Buenos Aires to Bariloche

I've come to the conclusion that bringing an iPad instead of a laptop was a mistake of biblical proportions. You cannot upload photos with an iPad; in fact, you cannot even save photos on an iPad other than by emailing them, one by one, to yourself. It is also horrifically difficult to type but I guess this is my only option. Thankfully, Graham brought his laptop, but just as I was about to upload some great shots, the files on my Sony camera got corrupted in the process. Two days of photos gone, unless somehow, somehow, one of these jpeg recovery programs can salvage them.

Three days in Buenos Aires doesn't leave much of an impression if sight-seeing is your thing. Along with a garrison of American tourists, the famous cemetery and the cloisters of Pilar were as far as I got before realizing that sight-seeing isn't really the point of Buenos Aires. If you want that sort of a trip, go to Rome or Florence. Buenos Aires under a blue, blue sky instantly reminded me of Nice. It is a great city to stroll around, drink coffee, smoke cigarettes, check out the freaks, read a book, gawp at the women, drink some wine, drink another bottle, and finally, enjoy the fact that you were born a carnivore.

The steakhouse we visited, as recommended by our local contact Ilana, boasts that its beef is so tender you can cut it with a spoon. We were fully sold on this concept and it didn't disappoint. We also liked all the football memorabilia, the constant reminders that Diego Maradona probably ate here once, and the reassuring fact that we had to wait 30 minutes to get a table. Ordering two t-bones (which was almost twice the price as anything else on the menu) drew some attention from neighboring argentinians, and we realized why when they arrived. I felt full just by looking at it; and although it was one of the best steaks I've had, I was happy to share much of it with my curious neighbours. Graham gave a good account of himself, but I could only manage half before raising the white flag, almost paralytic. Note to self, when ordering t-bone in Argentina, have it medium rare, not rare, because the steak is about two inches thick, no exaggeration.

Twenty four hours and a rather bumpy flight later, we now find ourselves in the Patagonian lake district town of Bariloche, where we have rented a car and are staying at an empty hotel called Rochester, right by the lake. Graham booked this one, and gave me a bit of a funny look when I said it reminded me of The Shining.