El Portal De Salta

... like Europeans who were trying to raise money for their next trek) play their instruments and emphasise the acoustics.  I honestly think even Les Dawson's piano concertos would sound truly tuneful here.<br><br>Lunch was at a gem of a restaurant.  It was a goat farm and therefore offered goats cheese of every variety and colour.  They also had the best selection I have seen since Valerie&#8217;s Patisserie in Marylebone High Road.  It was just ...

... that day (wanting to have plenty of time to see Buenos Aires as well), giving us only 3.5 hours to return to the bus terminal. This wouldnt have been a problem if our clothes werent in the washer...again. Wanting to avoid traveling with wet clothes and to spend the day with our German friends, we were feeling stuck (tip: qiuck-drying clothes are like gold when backpacking).<br><br>When Riky and Feli returned, we explained our ...

... two bottles of wine ready for our night on the town. As we sat in the kitchen, one of our friends from La Paz walked in - coincidence! and then at the hostel bar, we bumped in to two girls that we met in Ica, Peru! Madness! So we enjoyed several drinks in the bar during happy hour (11-12pm everthing so much later in Argey!) and then after a skinful we went to Bacarce - the street with all the bars on it. Sadly it was Wednesday night so it wasnt very ...

Leaving Bolivia was easy (well one we had managed to get to the border via more dirt tracks and local buses), all we did was head to passport control, wave our passports at the guy behind the glass, a quick stamp out and we are on our way. Border towns are border towns, they never really show the countries off to their best - the one with Bolivia/Argentina (Villiazon/La Quiaca)was no different, especially is it seems to be a major hub for smuggling controband goods to and ...

... in the world, a day which defines your former actions and contextualizes your future and which shows you what it really is to live this life. I left Cordoba which itself appeared to be just another dirty city. I went with James and Nicholas to catch the short bus (35km ride which took over an hour for some reason?) to Villa Beatriz, Avellaneda 501 in the picturesque town of Alta Gracia, location of the Museo Casa Ernesto 'Che' Guevara. This place was Ernests home as a ...

... in Chile. Not cheap, by any standards, a journey that would take about 10 hours cost the equivalent of 40 quid each!!! As we were enjoying having our car, we rang up the rental company to see if we could have the car for another day, after initially lying to us and trying to rip us off, he let us have the car for another day, and sent his friendly assistant round to the hostel to check the milage, and off we went. We headed to the south, where there ...

... people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death." ('Winter of Artifice´) now, more than ever, I think I understand this. Salta has not been the thing I thought it would be, and I have not been the person I thought I would be in it. It has been a process a 'combination of states', finally though, I feel I am someway to reaching my destination and it´s ironic that I should find myself feeling the most travelled during the time I have stood almost stock still.

... in my eyes! Then he launched into a spiel about how women older than 30 get desperate etc etc. A very opinionated man indeed. But still very funny! In the afternoon it was just me riding so off I went with a new horse (woohoo!) and Rafael for another trek. We headed for the river which was pretty dry but we could stick get the horses pretty wet walking them through the water that was in the river. Went under a couple of bridges and then stopped in the shade as ...

... on the other side we could see the salinas (salt flats) on the altiplano not far below. The sky was enormous and the clouds were like cotton balls and seemed so close, we were so high. The road continued to be excellent until we reached the edge of the salinas and had to turn left. Then it deteriorated rapidly. I thought myself a bit of a rally driver at first, but as the holes got deeper and the sand patches larger, I started to ...

... compared to at home where they are terrified of you sueing them. The ranch itself was lovely too, it was run by an Argentinian called Enriqo. The highlight was crossing a river on horseback. Fergus wasn´t too impressed with his tiny horse though! While at the ranch we met a Finnish girl, Maria who showed up around Salta. She brought us to a cool restaurant-bar in the suburbs where they have live music every night. Would never have found it ourselves ...