Agentina In Three Days

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PICTURE: The Dark-haired, dark eyed beauty who asked the writer to do the Tango

I went to Argentina last week — now that’s something I never thought I would write. As a kid I was fascinated by South America, from the giant anaconda water snakes big enough to eat entire villages, to the headhunters of the Amazon basin and the ruins of long lost civilisations.

I really believed that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle had based his 1912 book, “The Lost World”, on a place that might just exist.

But I was born too early to be one of the current generation of young adventurers who pack their worldly possessions on their back and think nothing of planning visit to far-flung places that were barely accessible by camel when I was their age.

I was 41 years of age before I stepped off a plane on the far side of the world and had to pinch myself that this was real and not a dream. This was when “Minder” graced our television screens and I cruised the streets of London, wide-eyed, half expecting to see Tell’ or Arfur Daley.

After that, my international travel sort of took off and accelerated and since then I’ve been to Europe many times, the UK often, North America, South Africa and the Middle East frequently.

But South America? Never.

A month or so ago I got an invitation completely out of the blue to attend the launch of a new Volkswagen pick-up truck in Argentina. Of course, I said yes.

But why Argentina? Because when Volkswagen decided to build this truck, their factory in Argentina was the only one with spare capacity. Which is a long-winded way of saying they’re building the truck, called an Amarok, there.

As with these car launch trips, you are on the ground for the shortest possible time.

So, we flew into Buenos Aires arrived at our hotel mid-afternoon, stayed the night caught a two and a half hour charter flight to Bariloche in the Andean foothills of Northern Patagonia first thing next morning. We spent the rest of that day and night in the Bariloche region before flying back to Buenos Aires.

We would have been on a plane back to Auckland later that night if there had been a flight. But Aerolinus Argentinas appear to fly to Auckland and then on to Sydney, every second day. So we had another night and a full day in Buenos Aires as a bonus.

Even so, that probably seems an incredibly short time to spend in an exotic location after a 13 or 14 hour flight.

But it was an action packed couple of days.

I didn’t, and still don’t, know much about Argentina except they eat a lot of beef.

Early last century, Argentina boasted one of the highest standards of living anywhere in the world — thanks to its beef exports. But the Great expression hit Argentina hard and it never really recovered, sinking into a quagmire of economic stagnation and political instability — culminating in the ‘Falklands War’ when the drunken general who was running the country declared war on Britain — much to the delight of Margaret Thatcher who was needing a popularity boost.

Britain humiliated Argentina so badly there was a popular uprising and democracy was returned.

But the place hardly hums, it still staggers along from crisis to crisis and looks with some envy at its biggest neighbour Brazil.

We had a local man who acted as our driver and he gave us some insight into life in Argentina. He bemoaned the increase in the price of beef — in the past month or so it’s doubled in price and now retails at around NZ$10 a kilogramme. Beef is an absolute food staple here.

On our first night we dragged our weary bodies through the streets of Buenos Aires, scarcely able to breath in the 36 degree heat with unbearable humidity.

We found a famous bar/restaurant, La Biela, which was a hang-out in the 1950s for Argentina’s famous racing drivers, including Juan Manuel Fangio.

We re-hydrated ourselves with a couple of rounds of beers and headed back to the hotel, stopping off in a much smaller suburban bar to eat.

The sirloin steaks were an inch thick and hung over the sides of the plate. That was the meal — just the steak. As extras we ordered a salad which was 30% sliced raw onion, 30% sliced tomato and 40% lettuce.

It was meat overload and the next morning all of us had tummy problems of one sort or another.

By comparison with the heat and humidity of Buenos Aires, Bariloche was just five degrees when we landed, although it warmed up to 15 or so later in the day.

Here, we could easily have been in New Zealand.

This area was pure, untouched wilderness until 1934 when a pioneering tourist industry arrived.

We went on a 120km drive that took us through lakeland that was pure Queenstown, beech forests that could have been Westland and a vast open region that mirrored the Mackenzie Country.

Next day it was back to Buenos Aires to again battle with the heat.

Left to our own devices, our three-strong team got suggestions from the hotel staff and we headed off to the waterfront on the famous River Plate.

Like any Latin country, Argentinians don’t eat until 9.00 or 10.00pm and so we arrived to dine at this strip of cafes and bars, just as they were setting up.

The meal was superb and the walk back to the hotel was amazing. It had taken us 45 minutes to get there — it took four hours to get back.

Buenos Aires is where the Tango was created and it was celebrated as the people of the city came out to play.

There were Tango demonstrations and competitions on every second street corner. Bars and cafes had jazz-bands out of the pavement and the whole city took on a carnival atmosphere. And this is the way it is every night.

This was Thursday night and our flight back to Auckland was scheduled to leave at 2.00am on Saturday morning, so we had Friday free.

We voted to visit La Boca, an old port suburb of Buenos Aires which was precisely where the Tango was invented.

This was originally a place of bars and bordellos where sailors sought comfort and pleasure and although it’s been cleaned up a bit and has become more touristy; it’s still not a place you want to be at night.

Leave there before 6.00pm senors,” said the concierge at the hotel as he waved us goodbye and also issued a warning to watch that the taxi driver didn’t charge us more than 35-30 pesos (NZ$10-12).

Le Boca was great — bright, colourful and extraordinarily noisy. We ate; we drank, we sang — but were too reserved to accept the invitation of the dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty to dance the Tango (the dance of love) with her.

At 6.00pm we decided to go back to the hotel, pack our bags and head to the airport.

A footpath tout got us a cab, but as we neared the hotel, our driver pretended he didn’t see it and drove past. This was a deliberate ploy as the hotel has a policy of making sure its guests aren’t ripped off and ban taxi drivers who overcharged.

Our 36 peso ride to La Boca, had become a 55 peso ride back. Our driver didn’t want the hotel to see, or hear, any possible dispute. And dispute it we did. We had budgeted 30 pesos for the ride home and 30 pesos was all the disgruntled driver got.

At the airport, the flight had been delayed until 5.00am and government policy doesn’t allow anyone to check in earlier than three hours before the flight! So we had to sit and cool our heels in an airport that looked like it had been built in 1920. In fact, it was only 10 years old!

That took the edge off a great trip.

But there was more to come.

At Auckland, I was first off the plane and at Immigration I got a minor grilling — “What are you the Editor of?” “What were you doing in Argentina?” “Who took you there?” “What sort of car was being launched?” “Where in Argentina did you go?”

I had been warned that extra border security attention was given to flights from South America, presumably because of the Drug Problem.

But with that out of the way, I wasn’t prepared for a second grilling and being asked the same questions by a geeky little Customs fellow while I waited for my bags.

I was tired, I wanted to get home and I had already been asked and answered all of these questions. So, I wanted to know “why” I was being asked again.

He showed me who was “boss” by wasting 30 minutes of my life and his by asking more questions and then searching my bags — fruitlessly.

Despite this, I have nothing but great memories of the trip.