So we went from Iguasu in the furthest east of Argentina, to Salta, just a llama’s throw from the northern border with Bolivia, then far west to Mendoza, half an Inca from Chile, and then Patagonia, from where if you travel too much further south you’re in Antarctica. Ish. Then back east to Buenos Aires. So we ‘did it all’. Well, if you don’t count the 50 squillion square miles of ‘the bit in the middle’. Which is vast.

We finished our holiday with two nights on an Estanza. That’s a ranch to a know-nothing gringo like you. Just outside the city.

And like all big cities, it sprawls.

So we left the city, then went through the semi-industrialised, quasi-slumlike bits on the fringes, and then, suddenly, you are in the Pampas. Which you know because it is very green, it is very very flat, and it is fucking humungous in its endlessness. It goes on for… for… well, if the world was still flat (and I for one have never been fully convinced othewise) it would stretch right to the end before you fall off. Apparently soya is what they grow here. Farsands and farsands and farsands of acres of it.

We left the freeway, went on a ‘b’ road, then a ‘c’ road, and by the time we’d run out of letters, we’d run out of tarmac and the last 10 km or so was on a dirt track out in the wilds. Or, ‘polo country’ as they call it here.

Because Argentinians looooooove horses and they looooooooove polo. So our estanza was owned by a (French, apparently) man who loves polo. We had a polo field outside the front door. And they are big things. We had horses. Lots of horses. And we had cows. More than even we could eat in 2 days. And that (now) is a lorra cows. What they called the ‘garden’ was what we would call ‘Kent’. And yet was beautifully tended and mown.

So inevitably, they made us ride horses. Which is no problem for me because I’ve watched hundreds of Western movies, all the Clint Eastwoods and was a big Bonanza fan. So I know how to ride. Obviously. But Mel was nervous. I mean, really, how hard can it be???

First problem, horses don’t have doors. So how ya supposed to get in? Or on?? But we had our ‘gaucho’ to show us the way. Gauchos are like cowboys but smaller. Like rather camp little toy cowboys who happen to be very good at horsey things. Though you’d imagine not great at the boozin’, fightin’, whorin’ side of cowboy life. Naahh.

And so we went forth into the vast countryside on horseback. Like a donkey ride for grown ups. And it was fab and it was fine and no-one fell off.

And now we’re home. Its over. The 2014/15 leg of the World Tour is over. Bummer. Been a blast.

Happy monday

A xxxx