Fakin´ it

Argentina has a bit of an issue with fake money and people I have spoken to have even been know to get faked 2 peso (40p) notes. Taxi drivers are reputedly meant to be the worst with such tricks as if you give them a 100 peso note, switching it for a fake and handing it back, saying the one you gave them was fake and demanding another, not that I had any problems with them. However this 50 that I was given in change in a club in Buenos Aries is a beauty by anyones standards:

Note, if you will, the smudge on the 50 in the bottom right hand corner where the "watermark" has been applied following printing. OK it was dark and yes I may have been a little bit drunk but in the cold light of day when you pick it up it is obvious that normal printer paper has been used, about 3 times the weight compared to normal money. I´m keeping it as a souvenier in my wallet to remind myself not to be quite so blindly accepting in the future.

Decisions, decisions...

OK, you were right (you know who you are), maybe I should have done a little planning or reading of the guide book before I left the UK. Maybe. Have just spent the last few hours scouring the guide book, looking at maps and trawling the net trying to work out the best way to go next. I was that close to making making my mind up on taking the 16hr bus to Santa Cruz in Bolivia, that close, when the guide book fell open on the page for Calama in Chili from where there is meant to be a spectacular railway up to Uruyi (unfortunately this is not where I need to be as I am going to be doing it later on the trip with Bee and as a tourist town is going to be expensive). Now I have delved a little deeper the bus from Salta (where I am now) only leaves Wednesday (according to a website that was last updated a month ago, Tuesday according to the German girl I spoke to yesterday) and Sunday and the train from Calama only goes on Wednesday. I had already plannned to do things Sunday and Monday which would mean being stranded in the rather rubbish town of Calama for a week. And even when I get to Bolivia where then? The national park I want to get to is another 34hrs by bus further than Santa Cruz and even then you (allegedly) need a guide to enter, ruling out my intrepidly exploring the jungle, just me and my machete that I haven´t yet bought, for a few days. It´s a tough life being me some times...

Club 69

Those of you that have been reading between the lines of these blog entries, or have glaced at the photos that I have posted on facebook you may have realised that I have, over the weeks become accustomed to one or two of the clubs dotted around this continent. Clubbing can be a little different to back in the UK. When a club is advertised as playing all types of music they do just that - 20mins of hip hop then why not switch to a little bit of electro. Or Brazilian folk music. Why not stop the house music for 10mins to allow 4 strippers to come on to the stage, only because of the various laws they can´t really take their kit off and some of the girls in the club are more scantily dressed (and better looking).

Last night was my last night in the sprawling metropolis that is Buenos Aires and myself and a few of the others from the hostel we were in went out to a place called club 69 for a final boogie and a drink. Welcomed in to the club by transvestites in full get up, why not? Girl on movable stage including pole in the middle of the dance floor, sure. In fact why not break up the evening of mostly electro every hour or so with, first, a troup of, really quite good breakdancers, and then some sort of transvestite-ish berlesque-ish show. I´ve been here long enough now for all this to seem kinda normal in a funny sort of way.

Spanish 101

Tenes muy lindo culo. ¿Sabes?

Good ideas

Putting the house numbers on the street signs so you can work out which block you are meant to be going to.

Catch up part 2

After leaving Iguazu it was time to head back on the over night bus and head off Urugauy, a country that I didn´t even think I was going to until I checked the itinery the day before I left the UK. Unfortunately by this point it was time for my body to finally give in to all the strange foods that I had been putting through it for the last few weeks and as such spent most of the day, which was meant to be spent enjoying the thermal spas of Salto, in bed feeling sorry for myself. As much as the all over body chocolate treatment that Becky had done does sound tempting alas it will have to be saved until the next time I pop in to South America.

From there it was down to Montevideo, a supprisingly pleasent city with decent park, nice cafe culture and generally good atmosphere. As we had a couple of Irish girls with us and it was St. Patricks day it seemed only right that we should head off in the direction of the Irish bars for a drink or three. I have been to many Irish bars all over the world from China to Romania to Krakow and I think that this is the only one that I have been to that didn´t serve Guiness. I´m not quite sure what it was that they were trying to pass off in its place but as hard as I tried I couldn´t bring myself to finish it. Having said that the places were rammed, despite not being able to find a single genuine irish person, and everyone else having to get up the next day to go to work.

From Montevideo it was down the coast again to Colonia del Sacramento for a fairly lazy day running around the streets on golf carts as we are told this is the best way to explore and then finally on the early ferry over to Buenos Aires which is where I am now. As this was meant to be the final night that we were out together as a group we (or at least that is Becky and I) decided that we really needed to go out and go out hard Friday and Saturday which we managed in inimitable style. However sandwiched between the two the group was booked in to a tango show, which included the meal and a free tango lesson which I like to think, considering the 1hr sleep that I had I did supprisingly well at.

And then, as soon as it began the tour was over, and after strolling in from Pacha at 8.30am to pack bags and move hostels things began to slowly reorientate to what is considered to be normal in this part of the world.

Immaturity

Sorry. Really, really sorry.