Don't cry for me Argentina

I have a confession. In 1986 when I was 12 and Argentina last won the World Cup I was not listening on my christmas present radio cassette player to Madonna, or Wham or, heaven forfend, AHA. Such coolness was the preserve of those 'in the know' at school. I would nod and glance nervously during conversations about their relative merits and hope that the subject would change quickly enough for me not to have to reveal a complete ignorance of what exactly 'Papa' might be preaching about. I was way behind the times, dreaming of a career in musical theatre and listening with devotion and all-lyric-knowing geekiness to the musicals of Andrew Lloyd Webber. Oh yes. I knew every single word of 'Evita' and would quite merrily sing away to myself 'I'd be surprisingly good for you' blissfully clueless to it's potentially dubious connotations.

I was pretty clueless generally really. Certainly about Argentina. It was a country we had had a war with not very long ago, it was the place that Evita came from and sang a lot about and there was some man called Maradona with a godlike hand who had done something extremely bad recently that wouldn't be forgotten for a VERY LONG TIME.

And there time froze. Because when Phil first mentioned the idea of this trip late last year and explained that we would begin in Argentina I'm afraid, to my eternal shame, I didn't know a great deal more than that.

Shouts of Joy

It´s an odd feeling being stared at by plants. Deep in the valley `Quebrada de Humahuaca´, we looked up and saw lines of cacti leering ominously down at us. Their limbs raised in a mixture of alarm and attack it felt rather like being ambushed.

Our senses are definitely under assault. We are in the northern province of Jujuy, our final province of Argentina and we are only 200 kilometres from Bolivia. Jujuy means `Shout of Joy´ and this landscape invites whoops and ah´s and ´look at thats´ by the bucketload. We have one particularly enormous shout of joy brewing, one that will see us able to bike on from a place that we are currently stuck..but more of that later.

Climb On, Climb Up, Chill Out, Fall Off

We've been doing some of each.  You could say equal quantities of each, although I would defend myself that there has been less of the last bit than the other three.  More of that later.  One way or another, whilst Argentina reaches a collective fever pitch of 'albiceleste' frenzy in the lead up to the Mundial (World Cup), hot on the heels of the bicentenary celebrations, we've been reaching our own frenzy of appreciation of tarmac and 'civilisation' in Argentina before heading up into the high Andean Cordillera tomorrow.  In our sky blue and white striped replica shirts, of course.

The National Capital of the Goat and other Patriotic Talewinds

If you have a trumpet blow it, if you have a drum bang it, if you have a flag wave it. This is the week to be patriotic in Argentina, to stand up and be counted, to shout 'viva la patria' with the best of them and to drink copiously in your country's name. This week 'somos todos Argentinos'.

On the 25th May 1810, a group of Buenos Aires luminaries, declared independence from a Napoleon addled Spain. There had long been dissatisfaction with rule from afar and most had had enough of sending hard earned wealth back to Europe. This kicked off 'The Argentine War of Independence' which was finally concluded six years later with a formal declaration which Spain was forced to swallow.

So, this week saw the 'Bicentenario' of those events, with a four day weekend, endless pale blue and white decorations contorted into bunting, bannering and ballooning, monumental monument unveilings and us cycling through the middle of it all.