Day 2 - Buenos Aires

So here we are, its day two of the trip and after our impressive attempt to align our body clocks with drinking, i can honestly say i have never woken up feeling worse. I must be getting old....

True to form of any Australian heading overseas, we managed to seek out the only irish pub in a twelve million person town. After the debacle of the 'four cheese' pizza, neither of us were in a particularly hungry state. So instead after a word to my friend, the russian camerra salesman, who recommended a drink there on a monday night we were soon in pub seeker mode. Seeking further information as to the direction from El Conquistador i asked hotel reception.

"Hola!" (My grasp on the spanish language is extensive)

"Hola!"

"Ummmmmmm..... No habla espanol.....errrrrrrr drink.....pub?? Shamrock??"

- Pause with some intensive typing in the computer -

"No."

"Right....ummmmm well do you know where an irish pub is then?? Maybe something that rhymes with shamroc, like shamrocko?"

-Another extensive pause-

"No, no shamrock here, do you know a last name??"

"Ummmmmm, no its not a person, its a place, a drink dispensing place??"

"No"

With my friend google to the rescue, it was on. We rocked up to an obviously irish pub with a plainly obvious lack of people. Shrugging our shoulders and forgetting the golden rule of going out we forgot about the need to eat and entered through the gates of evil. After finding out that in an irish pub the only thing that you couldnt drink was guiness or kilkenny we stuck to ol faithful heineken. Always trustworthy and always different in every country.

(BLANK)

then....

Ouch. Morning time, and not a very good one. At least we slept through the night and didnt have the one oclock boredom associated with jetlag. Refusing to get out of my pajamas it was up to the top floor for a cooked breakfast, everything a growing body needs. Two double espressos later and with dad and david keen to explore we were out again. In search of 99% certain hangover cure, a massage.

Still refusing to remove my pajamas, and not caring that i stuck out like a preacher in a marolyn manson concert, we eventually stumbled upon the spa. After being told to return at ten past one we sought to immerce ourselves in south american culture and investigate if mcdonalds tastes the same here as it does back home, it does. Returning to the spa it was soon plainly obvious that we had been led to the most hidiously overpriced (In south american terms) place in town. But there was a reason for this. Led into a huge room with two stories of change rooms surrounding an elegantly appointed pool with gargoyles spurting water from their mouths, we were instructed to derobe and shower in a extremely open and public shower area. Thenceforth we were led to the massage area where we were told to change into a pair of disposable underwear, which i never knew existed yet am rapidly warming to the idea of! Within minutes we were all half comatosed and being needed into relaxation.

The afternoon was then filled with dreams as we took a 'short' nap and woke up in time to skype the girls before heading downstairs to meet the tourgroup for the first time. Introductions were made and pleasentries exchanged before we headed to the restauraunt/meat factory for dinner. It was unbelievable, open cows roasting in frount of a coal fire, huge grills of meat being dispensed to the one hundred person room. Giggling at the 12 dollar steaks in the fancy restauraunt we were presented with what we all described as the tastiest pieces of meat we ever had the pleasure of devouring. Trying to cure the still present quesieness we had a few amber ales to wash down the hunk of cow still mooing on our plates...

Unable to rally again for the third night in a row we all decided to admit defeat and hit the sack....

And so we eventually say a solemn goodbye the the city of eternal drips, not being able to walk five meters without getting dripped on my the drone of twelve million airconditioners running at once. And we hope that the riders we encounter down south dont show the same love for safety that our famous buenos aires riders do. (Every bike rider has a helmet, but each one suprises us with a new place to put it other than his head, we have seen the elbow, the knee, the hand, the very top of the head.....)

Munros - 0 Buenos Aires - 1

Also check out Steve's blog @ http://shortwayup.omega-prime.co.uk

and,

Mauricio and Dani's blog @ http://ushuaia2cusco.blogspot.com/