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.