So, since the last post we have gone from scorchingly hot to brutally windy; I write this in a little lodge on the Peninsula Valdez, northern Patagonia. I caught another cold so am in, whilst the others are out looking for more birds. And I am eyeing the medicinal-looking bottle of red...
Over the past two weeks we have had two guests with us: Hannah K, nee P, is still with us, and therefore I can say that she has been a wonderful travelling companion, especially with her organisational vigour and fluent Spanish. Victoria left us a day ago, and it turns out doesn't read this blog, and I can therefore say that she was an absolute pain in the backside and no fun to be around whatsoever. Of course I am joking, I don't know what I'll do without my heavy-drinking, carnivorous friend. Miss Barr, a vegetarian when in the UK, made such short work of every steak we have come across that I felt a little emasculated. And I no longer have an excuse for that lunchtime beer which means 'holiday!'
We met up with them both at Iguazu falls, one of those 'must-do's on a trip round South America. We visited the Argentine side first, and I must admit I was a little underwhelmed at first, mostly because they were very dry at the time (I upset people by saying it was a bit like Derbyshire). However, after a few hours of getting up close to the falls and seeing dusky swifts and butterflies wheeling around between the spray and the lush, jungly verdure, I was smitten. And the 'Devil's Throat', the biggest, most powerful fall, was quite breathtaking.
I also became quite enamoured of coatis- snuffling, furry things with long, inverted noses which seemed much less adept at climbing trees in their natural habitat than stealing sandwiches, facilitating our God-given right to snigger at French tourists.
And we saw an armadillo, alas being prodded with a stick by an Argentinian.
From the Brazilian side you don't get so close to the waterfalls, but are able to take in the grandeur of the whole set. Unfortunately this makes for a rather fractious atmosphere, with people jostling to get photo ops in front of the views, rather than taking time to admire it. I nearly got into a bit of handbags with a fat pink European (not sure where) with pokey elbows. It was quite funny, though, seeing men ask their wives to bend themselves double over the railings so that their photo would appear to be just them and the falls.
From there we headed a little way south to see the ruins of the18th century missions- where the Jesuits went to the rainforests to bring religion to the natives and save them from the Spanish and Portuguese slave traders. The history, and actions of these men, is frankly pretty astonishing, and I tried to watch the 80s film 'The Mission' again (but, as on previous occasions, fell asleep). It is an absolutely beautiful place- ruins always look beautiful, all overrun with greenery, but these were especially amazing because the buildings are comparatively recent, and in a pinkish-red brick. I could have wandered around the ruins for days.
But no, off to another bl**dy wetland area to look at more bl**dy birds.
Luckily this time it was much more pleasant weather, and the place we stayed was a beautiful farmhouse with lovely bedrooms and swimming pool. It was also the 89th (I know: so?) anniversary of the village, so there was a huge festival with all the locals in traditional gaucho garb for a parade, barbecue, and dancing all night. As we should have expected, the locals were as keen on dancing with the girls as the girls were with them. And apparently Gaucho culture is rather gentlemanly, so each felt they had to approach me before asking the girls to dance. I was pimp-in-prime. I decided to stop attempting communication with my extremely weak Spanish, in favour of nodding vigorously, smiling and happily accepting their offers of a swig from their fernet-and-coke cocktails (delicious, but dangerous, especially when served in communal ice buckets). The girls all got their dances and I got to zigzag home.
I understand some birding was done the next morning.
From there to Cordoba. I don't think I have much to say about Cordoba, except there was a quite moving museum/tribute to victims of torture during the 60s and 70s military regime- shocking treatments in relatively recent history. A regime which ended with the Falklands war... I'll get back to you on that.
So after Cordoba we hit Buenos Aires. I love Buenos Aires, I really do, and I hope we will go back. I need a bit of time to reflect on it before writing, and also need to talk about meat and wine and empanadas, but again they deserve more attention than I can muster at present. The medicinal wine calls, so that's it for now from me. Hes might fill you in on her side of things, when she has finished birding...
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