Just experienced a rather tense moment, engaging in a virtual battle on the computer with some twerp trying to book the last remaining seat on the bus, Baps successfully seated, heading to Salta, while I was facing yet another night curled up in the kiosc. I won. No one defeats the Oc.
We departed from the black sand lake shores of volcanic Pucon to Valparaiso, up the coast of Chile. Nothing much to report other than the place is infested with cats and graffiti, and we discovered several pubes on our pillows on arrival. Aside the grunge, Valparaiso itself is very bohemian and brightly coloured, and our hostel very quirky, with an ace panoramic view of the port. We managed to dodge the locals, who regularly came out with rasping phrases such as "So farrr, so good," and "trust no one," and spent a very worth while couple of days soaking up some rays on the beach, and listening to some absolute music gods blasting from the local restuarant. Life was good. Although half my lower lip has been singed off and Rosie was serenaded, or accosted, by a moustache with legs and a guitar on the bus home.
We escaped back across the border to Mendoza, Argentina´s alcoholic alcove, from which 70 percent of the entire country´s wine comes from. Mindblowing. And potentially lethal. We hopped straight onto some bicycles to do Mr Hugo´s Wine Tour, visiting some of the finest wineries the region has to offer. With the blood-pumping cycle and an empty stomach (a rarety for me and RW), we soon found ourselves rather merry on a selection of red, white, sweet and sparkling wines (new found love for fizzy red wine- bizarre!) For the QM girlies, it will be unsurprising to learn that my taste buds are still to develop from wine tasting in upper 6th, and if put to the test once more, it is more than probable that I would score 0 out of 20 yet again, although this time, I probably wouldn´t win a sympathy biro for my efforts.
Joining us on the wine tour were some lovely girls we had befriended in the hostel called Ali and Natty. After leaving our first vineyard Florio we wobbled our way to our next stop. The roads were perfectly straight and we were feeling good about life when suddenly Mr Policeman on a scooter decides to rock up and tag alongside us for the ENTIRE duration of our wine tour. Slightly creepy. When we were tasting the wine, he parked himself outside the gates, when we were on the road he quite happily made himself available. By our 4th vineyard we were getting irritated with the man. Ali, slightly jolly, turns around and demands an explanation. Mr Policeman exclaims that it is ´his job´ to accompany us, I quote ¨to protect yourself from harm and traffic.¨ There were no cars on the road. Our tour continued with four 18 year old girls in absolute hysterics. A minor bike crash eventually resulted in Mr Policeman getting on his radar for immediate backup. Not necessary. We were pulled over off the road for a severe lecture and from then on were escorted by, I kid you not, two policeman on scooters and one police truck, siren included. Octav accidentally bears left instead of right, Mr Policeman takes this as a sign of confirmation that she is incapable of ´road safety´ and therefore insists she gets into the police vehicle at once. Meanwhile I fall off my bike from laughing too much and declare that I will buy baldy policeman a wig if he releases Octavia from potential incarceration. It is sad the fact that we were not that drunk, although Ocs was offering Mr Policeman a sip from the bottle of wine in her basket that we had just purchased and demanding he wore her bright orange sunglasses to ´improve his image.´ No wonder we nearly ended up in jail.

The following day was spent mostly in bed feeling rather sorry for ourselves, the night spent consuming yet another bottle of wine and busting a move or two on the Mendozan town. We decided that a wee trott in the Argentine countryside was the best hangover cure and set out once again on horse back at sunset. The selection process was rather more nail biting, as, being a group of 8, we had to be matched to our steeds. I almost passed out as i realised that the only horses left available to me were either a squat, hacked off - scuse the pun- looking donkey, or the most terrifying beast I have ever laid eyes on; a black stallion by the name of Samuel, a.k.a... Black Death. Luckily, I got stumpy, while Rosie was sat upon the snacker of the pack, Miguel. The ride was stunning, we didn´t fall off, and, though I may say so, we looked rather good. We also fell slightly enamoured with the head Gaucho, nimbly mastering Samuel at break neck speed and making Zorro look rather inadequate. Coolest man alive. We had a riot with the pack over a traditional "asado," or bbq and took on a ridiculously good looking Dutch man at a ping pong match. Signing out til Salta- hopefully we´ll make the bus.