From one world to another

Of all the cities in South America, I don't think any can be more chic than Buenos Aires. I took a city tour by bike (how very French) with a lovely Argentine girl who showed me the classic sights. We cycled along the banks of the sparkly new port lined with restaurants, expensive clubs and hotels (including the Hilton); through plazas and parks adorned with fountains, memorials (not least the memorial to those that died in the Falklands War) and statues that were gifts from various countries; by huge mansions, cathedrals and impressive government buildings (one painted in pastel pink); through the modern business district full of glass-walled skyscrapers designed by world-reknowned architects; and to the famous La Boca barrio, the amazingly colourful old centre of Buenos Aires and the birthplace of Tango, brimming with trendy cafés, bars and restaurantes as well as the inevitable souvenir shops and tango dancers posing for photographs. Even more so than the rest of Buenos Aires, it's full of descendents of French, Italian and other fashionable European nationalities wearing the latest fashions, sipping coffee or maté with friends. Maté is a strongly flavoured hot drink brewed from a mixture of herbs drank in Argentina and sometimes Chile in the same way we drink coffee. They drink it from little metal-lined spherical mugs through a special straw designed to filter out the bits. They love it, but to me it tasted like drinking cigarettes. I guess it's an aquired taste.

Besides fashion, tango and maté, Argentinians also love their football. Boca Juniors is Buenos Aires (and Argentina's) most famous team, but they were playing away during my stay, so I had to settle for watching a game of their arch-rivals River Plate instead. They were playing another but lesser Buenos Aires team, Independiente. I went with a bunch of other gringos on the trip organised by the hostel, which we paid 100 pesos for. When we were given the tickets it turned out they only cost 30 pesos each - we paid 70 for transport! And we were sat in a pretty dead section of the stands. We did have a good view of the home supporters at the other end though, bouncing up and down and singing for the entire game, and could hear the antics of the away fans above us, especially when they decided to throw debris (of God knows what) into the stands below. The football itself was a bit pants. It was a very scrappy game, with 2 players sent off, that only ended in a 1-1 draw despite River Plate being strong favourites to win. The crowd weren't too happy with the performances either, it seemed, booing and whistling after the final whistle.

I had a flight to Santiago de Chile at 7.25am on Tuesday, so I had to leave at 4.30am. There was a party in the hostel on Monday night, which I wasn't necessarily intending to get involved in, but I met one of the guys from the pub in Ushuaia there, and later got chatting to various other of the hostel-goers, so it was 3am when I finally got to bed for a power nap.

Santiago is another huge South American capital, with some 6 million people living in a valley mid-way between the coast and the Andes. Like Buenos Aires, but slightly less obviously, it also aspires to emulate the cities of Europe rather than those of the rest of the continent. I spent my day there wandering the Bellavista district, where my friendly hostel was located, amongst international restaurants, cafés and theatres, and the Parque Metropolitano, on a hill in the middle of the city sprawl. It's an interesting park, most easily accessed by a funicular, or train, up the steep hill. At the top is a church and a monument of the Virgin Mary (yup, another one) overlooking Santiago. The views from the top would be spectacular, were it not for the thick brown cloud of smog hanging over the city. The park itself is not too accessible. I wandered along a trail into the forest, but was told it wasn't safe to do so alone, so turned back to the roads and footpaths. Instead, I took the cable car down into the rest of the park to see open air swimming pools, pretty botanical gardens, and several cafes.

La Paz, on the other hand, is pretty much the polar opposite of Buenos Aires. It's hard to believe I'm in the same continent. The highest capital city in the world, sprawled across a valley at a dizzying height of 3,650m, embodies the classic South America of poncho-wearing peasants, poverty and political problems. The drive in from the airport (where security was about as lax as I've ever encountered) was a little scary in a beat-up taxi, and I was immediately reminded of the cities of Peru and Ecuador by the shabby buildings and street-dwelling peasants selling their miscellaneous wares. Exploring the city confirms it as being of the third-world, to use a horrible cliché. Many of the streets are narrow, cobbled and congested with minibus taxis spewing out black smoke. Markets fill the plazas, with stalls selling everything from household gadgets like screwdrivers and lightbulbs, wired up just to prove that they work, through herbs, potions and charms (not least dried-out llama foetuses and snake skins), to the thousands of alpaca sweaters, scarves, hats and gloves we gringos love. In the plazas, men and women try to earn a few centavos shining shoes, hiding their shame behind black balaclavas and ski masks. Tourism is obviously the most profitable trade, evidenced by the countless internet cafés, call centres (which all advertise calls to Israel at $0.70 por minuto), tour agencies, hostels and souvenir shops. I spent most of yesterday exploring the streets and watching the peasants go by. In the central San Francisco Plaza, just outside the beautiful old church of the same name, frequent gunfire alerted me to the demonstrations that were taking place (as I think they probably always are). Banners hung from the monuments protesting for something or other, a few leaders with megaphones announced their demands, and hundreds of peasants gathered blocking the streets. The armed, uniformed police or military (hard to tell) seemed to be doing little.

It's a fascinating city, made even more appealing because everything is so inexpensive. I had a great three course meal in a nice gringo restaurant for under $3. I've got a ticket for a 7 hour bus journey for $5. Entry to great little museums (including one documenting everything associated with the controversial coca leaf, which, if more than slightly biased against the West and at times simply wrong in its facts, was fascinating) cost next to nothing. A coca tea in a nice café (I've had a bit of a headache from the altitude) was about 25p. The hostel I found in the Lonely Planet is certainly cheap (less than $3 per night) but, with the exception of the friendly guy on reception, not so cheerful. My private room is bright and airy but the ensuite bathroom is locked, the matress is stiff and misshapen, I needed earplugs to sleep, and the shower was so cold this morning that putting my head under the water caused me real pain. But it was a bed, and after another early morning flight yesterday I was grateful for whatever I could get. I considered changing to a more touristy hostel with hot water today, but couldn't be bothered.

I leave for Cochabamba tomorrow morning, via bus. Apparently the road can be a bit hairy, which scares me a little, but I save about $40, and with so many buses and so many travellers using the route, it can't be so bad. If I don't blog again, you'll know it was a bad move.