Into Argentina

Andean vista

With our inaugural bus ride of South America, a bum-numbing 8 hour semi-sleeper across the Andes, our time in Chile came to an end.

Our tight schedule, once again, only gave us time for a brief taster - Santiago, Valparaiso and, previously, Easter Island (which also counts as Chile). A visit which in no way did justice to the long, narrow country so perfectly wedged between the Andes and the Pacific.


Pavement dweller

We were initially headed down to the promised breath-taking landscapes of Patagonia, but the low temperatures, retracted glaciers and expensive transport made us turn north instead, for our last few Chilean days.

Hence, only a brief Chile summary: Hot dogs. Guacamole. Wine. Parks. Music. Cocktails. Laughter. Hangovers. Checkout. Adios Chile.

Then, Argentina.


Lunch

After driving through the Cristo Redentor tunnel, a nearly two-mile passage drilled into the mountains at 10,400 feet above sea level, we eventually stepped onto Argentine soil and had this curious country welcome us with sunshine, happy faces and tree lined avenues. Just what we needed.

The following days have been equally excellent. Glorious, even. Why did no one tell us about this place before? Argentina is absolutely delectable. It's relaxing and exciting at the same time. And cheap too, very cheap - last night we sought out the most luxurious restaurant in the town of Mendoza, where we indulged in the thickest slabs of steak we have ever seen - butterflied entrecotes with beef skewers, rocket salad, a bottle of delicious wine - all for less than $25 for the two of us.

So far we've visited two wineries, an olive oil plantation and a chocolate factory. Oh, yeah, and then there was the creepy butcher shop that also did taxidermy (!?). It's true. Behind a glass counter of rather drab, old looking meats, there stood a giant bookcase filled with the most random, glass-eyed, dead creatures you could imagine, all stuffed and stitched together by what was clearly a very keen unskilled amateur. Dogs. Cats. Armadillos. Condors. Crocodiles. Sheep foetuses. Every single person in this shop must figure that they are buying a slice of old dog. Yummy.


Tres amigos

People are friendly, the cars are retro cool and, even better, there are few street dogs rubbing their filthy little butts against us. We could definitely stay here for a while. And you know what, we probably will. After all, there is a lot to see.

Tonight we take another sleeper bus, this time to Bariloche, our most southernly point in our trip so far.

See you there.


El duderino

Rapa Nui - stray dogs and carved stone

Akapu sunset

Write a list of small, weird, distant islands, and chances are that Easter Island will rank pretty high. Partly due to the world famous mysterious giant stone statues (Moai) and partly because this little island is so remote that for a very long time no one knew it existed at all.

Named after Easter Sunday, the day Dutch explorer Roggeveen stumbled upon it in 1722, this isolated speck of land has seen more than it's fair share of warfare, starvation and disease.

This is as remote as remote gets. Skegness has more annual visitors. There are hardly any houses, restaurants, shops, people, bikes, door knobs, volleyballs, cans of tuna or pretty much anything else. Once upon a time it was self sufficient, but these days heavily it's heavily reliant on the weekly supply ship. This island belongs to nature, a barren land of stone and waves.


Slopes of the quarry

After a one minute taxi ride from the airport, we checked into the homely casa of the nicest and gayest man in the village, Oscar. After dumping our bags and necking a glass of Oscar's welcoming fresh mango juice, we headed out to find out what this place was all about.

Dogs, apparently. And lots of them too. Big, scary, battle-scarred, rabies-looking mongrels, with sinister yellow fangs protruding and excited strings of saliva sending stretchy missiles of yuck of in every direction.

Soon we were surrounded by a growling, snarling, barking pack of nasty mutts, their piercing, hungry eyes growing bigger by the second. Then we remembered that good old adage "not to show fear", so to try to put them off and make them run away we tried staring right back, looking as hungry as we possibly could (even though we'd just had the Chicken Parmesan on the plane).

To our surprise it worked. A subtle yet significant lowering of the head showed us that they'd succumbed to our pressure. Then, to our absolute horror, they started shaking their tails. Uh oh. For some reason they were now our best buddies. Wherever we went, our unshakable pack of skanky street dogs followed, rubbing their dirty little butts against us at every opportunity, to show us their unwavering loyalty. Shit. Reverse psychology gone horribly wrong.



Windy

To escape our four-legged friends, and to explore the place properly, we rented a rattling 4x4 and drove off to the opposite end of the island. Together with Ad and Anja, two mild-mannered Dutch U2 groupies, we visited lots of sites and saw hundreds of huge Moai, most of them lying face down, having at some point been pushed over by unhappy locals or rumbled by tsunamis.

Among the most impressive sites was Tongariki, a site where 15 of the giant beasts had been lifted up with the help of "the Moai Restoration Committee of Japan" (who, incidentally, in return received fishing rights). We also saw Rana Raraku and Rana Kao, two massive craters, complete with reed growing volcanic lakes and scores of prowling hawks. One of these craters was the main quarry for the Moai, with hundreds of partially buried ones eerily scattered around the hills.


Moai takeoff

Even though the Moai don't exactly show much diversity in execution (it's the same face again and again), they are still awesome. Weighing many tonnes and measuring up to 20 meters these enormous torsos are still puzzling historians and scientists. And the fact that they are scattered over a beautiful, windswept 117 square kilometers of screensaver worthy landscapes, only makes them even better. Think wild horses and grassy fields and big clouds and rain and sun and overwhelming freshness.

With many theories as to how and why these statues were transported and erected, the mysteries of Easter Island will probably never be fully understood. Still, it's been great to visit. A rare and worthwhile lesson to marvel at what creativity and hard work can achieve, even if you only have access to a little bit of nature.


Tongariki

Then, as quickly as we came, we left. Taking the very impressive Chilean LAN airline to Santiago, where we are now eating fast food and deliberating our exact next steps.

We'll see what happens. We are in no rush. Meanwhile we may just order another round of hot dogs. With avocado. And mayonnaise. Lots of it. Because, hey, we're on holiday.

Hasta Luego.


Flashlight drawing

Time travel in French Polynesia

Coral muncher

As our Tahiti-bound passenger jet crossed the 180th meridian, the opposite longitude of Greenwich, we hit the geographical halfway point in our journey. From that moment onwards we were no longer heading away from home, but rather towards it.

The 180th meridian is also the International Date Line, and, as such, we had to rewind the date on our clocks one full day. So, technically speaking, we had arrived before we had departed.


Date Line

So once we had touched down on the tiny runway, received our complimentary flowers from the happy, big-boned ukulele band, passed through customs and pulled in to the surf lodge of Ralf ‘No Worries’ Stadman, then for the second time in our lives we went to sleep on the night of Thursday April 9th, 2008.

Tahiti is much like the paradise we had imagined. Dramatic volcanic peaks rise out of the clear, warm Pacific, all of it covered in a seamless carpet of lush green rainforest. Along the coastal ring reef, perfect surf-tubes break continuously, adding a muffled background rumble.


Catching dinner

This paradise was the backdrop for the infamous mutiny on the Bounty, where Fletcher Christian, the angry third officer aboard the ship, set his commander, Captain William Bligh, adrift in a small wooden boat. But Bligh, being a hard-as-nails, old sea dog of a Captain (he’d been trained by Captain Cook) expertly navigated himself and all of his 18 crew to safety in Timor, many thousand kilometres away. No wonder they still name burgers after him.


Angler

Polynesia has been a French colony since the 1880s, although in the 1970s it was declared an overseas territory with “internal management autonomy”. Which means all French citizens have the right to stay here indefinitely, require no work permits, and can casually mooch about wearing mega-tight Speedos, a right which they all seem to exercise. And this covers some 100 islands spread over more than 2000 square kilometres. Quite a deal then. Forget about Cannes or the Cote D’azur; the most beautiful part of France is Polynesia.

And it's still very French. Along water front roads, petite Citroens and rusty Renaults race past churches and small rotisseries. Shops sell only carefully selected essentials, yet all carry disproportionately wide ranges of cheese and wine.

Even our tiny, local ’magasin’, a grocer that does not sell items like toilet paper or milk, manages to carry five different vintages of Bourdeaux and four different types of Brie. Fine wine and good cheese is clearly a major priority for any self-respecting French colony, no matter how remote.


Ferry ramp kid

From the 60s onwards parts of Polynesia were used as a nuclear testing site. When France got too much international pressure to stop, the French did the only rational thing they could think of – they sent their secret service agents to New Zealand to bomb the Greenpeace ship The Rainbow Warrior. Quite possibly the dumbest plan ever conceived by any government at any time.


Look behind you

Understandably Polynesia is very expensive. Everything comes at a huge mark-up, only some of which is to recoup thousands of miles of spent fuel. Even local produce is very costly. Then again, inflated prices don’t seem to be a problem for most of the foreigners. Few visitors come to Tahiti on a tight budget.

The islands we’ve seen so far, Tahiti and nearby Moorea, are flawlessly beautiful. And if we’d have the time to island-hop, then we’d undoubtedly encounter many more, probably even more beautiful ones. Apparently Marlon Brando liked it so much he bought himself one. And you can’t blame him. French Polynesia is like Jurassic Park meets Aix-en-Provence. C’est très magnifique.


Black tipped sharks

After spending a few nice but mosquito-plagued days in a bungalow on Moorea, we stumbled upon ‘Mark’s Place Paradise’, a few kilometres down the road, run by a super-friendly, American, 300-words-per-minute kind of guy. Awesome. As a long time carpenter Mark lives in a tree, in the plushest, most well built tree house you could ever imagine. It has a waterfall, a pool and three verandas. This is the tree house that every ten-year old kid dreamed of, but spectacularly fails to build.

Today we had our best ever scuba diving trip. Great visibility, nice people and lots of marine life. We swam freely amongst 12 foot lemon sharks (Requin Citron, for which the underwater signal is a hand on the head, signifying shark, and then a circular motion with the other hand, to signify squeezing a lemon), lots of black tipped sharks and the biggest turtles we’d ever seen.

As a whole, Tahiti has been wonderful. A little pricey, but with the isolated location, that is quite understandable. People have made us feel welcome, and the chilled pace of the place makes everyone wish they’d have a few more weeks.


Dive 2

Since the days of Captain Bligh and the race to lay claim to the Pacific, many things have changed. Luxury resorts have popped up, roads have been built and Coca Cola have given away free signs to every commercial enterprise. But even so, Polynesian life seems chronically unhurried, and most people we’ve met have seemed very happy with their lot in life. And you can’t ask for more than that.


Tahitian dusk

Tomorrow we leave for Easter Island, our next distant Pacific outpost.

Maururo Tahiti. Peace out.

We’ll remember you.

Out of Oz

Sail-like arches

Hands down, Sydney is a terrific place. After a few days of drifting around its pleasant hills, parks and beautiful harbour front, we have little doubt of its greatness.

In our opinion this ought to have been the capital of Australia. Although we never quite made it to Canberra, the city that has denied so many fierce competitors the little blue plastic Geography wedge in Trivial Pursuit (yes, Canberra is the capital), it can surely not live up to the loveliness that is Sydney.

And we've had fun too, without going to any of the conventional attractions. First we enjoyed the non-alcoholic lunacy of the Redbull Flugtag in the Botanical Gardens, the best entry being a giant pink foam pig which flew a good 3 meters or so, before exploding upon impact. Then we partied at the MTV offices with a slick crowd of Graffiti artists at the 'Semi-Permanent' closing party, a four day long convention of uber-cool urban street culture.


Semi-drunk

The next day we watched brave surfers carving huge Pacific waves and dodging rocks at the world famous Bondi beach. We also saw the fantastic 'The diving bell and the butterfly' at an art house cinema, resurrected our backgammon league, had Thai food with our friend Sorhani, sampled the fine coffee at the famous 'Campos Coffee' and got inspired at the Museum of Contemporary Art.

And, best of all, it was all rather painless. Like a big tub of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough, it just kind of happened. Sydney is very easy indeed, the only draw back is that it's quite expensive. Especially when you've just come from dirt cheap South East Asia. But hey, perhaps that's life.


Bondi break

Lastly, we are sad to report that the alleged Kangaroo is nothing but a myth. Sorry to burst your bubble like this, but you can forget about the famous Roo. It's nowhere to be seen. For all our earnest searching, zoom lenses at the ready, scouring the grassy fields across several states, we have found no such creature. We even drove through a place called 'Kangaroo Valley' and saw nothing but a couple of sheep and a few fat cows.

We have however seen plenty of Kangaroo T-shirts, Kangaroo sun visors and Kangaroo mouse mats. Guess that'll have to do for us.


Bushfire sunset

In a few hours we leave this great country. So goodbye to all you friendly officials, exemplary cities and imaginary Kangaroos. It's been good. We will gladly come back one day.

Next we fly to Tahiti. Which will require us to travel east across the International Date Line, resulting in the theoretical subtraction of 24 hours.

How very exciting.

Fruit flies and La-Z-boys

Wacky

As our spacious Quantas flight touched down in the outskirts of Melbourne, our entry point into the World's smallest continent, we instantly realised how geographically removed we were.

Security at the airport was fierce only in that friendly, red-in-the-face, Australian way. Unlike the paranoid Western customs we're used to, the focus of these guys is to protect the environment. While signs informed us that the delicate ecosystem could easily be screwed up by a single uninvited insect, a number of stern, chubby officials x-rayed our bags for perishables, bugs and miniscule agricultural pests. We even had to declare our Wurther's Originals. These guys take no chances.

And so we learnt that Melbourne airport is a place equally concerned about fighting fruit flies as it is about fighting international terrorism. The sniffer dogs are trained for bananas rather than bombs. Once we'd stepped outside the terminal we understood why.

Bright white sunshine, stunning vegetation, and massive blue skies. Absolutely gorgeous. This remote land is the famous home of the Koala, Kangaroo, Dingo, Platypus, Wallabee, Wombat and Kookaburra. If there had ever existed an animal called the Wongadonga it would definitely have been from here.


Melbourne

This place is so full of endearingly named, cuddly wildlife and lush evergreen plants that the United Nations has listed it as one of the World's 18 'Megadiverse countries' - areas that between them carry the majority of the Earth's biodiversity. Quite an accolade for a country that is mostly desert.

Still, for all its wackiness, Australia is strangely familiar. Left side traffic, pebble dash facades and hard working faces. It doesn't take long before you realize that Australia is Britain. Only bigger and better. Wider streets, less drizzle and plumbing that actually makes sense. No wonder there are so many British immigrants.


Luna park

Despite distinct multiculturalism in the big cities, with every bus and tram representing Croatians, Greeks, Italians and Chinese, the Australian stereotypes are eerily accurate. The shaggy haired surf bum, the mullet-sporting pick-up truck driver, and the worn, wrinkly sheep farmer - we have met them all. Yet it's not crowded. With more than 8 million square kilometers of land, there are only 5 countries that are less densely populated.

For a few days we stayed with Rowena, Julian and Lawrence, the hospitable family of our friend Ella. Just what we needed. Fine wine. A comfy bed. And a slobbering 13 year old pit bull called Mars. Perfect. A home away from home. Thank you guys.


Nonnie, aka The Nonster

Then we made our way to the house of Meg Hopgood, Meredith's maternal grandmother, a lady made from the substance you get when you cross platinum, gold and diamonds. A grandmother who is what other grandmothers can only ever aspire to be. Funny. Graceful. Rude. She has in her living room a pair of colossal leather La-Z-boys that would make any aspiring bachelor scowl with jealousy. Nonnie rocks. Hard.

After a few memorable days with her and two cousins, Jen and Sam, in the former gold mining town of Eaglehawk, we rented ourselves a sporty little Toyota roadster. Vroom, baby. So now we're making our way up through the lush green valleys of New South Wales, towards Sydney.


Road trip

So far Australia has had it all. Great weather, lovely people and plenty of space. Now we just need to spot a bloody Kangaroo. Is that really too much to ask?