! Wandering around the airport I bumped into another traveller from the UK who was hunting for the transfer too, and got chatting to him after we found it and boarded. The drop off for the bus was 2km from the Millhouse Avenue Hostel, the same place the other chap was heading, and ordinarily I'd have walked to see some of the city but in this heat I'd arrive scorched and molten so took him up on the offer to share his Uber.
I've never ordered an Uber in the UK, the few times I'd used one Jax had always booked it for me as I didn't have an account and was semi-intentionally avoiding the bandwagon, but it was apparent I could no longer rely on her to book them for me 8000 miles away so downloaded the app and succumbed to the world of convenient transport whilst we waited.
The hostel was well equipped for travellers, it had an onsite cafe/bar, lounge, multiple daily activities to showcase the city, suggestions of places to visit, kitchenette, bicycle rental, and A/C in the rooms (integral in this heat) and a friendly team of staff headed by Melina. I unloaded my kit in the room, changed to shorts and birks, then figured I needed to get money, food, and make a bit of a plan for the next few days before the flight I had booked to Ushuaia on 21st. I also discovered that although I had checked before I came, I had bought the wrong USB plug for the walls here, I undertood they used both the C-type (euro) and A-type (parallel blades like the US) but this particular hostel at least, has the angled blades (type-I) so I need a new adapter too. Nipping down to reception I asked about withdrawing money, the girl suggested they could do an exchange there, or I could use Western Union. I didnt have an account with them and had reasonable success throughout Europe with getting local cash at ATMs which allowed my bank to determine the best exchange and was universally better than the rate offered by the machine whereever I was. I found a cash machine and tried my luck with 200,000peso, no joy. Dropped the figure multiple times until I was asking it for 30,000 (£24), and finally it suggested I could continue, with a 13,000 fee. Essentially 43% fee to withdraw £24. Staggering. I tried another cash machine at a different bank and faced the same insubordination. More annoyingly, at this machine it didn't ask me for a confirmation of whether I'd like to continue, it just conducted the transaction once I'd entered a value of cash it was content to release. Pure daylight robbery.
Slightly wounded from the failure and wondering which way to best tackle this now, I went in search of some food to stave off the impending hanger. In a world where cash was fairly hard to come-by for a foreigner, I was then introduced to the 15% surcharge at the cafe for foreign cards to pay for my meal if I don't want to use cash. Figuring that even jumping the meal cost up by 15% was still cheaper than using the hard-won cash, I went for the increased foreigner price, and reached for my card which wasn't there. Crap. I still had a credit card to clear the cafe debt, but was now on day one on a new continent with only a credit card, and my backup debit which wasn't intended for prime use so soon.
When I was in Copenhagen 4 days into my previous trip heading toward Kazakhstan, I had dropped my credit card because I had put the card in the same pocket as my phone, brought my phone out to take some photos at a street party and the tiny lip on the case brought the card out too which then dumped it on the floor and I was without. Luckily the Danes are incredibly honest people (in my experience) and someone had handed it in at a pub so I was able to get it back with a warning shot from the universe firmly acknowledged. Day one on the next chapter of my travels and I've done exactly the same, except I now had zero prospect of getting it back. I couldn't think when I would have been pick pocketed, as my wallet was still there, so I retraced my steps back to the cash machine, and obviously saw nothing on the floor having walked past people fishing 'goods' from street bins.
I had a niggle in my mind that I didn't remember getting the card from the machine, and I had gone to an ATM at a bank which had rear access to the staff for maintenance. The bank was shut for the day so I planned to come back in the morning, and put a freeze on the card through my app in case it did still exist, whilst checking how hard it was to get a new one sent from the UK (answer: hard). Through some online digging I discovered that in most countries, an ATM will return your card before dispensing cash, but in Argentina, its the other way round, so I had a slither of hope that I had just been so annoyed by the theft the machine had got me with, and the backward order of proceedings, that I had just misstepped and left it in the machine which would have swallowed it after a number of seconds waiting for it to be retrieved.
I spent a bit of time in the hostel and reading through my guidebook making plans for the rest of the time in Buenos Aires then head to bed, keen for the morning to come before I could understand the size of my new problem.
I woke relatively early from heat/anticipation of card and a tiny bit of jetlag, and went for a run. I did a 10km loop of the surrounding district, looking to get a flavour of where I was and not let the unsettled feeling disrupt me too much. It was still too early for the bank so I went to a fruit/veg market and got some melon for breakfast, pleased to discover the foreigner card fee wasn't universal throughout the city. I queued up waiting for the bank to open and navigated my way through a system of triage I didn't understand, until I was able to plead through Google Translate to someone behind a desk the plight of my previous evening. The chap went to the service room behind the ATMs and returned with my card. After scorning me for the nearly illegible signature on the back he was using to confirm ownership against my drivers licence ID signature, I was reunited with it and incredibly grateful that the good luck fairy who had followed me since August, seemed to have been on the flight from Heathrow to Buenos Aires too! The formality of losing and finding a card at the start of my trip was now complete so I was able to get back to the business of travel.
I found somewhere to buy the right USB adapter for charging, bought a little code padlock for hostel locker security (which was annoying because everything available here is made of cheese and costs £3,000,000 so I should have brought one with me), and went for another little run as I was still in my running gear and there was a huge obelisk I had seen earlier in the day that looked interesting. I had a shower then settled into the lobby of the hostel to do some research/planning.
Iguazu falls was something I had been interested in going to see, and the airport at Puerto Iguazu almost exclusively flew to and from Buenos Aires. My opportunity to see it was essentially now, or at great expense returning here another time. I found the best deal available to me with FlyBondi, but had been warned by the hostel manager how poor they were as a company, and that they were known to change the times of flights last minute. Despite this they were 30% cheaper than the next flight and after some looking into logistics I figured I could fly up early on Saturday and back down late Sunday, giving me time to see the National Park. I tried for 2 hours to book the ticket through their website and was repeatedly frustrated by the site crashing and timing out, failing and changing the times I'd picked, almost as though it was set up to test the patience of its customers as a proof of their worthiness to proceed. Eventually I booked a ticket with kiwi.com as an agent to tackle Flybondi on my behalf despite it being more expensive. Three hours later, I got an apology from Kiwi and a refund, they failed to get confirmation from FlyBondi either. It was now 12 hours before I wanted to fly, and the timing of my journey to Ushuaia meant I either made the flight the next morning, or I didn't see the falls at all. I got in a taxi, took the 20 minute journey to the airport and was able to book a ticket at the FlyBondi desk, result. I got back to the hostel, booked accommodation for the night in Puerto Iguazu at a hostel with a pool which seemd appropriate in 36 degrees, made some lunch for the day, packed a bag and set my alarm for the early start.
In the three hour gap between booking my ticket and kiwi.com declaring FlyBondi had let them down, I joined a 'mate' (pronounced mat-eh) tasting experience. One of the most Argentinian things that exists, is mate, and the culturally embedded consumption of, throughout the whole of the country. It's a herbal drink drunk by people from Brazil, Paraguay and Uruguay too, and depending on where you are will vary the mix used, but its essentially the leaves, pollen and tiny sticks from a Yerba tree which grows almost exclusively in the region around Puerto Iguazu, at the confluence of the four countries. It can either be something you drink alone or with people you like, but not with strangers in the same way a Turkish person would offer a stranger a cup of Turkish tea as you walk past their store or sit for a rest. The group of 18 of us at the hostel were shown how to prepare it in the vessel (generally a wooden cup with no handle also called the 'mate'), you put some of the mix in the cup, shake it sideways to produce a 'little mountain' which means that when you add warm water, some of the mix remains dry at the top and prolongs the life of the drink without having too intense a first few drinks. There is a steel 'straw' called a bombas which translates as small pump, that you drink the mate through, after pushing it up under the 'base' of the 'little mountain'. The water temperature you add is around 70-85 (and I have since discovered that kettles in Argentina actually have a 'mate' setting where they don't boil the water but take it to 85 degrees). The host who prepares the mate always drinks the first one because its a bitter taste and seen as a kindness to take the first 'hit' and save their guests from the bitterness, then when you are offered it you always direct the bombas toward the person its intended for. When drinking you never touch the bombas, only hold the mate itself, and you don't linger when its offered because there are often others waiting for some after you. The guest who is given the mate returns to the host each time, not passing it on to another guest, and if you thank the host for the mate, that is the way you indicate you don't want any more on the next round - so if you want to continue drinking it, don't thank the host for it each time.
Mate is such a deep part of Argentinian life that I have seen it drunk almost everywhere, homeless people on the streets of Argentina still have a flask of hot water and a mate cup. On planes, despite the fact you have to comply with 100ml fluid limits, you are also allowed to bring a flask of hot water and your mate with you, which is insane. I can't imagine being strip searched at Heathrow for any contraban but then getting a free pass for the thermos of hot water and my cup of yorkshire tea - maybe its something I should lobby when I return.
It is a lot more apparent here than in Europe, that I am unilingual. My previous travels started through Scandinavia whose people have such a strong understanding of English that I barely noticed I was speaking to people in their second or third language, for the first few months at least. I went to 24 countries, almost all of which have their own language, and because of this it would be hard for everyone to communicate with much cross-over, so my guess is that the working language for most travel and international exchange throughout Europe is English just because its easier for most people (especially the English). I spent a few years reluctantly scraping through French and German lessons at school, have spent longer in those countries since becoming an adult and can manage the basics so that I am at least polite when failing to communicate, but I have no basis of Spanish at all, even Laurie (my 6 yr old niece) speaks more than I do. Almost all of South America speaks Spanish natively (except the Welsh, Dutch, French and Portuguese portions), so there is no need for a compromise language to bridge the gap between different countries and cultures, as the majority speak the same anyway. Which means, everyone understands each other, except me.
