Tangling with tango and the pedigree pooches

In Brazil, especially in Salvador, we felt we had one foot in Africa and one in South America. Brazilian culture is synonymous with African rythms, food and faces. Just a short hop to Buenos Aires and the landscape changes - that foot is wrenched firmly away from Africa and planted daintily in Europe. The wide, leafy streets and exquisitely ornate buildings have a Parisian flavour, the art galleries are packed to the gills with Rodin, Picasso and Degas, the effortlessly stylish and snooty ladies who lunch with their pedigree poodle poms-poms trotting beside them would be right at home in Milan or Madrid.

You could, for a moment, be fooled into thinking you were in Europe, but for the unmistakable sound of a Latin heart pumping beneath a thin veneer. Under the sophisticated surface you find sultry, melancholic tango on street corners, political grafitti etched onto every available wall, decaying buildings and dilapidated pavements symbolic of a turbulent economy and a lack of public funds. But, for us, this only adds to the allure and intrigue.

We rented a little apartment in the Palermo area and were supposed to stay for a week, but we have extended for a second. The city has seduced us. We have spent the mornings studying Spanish and the afternoons wandering in the sun through art galleries, leafy streets lined with crumbling villas, cute little boutiques with original and creative homewear, clothes and accessories and parks full of stray cats.

We have spent two consecutive Sunday afternoons in San Telmo wandering through flea markets and antique stores and stopping to listen to street performers - one band had the whole street hopping and everyone dancing in the late afternoon sun. We met up with the friends we spent new year with and went to some trendy Palermo bars for drinks and then on to (at 2.30am as the club don´t even open until 2am!) a rather surreal Brazilian club where people were line-dancing to an odd mix of samba and rock in front of a large projected image of hot-pant-clad cow-girls gyrating around a guy in tight, white, lycra trousers with unfortunate VPL. We visited La Boca, a poor docks area where all the houses are painted bright colours with left-over ship paint, and did a tour of the Boca Juniors stadium where the infamous Diego Maradona cut his teeth. We braved a tango class and stayed for the milonga afterwards, watching accomplished locals glide around the dancefloor with their heads stuck together and their eyes closed.

There are just two small things that we don´t like about the city, both unfortunately conspire against Mike. As we stroll along, his architect´s eyes are drawn ever upwards towards the dazzling fenestration. Every now and again I realise I am walking alone and turn to find Mike a block back either sprawled on the pavement after falling into one of the many pot holes, or wiping his havaianas on the curb with that unmistakable look of disgust that only a close encounter with a dog turd can elicit.

The havaianas may never recover, but for Mike and me these small things cannot detract from such an amazing city.

Where are we?

The beaches are world class, the architecture breathtaking, the people stylish. Gorgeous little patisseries dot every corner. People walk the streets drinking mate - a herbal tea drunk from a cup with an ornate silver straw, and serve up giant steaks from the BBQ. There are cowboys, and lots of sheep. The people are friendly and the grafitti is interesting. The population is 80% white with a smattering of other races but barely any indigenous people.

Yes, you guessed it (or probably not) Uruguay!

There is something fantastic about going to a country you know absolutely nothing about. You have zero expectations and therefore have very little reason to be disappointed. Not that we had any reason to be disappointed anyway, as it happened. Our four day jaunt across the mouth of the Rio Grande from Buenos Aires was thoroughly pleasant in every respect. The capital, Montevideo, was by far and away the quietest, most laid back capital city we have ever visited with tumble weed blowing down the main streets at night and a sleepy atmosphere during the day.

Colonia del Sacramento, a short hop along the coast, was a cute-as-a-button little colonial town with cobbled streets and charismatic restaurants such as the wonderfully named ´El Drugstore´, imaginatively decorated with a fantastic menu. We watched the sun set lazily behind the Buenos Aires skyline from the top of a jauntily painted lighthouse, then dined on a delicious cheese fondue while the live band dished up Sting, Elton and Bob Dylan covers in a dodgy English accent. Ah, Uruguay.

Don´t mention the war

As a postscript to today´s post:

We met three Brits this evening who were also denied access to Argentina today by someone sounding suspiciously like our man at border control. His reason? The Falklands War. The one word that Mike and I did pick out was ´island´and we had thought there was some confusion about Northern Ireland which appears on the cover of our passport. I have written to the FCO in Argentina and await their response.

Thatcher has a lot to answer for.

Please let me in Argentina

After a lovely last day in Salvador sunning ourselves on a schooner touring some islands in the bay we arrived in Foz do Igaucu yesterday for some waterfall fun and games. We spent the afternoon looking at the thundering Igaucu falls on the Brazilian side and this morning headed for the Argentinian side where you can get up close and personal with some of 175 waterfalls and stand above the devil´s throat, a mesmerising arc of relentless water. Well, that was the plan.

We cruised out of Brazil, crossed the river to Argentina whilst I sang the first of many refrains of ¨Don´t Cry For Me Argentina¨(this will replace ´The Girl From Ipanema´ which has been on the internal duke box for the past three weeks) and presented ourselves at immigration. The guy in the kiosk stamped our passports and we passed to the next guy who was checking cars for imported electronics, drugs, pet monkeys stored in the boot etc. After a brief chat with him in which we understood not one word but in which we bleated repeatedly ¨soy britanico/a¨ he issued a word back in portugese which I did understand ´voltar´. Go back.

Our taxi driver, without comment zoomed back towards Brazil and handed us some re-entry forms. At this point we began to protest to him to take us back again. ¨But we are British¨, we said indignantly to each other, as the British do so well. The taxi driver reluctantly turned around and went into the main office to argue our case. After lots of shouting and waving of arms between our taxi driver and a guy on the desk the manager was called and he waved us through saying of course we could enter. We got in the car and tried again. We were refused. We were given no explanation. He didn´t even find the monkey.

Mike and I, international refugees in the making, came up with a cunning plan to circumvent the system. The taxi driver could drive through and we could simply walk through and meet him at the other side. It worked. We spent a day in Argentina as illegal immigrants and successfully made it back to Brazil for dinner in one piece. We are going to Argentina again next week, via the slightly circuitous route of Paraguay and Uruguay and we can try our luck with the Argentinian immigration officials once more.

And the falls? Amazing. The sun shone, the water sparkled, we walked for miles to see the many little falls that make up the whole. We stood awestruck peering down into the devil´s throat, we took a boat up the base of one of the falls and got sprayed with a huge wall of water which wet us through to the underwear in seconds. We had a blast. Tomorrow the Uruguayan border - wish us luck.

Click here for photos of Brazil and the falls

Happy New Year

Ah, New Year in Brazil, there´s nowhere quite like it. When your average quiet Tuesday night out ends at 5am doused in sweat and ten lecherous men in a samba club it must be difficult to raise the stakes for New Year. But yet they managed it.

We spent the evening in the Barra district of Salvador at an all night street and beach party. The evening began at about 8pm with a few round of caipirinhas at the hostel with three lovely Australians - Noonie, Kate and Nancy - and a brilliantly bonkers Austrian called Sven. Mike and I had entered into the Brazilian tradition of wearing white and as we headed out to the streets we joined throngs of revellers also dressed in white. Hundreds of street stalls were set up, music pumping from all of them and we tucked into the second of many (I forget how many, funnily enough) rounds of caipirinhas from a dancing topless bartender-street vendor (a man -sorry boys).

We meandered up the street towards the lighthouse where a massive stage was set up featuring, amongst others, big names such as Mariene di Castro, samba legend. We danced on the streets with the locals until midnight. As we samba´d into 2009 a huge firework display erupted out at sea and we were pushed along in a wave of people heading down onto the beach to jump over seven waves, as is the tradition. The beach was floodlit, yet more cocktail bars were set up - complete with tables and chairs. The music pumped, children and adults splashed in the water, couples canoodled on the beach - the atmosphere was amazing. We sat with our feet in the sand, sipping caipirinhas and sucking it all up. What a night!

Hope you all had a fantastic new year´s eve wherever you were and all the best for a happy and healthy 2009.