Miss Argentina (it's a horse!)

It's not easy to be an Argentine horse. The list of criteria to fulfill is much longer than the 90-60-90 for top models, all the more so when it comes to polo. How many kilos? Thin legs? Sharp ears? Shiny eyes? Long neck? Straight knees? Strong legs? A quick step? A well balanced gallop? Not too passionate a character?

Polo is impressive. Its numbers (at least 50 top horses per player) and speed (like a mercedes) are well beyond imagination. Even for "I couldn't care less about horses" like Petra, it's a WAU-experience. Campeonato Argentino Abierto de Polo is the place to be. People dress up as if for opera. Behave as if in Punta del Este. Shout as if in a football match. Drink champagne as if it was NY's eve. Polo is elegantly moderate and wildly passionate at the same time. It feels like going to the very depth of the Argentinian soul. Voila some proofs:

As a point of comparison two European newcomers:

Somebody said Christmas?

A riddle:

How do you know that somebody is well integrated in Argentina?

(Right reply: When their holiday choise is but one: Uruguay.)

(Alternative reply: When they start to live for long weekends.)

And so we hit the road (well, the sky) on December 22. Two "Argentines" + papa & mama Mila.

Zero Christmas feeling in the air.

No roasted duck, just grilled fish.

No snowflakes, just white seagulls.

No Christmas tree, just palm trees.

No woolen cap, just a straw sombrero.

No long sleeves, just a liter of sun bloc lotion on the arms.

No heating, just a lot of air conditioning.

We landed at Montevideo airport and faced the first Latino battle - with AVIS, refusing Mastercard assurance. Mind you, in South America, you're always the looser. No argument counts. No paper. No statute. Just some phantom unwritten rules. But hey, the sun shines, the road is long, don't-worry-be-happy.

The first stop: Piriapolis. Just as surrealist as Fritz Lang's Metropolis. It was Uruguay's first seaside resort. Back in 1890. Mr Piria got dazzled by ... France! Inspired by Biarritz's seafront promenade and by Luis XIV's castles, he decided to build an Uruguayan replica. Smart as he was, he knew that Uruguayan tourism would depend on the masses of frustrated Argentines, tired of the ugly Rio de la Plata and hungry for some blue blue sea. He constructed a 900-room Hotel Argentino, which today seems like a block of lonesome luxury, while Argentine masses sunbathe in Punta del Este.

We followed the trend and set off in the eastwards direction. Punta del Este is a legend. The place to be. The realisation of your ultimate dreams. Lying on its beach gives you the aura of importance. You see and are seen. A bit like Cannes or Antibes. Jewelery and high heels on the beach. Forget flip flops and the desire to relax. Skyscrapers pop up like mushrooms after the rain. Uruguay is getting ready for the high season. In January, Buenos Aires empties up.

Next stop: a much more humble and charming José Ignacio. A "boutique" version of the neighbouring Punta del Este. Small hotels, small restaurants, few people. Much more to our taste. Plus, it has a lighthouse where kind army lets you climb up and enjoy the bird's view. "I feel like coming back," says Tom.

Final destination: Punta del Diablo, where we spend 3 nights (when you live in Argentina, you learn to call a 3-day weekend "holidays"). It's just a stone's throw away from the Brasilian border. No samba and caipi though. Just a lot of wooden huts, peace and calm. It used to be a destination for hippies but now they prefer Cabo Polonio. Normal people like us are welcome. Beaches are long and the waves high.

Mother & son cautiously waiting for the next wave. Watch out!

Popart holidays.

Christmas perspective.

Too many waves, all boats at rest, only frozen fish tonight.

The leftovers of what used to be a hippie destination.

Best Uruguayan architecture in our hands.

Wind & waves.

Christmas dinner. Where's the duck? :)

Last day: After three days of sun and heat, we deserved a splash of rain to cool off. Storms brought out the best colours on the Uruguayan sky, which contrasted with the greenness of the vaaaaaaast meadows. If Brasil is joyful and Argentina chaotic, Uruguay is flat. Very flat. Hardly any 50m hill around. But the cows, ducks and sheep are happy.

A photo stop along the road to Pedrera. Nobody around but a flock of lonesome animals.

Mila Family in full action.

Not a rare feeling in South America: it's you and the world.

In the pursuit of Embassador Pablo Neruda

He ended his career where I started it – Paris. He would stroll around Saint Germain with Picasso. Drink wine (lots of it) out of Portuguese red and green crystal glasses. Send his flee-market-bargains to Santiago in "valise diplomatique".  He seduced girls with messy hair like me :) For one of them,  Matilde, he built a house. Chascona. A boat in a house and a house in a boat. Whichever way, it's the coolest diplomat's house I've ever entered. A mix of popart and carefully collected antiques, all soaked in nothing but love and cosmopolitism. A trip to Santiago pays off at its treshold. Inspiration guaranteed.

Pablo & Matilde, united by sea.

Wasn't she there for work? you might sneer. Oh yes, a lot of work! But thanks to looong summer days, lunch breaks and a strong tourist push, I managed to peak well beyond the walls of Santiago's meeting rooms. Better still, work duties opened up some untouristy jewels for me: the Ministry of Foreign Affairs which resembles a fancy neoclassic gala theatre, lovely and graceful (and totally underrated) park Quinta Normal, the conference center Riesco glued to the surrounding bare hills and the unforgettable Club de la Union where one can't help feeling like a princess.

The cosy Plaza de las Armas, the epicenter of Santiago's business and leisure.

Switching meeting folders with Lonely Planet and a black suit with jeans requires imagination and a lot of energy. It shows its limits when a young blond dressed-up lady enters a fish market or studies meeting papers in a loud and drunken Piojera. "Coffee?" the waiter smiled. "Why? Am I the only one not ordering alcohol?" He smiled again. But hey, knowing the country is a diplomat's ABC and time runs short. Very short.

One of the world's most impressive post offices.

Santiago is great. Walking its streets, taking its metro, talking to its people, feasting on its fish ... you feel as if in Japan. All the more so if you come from Buenos Aires. Compared to it, Santiago is super efficient, impeccably clean and delightfully uncomplicated. It charms you with its skyline of snow-topped mountains, the bohemian Lastarria and Bellas Artes district, ideal for an after-work glass of Chilean wine. Mineral whites are a must and so is the red Carmenere.

I'll be back. Soon.

Temptation to escape to the mountains.

Where have all the women gone?

San Antonio de Areco's Top 5

1. Bar San Martin, 12.30 am. Outside a dozen of bikes and a dog. Inside a dozen of gauchos. Jars of cheep house wine, some dirty jokes and a billiard competition. Berets, bermuda shorts and worn-out espadrilles. It took me about 5 minutes to realize I was the only woman in there. A tourist, obviously. A local woman wouldn't dare. A curiosity - just like the dusty objects exhibited on the wall: animal skulls, gaucho tools, faded Molina Campos' motives, village calendars ... and a lot of dust. Difficult to find a more authentic atmosphere... 1 pm: all of a sudden all vanish. Wives have just put lunch on the table.

2. You'd better not be a vegetarian. Meat is just about everywhere. A weekend is not enough to try all the parts of a cow. There's absolutely none that wouldn't deserve to land on a plate. Chorizo for lunch, lomo for dinner, tira de asado for lunch, matambre for dinner ... ready to test your carnivore limits?

3. Bars. Tokyo, Mitre, San Martin ... Going for a beer is like going back to the past. Dusty bottles, "piso damero", ancient coffee and soda machines and corner tables taken by lonesome gauchos, contemplating the vibrant tourist scene, for hours on end. Time stops.

 Design brought directly from Paris, 19th district. Pure Montmartre.

4. Empty parks - and Thomas going to pick up his baby at school :)

5. Seul au monde. Unique.

San Antonio de Areco - Argentina 100%

San Antonio de Areco is a concentrate of everything that makes Argentina a good place to be: a flawless blue sky, a panoply of parillas, an endless green horizon, morning horse-riding, afternoon mate & pastafrola, evening jogging, beret-covered rugged gaucho faces chilling beneath giant plane trees, jasmin smell mixing with jacaranda colours, old-style bikini shops, ancient dusty bars (#pulperias) taking you on a time trip to the period when gauchos swirled village beauties to the rhythm of Argentine zamba. Time stops. Lungs opens up. Batteries recharge. The sweetness of doing nothing. Buenos Aires seems far away.

Pour faire simple, c'est le petit bled mignon tranquilou pour couper avec BA. Ya pas grand chose a foutre si ce n est profiter du decor, des vieux bars sympas et des chevaux.
On force pas, c est le panard. La estancia CINACINA est ideale, s etale sur 40hectares et a 2 pas du centre ville.
Bonsoir dodo

Making friends

Tokyo in its most exotic version

Feels like Provence

Thomas showing off with his new T-shirt

About the impossibility to find a beer during siesta time

Picture postcard holidays

Salvador, bus station, late at night. A Brazilian chic selling us tickets to Lençois. On her computer a lovely autumn-leaved oak forest. We looked at each other and thought the same thing: The grass is greener on the other side, right? Brazilians don't adorn their desktops with palm tree beaches as we do. Neither do they crazily listen to Seu Jorge and Gilberto Gil or flock to old samba bars. "Take us to some nice Brazilian concert," we begged our Salvador friend Victor ... and landed in a posh nightclub with country music and girls dressed as if it was a royal wedding. You thought the Brazilians stuffed themselves with maracuja and papaya? Think again. The most desired and highly priced fruit is ... a (tasteless) strawberry.

Despite this reality check, our holidays 2012 were a huge feast on Brazilian cliches: picture postcard sandy beaches, flawless sun, fruit-loaded breakfasts, fish-loaded dinners, omnipresence of music and dance, hectoliters of maracuja juice and caipirinha, 'acai, acaiiiii, acaiiiiiiiiii' crys on the beach, spontaneous capoeira shows and football matches against the backdrop of the sunset-lit sky, cheerful people exhibiting one of the world's biggest smiles and their relaxed pace, as if life was to be lived to the swaying bossanova rhythm.

With Tom's job in sight, the two weeks and half had a somewhat apocalyptic feel. It might well be the last 'real holidays' in quite some time to come. Carpe Diem and the sweet Dolce Vita thus followed us all way long. Off the beaten track and in low season it was easy to cut off. The programme was set a long time ago, Jericocoara being Tom's ultimate dream and Bahia mine. The mix couldn't be better, leading us from the Salvador's Afro-Brazilian urban beauty over Morro's postcard beaches and Chapada de Diamantina's endless trekking paths to Jericoacoara's kitesurfing paradise.

Voila a short photo summary: 

Salvador, thy name is Colour / Salvador de Bahia, quartier de Pelourinho

A two-storey city, an elevator bringing you up and down / L'ascenseur permettant d'acceder a la ville-basse et au port. Au loin la vieille prison flottante et les "tankers" qui croisent dans la baie

Instead of B&B we opted for airBnB, a good surprise
https://www.airbnb.com / Nous avons logés chez Neil, un anglais qui nous a loué une chambre sympathique dans le quartier de Barra. Son chien vous dit bonjour.

Havaianas apprenticeship / Dans un atelier de confection de tongs, ou j'ai trouvé mon bonheur

Morro de Sao Paolo, a postcard island / 2h de bateau direction l'ile de Morro, petit paradis verdoyant, locaux adorables, pêcheurs et couchers de soleil...dodo a la pousada Colibri, un MUST

 When the time slows down ... / A marée basse avec les pecheurs

Mr Coco, our best friend / Monsieur Noix de coco, rien de plus désaltérant quand il fait 35 degres. Egalement appréciable Monsieur Arrosoir qui vous rince les pieds régulièrement avec son ustensile, rafraîchissant!

Arriving at Lancois: at 30 years a night-bus ride feels different / Direction Lencois, 8h de bus de nuit, repos au petit matin dans un hamac accueillant en attendant que le village se réveille

My favorite fossil / Rochers surprenants

Sunset-inspired samba / Rio negro tout proche de Lencois, piscines naturelles et cours de samba

Chapada de Diamantina: where the world belongs only to you / Départ depuis Lencois pour  le trekk dans le grand parc naturel Chiapada Diamantina

Human waterfall / Cherchez mes jambes!

Hand in hand / Vale de Pati, trekk parmi ces immenses cheminées 

Jericoacoara, where even a toilet has a great view / Retour a Salvador, avion pour Fortaleza puis 4h de 4x4 dans les dunes pour finalement rejoindre le petit paradis de Jericoacoara

Getting ready / Jeri ou le spot de Kitesurf ideal, je me suis régalé, 30 noeuds tous les jours.

Ballet on the sea surface / Personne pour t'emmerder, la plage est sans fin

Buggy dreams / Le buggy est l'unique moyen de transport sur les plages et dunes avoisinantes

Taking a Venice-type ferry / Excursion a Tatajuba, et voici le Bac local pour traverser la lagune d'eau douce 

When all the worries vanish ... / oui c'est moi, les fesses dans l'eau et l'estomac satisfait d'huitres excellentes 

 Tatajuba's rainbow / Lagune d'eau douce a Tatajuba

Tarzan in a Wonderland / Un petit garçon, dans le plus simple appareil, dans une mangrove

Coco-flavoured meditation / degustation de coco pieds dans l'eau

Sunset, full moon and a mouth full of sand / La fameuse dune de Jericoacoara afin d'y admirer le coucher du soleil

Premature Carnaval in my samba teacher's kitchen / Cours de Samba chez Mel