"I always look at the bill"...

Well I have to say it: Mark can be overbearing.

"Check the Bill". "Check this". "Check that". 

He must be carrying a separate suitcase just for receipts, as I'm sure a thorough accounting will happen when we land back in Toronto. 

I have resigned myself to accept that this is the role he should be playing on this trip. I had the quintessential money tracker along on this trip. If ever there was a time I ought not to be concerned about finances (except my own tendancy to overtip, and Mark's need to live in the laps of luxury), this was it. 

To his credit, he did say that we should carry lots of USD. 

"Mark, I travel enough. If TD Visa is good enough in the jungles close to Bangalore, they're good enough for South America". 

And so what if I need to call the bank once in a while to release a lock due to some suspicious activity.. 

So how did he not know this?

"Mark, I just don't get it! How many people did you ask for opinions and advice for this trip? And you! You're into this Financial BS! How could you not know!!!". 

Perhaps I should take a step back. 

Before we set out on the trip, Mark practically told everyone, anyone really, about our planned itinerary. One day he spoke to X, the other to Y. One friend of his is a regular in Buenos Aires. How could he not tell him?

When I tell stories about trips, I like to focus on the negatives, not because the negatives are what I take with me. Machu Picchu is heaven on earth. But make no mistake about it: Front and Center in my narrative will be the low flying army of mosquitoes. Hundreds. No. Thousands, that ate away at my legs, and arms. I lay feverish in bed for a night or two, and called in a doctor (clowns?) in Chile. 

I say the story not because the place/experience was any less spectacular than it could have been, but because it is the sort of information that I think others would want to know. 

Perhaps the information is handy in the Lonely Planets guide, or whatever travel books people typically use. But this is information that I'd expect friends who'd traveled before to take note of. A lessons learned of sorts, to impart on friends who may travel in the future. 

So let's go back to Mark and his prowess in all things economic. 

We'd walked through a small arcade in the Recoleta district on our first day, and I decided that I needed an Argentine Gaucho hat. 200 Pesos. A little quick math: 5-1, $40. Pricey. Mark bought one in Chile for a quarter of the price. 

"Pero senor, es solamente $28", fired back the shop keeper. 

Something strange is happening in Argentina. Shop keepers are keen on getting paid in USD, and provide a far better exchange rate than one would otherwise get by say, pulling money from bank machine, or using a local exchange center. The spread is not the service charge, and several cents that separate a Buy/Sell trade in a Canadian bank. 

At 5.85 Pesos to the US Dollar (official rate), compared to a black market rate of closer to 8.5/9 Pesos to the US Dollar, a stay in Buenos Aires can be any where from a inexpensive dream vacation to a costly trip. 

Just carry USD with you. Lots of USD.

Buenos Aires is not the Paris of South America, nor its Rome, nor Madrid. It is all of them and more. A majestic city on steroids, where passions run deep, a city that truly never sleeps. 

Five days into the trip, and Kelly's words ring true. It can be so much more. 

Asados, Parillas, Milongas and Tango

Before we set out on this trip, Mark signed us on to a closed door restaurant where local up and comers host visitors/guests in their house for a typical Argentine meal.

Kelly and Gabriel have a swanky townhouse in the artsy district of Palermo, which they've dubbed Adentro dinner club. Palermo what exactly I don't know, as there are a few. Palermo Soho, Palermo Hollywood and on and on.

We'd just arrived from Santiago that afternoon, checked into the hotel, and returned from a short trip to Recoleta, another swanky but more posh neighborhood in the city where we enjoyed (?) Macarons at the local McCafe. It is the Garbz and a Macaron is a macaron. McDonalds or not.

Kelly and Gabriel have outfitted their home with a barbeque and a custom made chimney, and have a weekly dinner party where strangers gather together in a single dinner table.

Kelly has settled here from North America with an aspiring chef, Gabriel, who shares not only my name, but my secret salad dressing recipe.

Tango in San Telmo''s Sunday Fair

What's New, Buenos Aires?

The flight across the Andes

Slice this city off this continent and set it somewhere in the middle of Europe and this place would simply belong. Which shouldn't really come as a surprise: most of the portenos come from the continent anyways. 

That said, until you walk its streets, you cannot appreciate simply how grand this city actually is, and how long ago it started to take root. 

We had intended (while planning the trip) to book an apartment in this city in place of a hotel. But we hadn't settled on one back in Toronto, and lethargy of gargantuan proportions had set in Santiago. So by the time we actually got around to contacting ByTArgentina, and selecting one of the many options, we were told that we had to leave a security deposit, and the full amount of the rental in USD, and cash no less.

We weren't carrying that kind of money, nor could we be bothered to arrange for it.

And so we ended up, yet again, at a hotel.

Which isn't all bad.

Room service. Dress down, Dress up, turn it all around service. The Garbz has learned a few things (from Mark) in this trip. The luxuries are well appreciated.

Valparaiso and the Chilean coastline

Juan came to pick us up at 9. We'd finally settlled (or should I say- Mark finally won over the argument) that TIltil was off the itinerary, and we would settle for the Vanilla program that Juan had originally suggested.

The day prior had been taxing between the long waits, and even longer waits. Make no mistake about it though. This city, and its surroundings are driveable. This is no Lima. In fact, I dare say, the highways here are better than Canada's, and after a day trip that saw us spend what seems to be around $20-$30 in tolls that ought not to be a surprise.

It also made the whole idea of hiring a guide more sensible. Between the ordeal of renting a car, picking it up, dropping it off, filling up gas, paying tolls, creative accounting trying to figure out just how many Canadian dollars we're actually spending, parking the car at night and on and on... it didn't seem to be worth all that hassle.

And then there's the wine. We are after all in wine country, and it seemed neither fair nor appopriate that either of us would have to lose out on drinking, all on account of a drive.

We may have picked a Vanilla tour, but Juan is the farthest thing from Vanilla. 

The Other Andes

I have been in the habit of renting cars in my travels. The automobile has always been my prefered mode of transportation. Renting a car and driving it myself, or soliciting random cab drivers on arrival to said location to employ them for their services for the duration of my stay.

This worked like a charm in India, up in Sikkim, and later in Delhi.

I tried the tour bus once, long ago, in Edinburgh, on a trip through the Scottish highlands, and I found myself frustrated that I couldn't dictate where and when we turn, or when we stop, or how long we stop for. I don't care to be shepherded around. 

With the gigantic range of the Andes literally knocking on our doorstep, it was hard to decide where exactly we ought to go. Friends of ours had used the services of a private guide here in Chile, and spent days back in Toronto raving about the experience, and about Juan. 

We must have driven the poor man mad. One day we asked that we go on a trip to the Cajon de Maipo, a stones throw away from Santiago. The next, it was to go on a trip to Portillo, a renowned ski town close to Chile's border with Argentina. 

We had, in the original plans wanted to go to Mendoza in Argentina, and decided against it at the last minute. What, after all, did we want to do in Mendoza at all? It's the same mountain range, and just more wineries. There are wineries, excellent wineries no less in Chile. Did we really have to go through yet another round of packing and unpacking? 

The advantage of Mendoza however was that it was a short drive to Aconcagua National Park, from which one could have excellent views of the highest peak in the Andes. 

From Portillo, if one were to measure the x-y co-rdinates to the peak of Aconcagua, it was some 15-20km. Shouldn't we at least see the mountain? When one's gaze is locked onto the tree trunk, he can't very well be expected to see the forest from the tree. 

We'd gotten into some colorful debates on how best to spend the 6 days we had here in Santiago. Mark wanted to unwind and relax. And I feigned partial interest in relaxing. But Peru was taxing, and I was tired, and on drugs [the prescription kind]. 

Poor Juan got sucked into the whole debate. Maipo, Portillo. Then one day we threw in Tiltil and  Cerro el Roble, a national park north west of Santiago from whose peak one could apparently see a wider view of the majestic Andes to the East. Don't we want to be there? 

It seemed only a stone's throw away from Valparaiso, another trip we had on the itinerary. 

In the end, we settled on driving to Portillo ourselves, and calling Juan to help with the Valparaiso trip. We could both drink without resevation, and Juan is the resident expert on all things Chile. 

And so it was to be.

It was, I suppose some rather good thinking on the part of Mark to carry our passports with us on the trip. Perhaps he thought that any incident on the road would make carrying the passports worthwhile.

As it were, we were so enamored by the drive in the Andes that I guess neither of us paid attention to the Welcome to Chile sign we inadvertently passed, landing in the No-Man zone between  Argentina and Chile. "We better turn back!", but in so doing, we found ourselves with Chilean border control.

"You must fill your immigration papers!"

I should say that between Duo Lingo, weeks of Advanced Spanish lessons at the Spanish center, etc, I have been (for the most part) been able to manage quite well in the travels. Mark has been able to keep up with his Frespanol. But against the border police, with their Chilean brand of Spanish, we couldn't really muster much more than, "Estamos Estupidos, Manejamos mucho".

An hour into the long car pile up, we finally figured out how to get the PAX papers that were needed.

And Mark, well he had the brains to actually bring (for what ungodly reason who knows) our passports with us.

Chilling in Chile

After a gruelling and sleepless six nights in Peru, a stay at the W hotel in Santiago was a welcome respite.

The mountains surrounding us is where we'll be heading next, and whatever aggressive plans we had to spend the time on long Andean drives were tempered in no time... I mean do we really want to leave the laps of this luxury?

Andes's Beautiful Dangers and Sneaky Vampires

In homage to the previous Indian adventure: what is it with mountain adventures and little critters?

I'll save the reader's eye the trauma of bearing witness to the end results. Suffice it to say that the Garbz looks like an escapee from a leper colony.

Dear reader beware, should you plan a trip to Machu Picchu, bathe yourself in deet and leave no skin uncovered!