"Emma, you made it!"

Alfreddo waved from the crowded verandah and motioned for us to throw our bags in an open door. It was pouring with rain, which means standing room only at the hostel. Beachgoers and locals passed around mate, a local herbal tea, and waited for the sun to reappear. We were soaked through and covered with sand from our journey, but we didn't care and no one seemed to notice. We found a spot under the verandah, got comfortable. Someone passed around a joint.

This is Cabo Polonio. No need for introductions or formalities here. Things are simple. And mega relaxed. No electricity, no running water and no roads. Just white sandy beaches in all directions, tiny shacks made from wood, stone or any other material found locally, and an enormous colony of sea lions.

Getting up close and personal with a resident sea lion

We´re staying at the only hostel in town. Actually, it's more beach shack than hostel, with just three small dorms, and a couple of outdoor showers that are rigged up to the rainwater tank and heated by the sun. Our mattresses are airbeds, there's sand on the floor, but our view of the beach is unbeatable.

Our hostel

The only sounds are the waves and Bob Marley. The main 'plaza' is a sandy square with makeshift stalls selling local handicrafts and handmade clothes. The only way in and out of here is by monster truck, over the sand dunes and along the beach. The highlight of each day is the sunset: everyone gathers on the western beach and, when the sun dips below the horizon and into the sea, a chorus of cheers and claps ring out. We think we're going to like it here.

Sunset over Cabo Polonio

Vegetarians, look away now

An asado in Uruguay has to be seen to be believed

This be asado (barbecue) country, and this be a big meaty local asado in all its glory. Enormous hunks of steak, giant blood sausages, mammoth chicken legs, beer and big burly men sweating profusely over the hot coals. Grrrrrr ...

We’d decided that we’d have a meat free day today – god knows, we’ve eaten enough meat in the past two weeks to grow an extra limb or two. But our bike ride along the riverfront rambla in Montevideo happened to take us past the Mercado Del Puerto, which was crammed with locals stuffing themselves with giant meaty treats to the beat of African candombe drums. We just couldn’t help ourselves.

Four hours later and we’re still waiting for our meals to digest. Unfortunately it seems that one meal has undone all of the good work we’d done cycling 12kms into a head wind to the beaches on the outskirts of Montevideo. Was it worth it? Hell yes.

Next stop: Cabo Polonio

Tigre and the Delta del Parana

Doin' it tough in the Parana Delta

We’ve discovered the perfect antidote to the craziness of Buenos Aires: the Delta del Parana. The Rio Parana is the second largest river in South America (the Amazon is, of course, the big mama). The delta is a maze of smaller rivers that flow from it, creating a community of dense, tropical and remote island hideaways.

Our hideaway is on the Rio Parana itself, accessible only by private boat or river ‘bus', which floats past crumbling colonial houses and tiny shacks nestled on the riverfront. People sit on their jetties and wave as the 'bus' goes past, or they throw a couple of empty water containers to the crew for refilling in Tigre.

We had planned to go kayaking through the smaller rivers, but the banana lounges beckoned and instead we’ve spent two glorious days sleeping, reading, swimming and watching the boats sail by. Tomorrow we’re taking the long route through the delta to Uruguay, where more beaches and relaxation await. Gee, life is tough.

Boca Junior v River Plate

Supporters of these two teams share two things in common: their love of football and their hatred for each other. Their games are meant to be explosive, and this one certainly didn’t disappoint. We were taken into the ground a couple of hours before kick-off to avoid any pre-match skirmishes. Riot police lined the route; barbed wire decorated the fences; and everyone was searched.

River plate fans wait for the match to start

We had tickets for the River Plate terrace behind one of the goals – we’d been told not to wear any yellow and blue (Boca’s colours) and within half an hour we realised why. Every single person around us was dressed in River colours from head to toe.

For more than fours hours, the stadium went mad with chanting, flares, drums, flags, trumpets, firecrackers, violent abuse, fist shaking and makeshift missiles. There were a couple of jittery moments when fights broke out among River supporters in the terraces, and when Boca and River supporters met after the match, but we survived. We'll stick a video up soon!

Carl, Dave and Em joining the craziness

More football photos

Hablar Espanyol?

San Telmo street art

"Eres bobo" means 'you are a fool' in Spanish. This was Pablo's final lesson to us today and you can bet it's one of the only phrases we remember after five days of spanish lessons in the Argentine capital, Buenos Aires.

Still, we can’t fault Pablo as a teacher. He was a wealth of knowledge about Argentina, Argentines and, of course, Buenos Aires. Under his tutelage, we learnt about choripan and chimmichurri, the murderous rivalry between local football teams River Plate and Boca Juniors, the history of tango, how to order our Bife de lomo and cervasa, and which was the best local vino tinto our money could buy.

We’re already starting to put these lessons to good use: late nights bar hopping through San Telmo; monstrous steaks washed down by generous amounts of red wine in Palermo; and afternoons exploring the streets of La Boca and Recoleto.

Tonight we're off to an underground tango club and tomorrow we're off to see River Plate take on Boca Juniors in the first pre-season derby of the season. Carl swears it was just coincidence, arriving in Buenos Aires the week of the first pre-season derby between local rivals, Boca Juniors and River Plate. I'm not convinced, but there was certainly no avoiding it.

Fluent Spanish will hopefully come later?

More Buenos Aires photos

Crossing the Andes

Strung out in Santiago

We've been languishing in Santiago for three days now. And when I say languishing, I really mean languishing. The heat has knocked the life out of our jetlagged and exhausted bodies and we've been sleeping for about 15 hours a day ... at least.

In a desperate bid to get ourselves going again, we've booked some spanish lessons in Buenos Aires and we're heading there tomorrow morning by bus. The journey is a big one - 24 hours straight over the Andes - but we've think its just what we need to get our traveller blood pumping once more. It's a slightly sadistic way of thinking, I admit, but to hell with it ... drastic times call for drastic measures.

Auckland for one night only!

We’ve (Australia) spent 17 years trying to turn Carl into a good Aussie, but 24 hours in New Zealand is all it takes for him to rediscover a little kiwi twang and a taste for Steinlager. “The new Steinlager Pure,” he hastens to add. But who really gives a damn. It’s still Steinlager and he’s still a kiwi.

I can’t judge him too harshly though. I almost swooned when I saw the selection of New Zealand white wine on sale in a good ol’ Aussie bottle-o in Queensland recently. And our old London flattie, Caskey, now works in Auckland for Lion Nathan Brewery and was keen to share what she'd learnt about booze since she'd left us!

Needless to say, New Zealand has not seen the last of us.

Oh no, Ruddy's not home ...

Clearly someone told Ruddy that we haven't been voting (we know, we are ashamed of ourselves), so he didn't bother to stick around for our visit to Canberra. Carl was beside himself, as you can imagine. Still Sarah and Ash's little tour around town cheered him up ... and now he knows that his decision to dump the All Blacks and adopt an Aussie accent was the right one.

Parliament House

PS. Of course, Carl knows I have published this ... he he ...

Not long now, Ruddy

Carl can barely contain his excitement. We’re finally making our way down the Old Hume Highway and even he can’t escape the lure of the Aussie capital.

Established as Australia’s government base in 1901, Canberra is the epicentre of Aussie politics. It’s home to Old Parliament House, New Parliament House, the Aboriginal Tent Embassy, Kevin Rudd the new Aussie Prime Minister and our hosts, Ash and Sarah (who play no part in Aussie politics but deserve a mention alongside these heavy hitters all the same). It was also my home for five years during high school so I’ve been threatening to bring Carl here for years … make him earn that Aussie passport.

Lucky for him, this is a flying visit. We’ll be in Canberra for one night only so he’ll have to skip the Mint, the War Memorial and Telstra Tower. Instead, we’ll treat him to a tour of my old haunts and a few beers at some salubrious Canberran watering hole. He’s gutted I can tell. But one day we’ll return so that he can learn all about the political history of this great nation. I promise.

PS. Yes, tongue is firmly in cheek.