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Hamilton Island – November 2018

November 25, 2018 by Fran Leave a Comment

As I sat sipping my complimentary champagne, in the reception of the Beach Club hotel, with sweeping views out to the infinity pool, and beyond to the sea, I was reminded how blessed I am. And everything I have to be grateful for.

Champagne at the Beach Club — Shouldn’t this be how every hotel greets you?

Met on arrival at Hamilton Island airport by the effervescent Beach Club staff, we were soon whisked off, in air-conditioned comfort, without even a thought for collecting our checked in bag. In fact, the next time we saw it was in our room. It got there before we did by some kind of island magic.

Having only 57 rooms, you may wonder how we managed to end up in room 211. Yeah, I’m not sure either. The Beach Club is split over two levels, and our room was upstairs, with a view that was simply breathtaking. Lulled to sleep, and gently woken in the morning, by the sound of waves lightly lapping the shore, which was almost within touching distance, this really was a slice of paradise.

Long being a fan of buying experiences over “things”, the holiday started in style. Lounge access, priority boarding, and some excellent Margaret River Cabernet Sauvignon, so good I had to try a second glass, to complement our light lunch. Confirming that I had made the right decision in taking Qantas up on their offer to upgrade to business class for our flight from Sydney. It may seem rather extravagant for a flight of just over 2 hours, but this was a birthday celebration we weren’t going to forget.

Hamilton Island is located in the Great Barrier Reef, Queensland, just off the coast of Airlie Beach. Only a short hop by flight from Sydney, planes arrive at the small airport, the only commercial airport in the Whitsunday Islands. So small is the Island, that from landing, to being at your hotel is only a matter of minutes.

The whole island is owned by Bob Oatley and his family. More famous for making wine, the Oatley’s own and run the vast majority of the accommodation on the island, which is used almost exclusively for tourism. That said, it is becoming an increasingly attractive place for people to retire to, and I did browse the real estate windows, considering never returning to the big city. Anybody got a spare couple of million dollars?

As the island is on the Great Barrier reef, the snorkelling is great, even just walking in from the beach, which is what we did. Imagine our surprise when we suddenly came across a gargantuan sea turtle, swimming along, in the shallow depths. The coral here is not as vivid as what can be seen much further out, but for an afternoon, just splashing around, we saw enough to keep us transfixed.

And it is not just in the water that you get close up and personal with the wildlife. Early morning, and as dusk settles in, the wallabies come out to play. Grazing in, and around the hotel grounds, it is obvious the wallabies couldn’t care less about you, and just want to get on living their lives alongside their fellow islanders.

Should you want to get a little more active during your stay, try out one of the many bush trails. Of the whole island, only 25% is developed, leaving many, many kilometers of walking tracks, where you can find some amazing hidden bays. If you want to spoil a good walk, you could take your clubs across the water, to Dent Island, and try your luck on the 18 hole Championship golf course.

Regular visitors. Just keep your food hidden.

The sunsets on Hamilton are wondrous, and there is only one place to be come sunset. One Tree Hill is on everybody’s “must do” list whilst on the island. And when we arrived, it looked as though the rest of the island were already there. Up here, earlier in the day, it was very quiet, with nary a golf buggy in sight. But coming back for sun down, chauffeur driven from the hotel no less, the road up was lined, literally lined with buggy after buggy. Thankfully, we had packed a couple of cold beers, so we fit in perfectly with the live music, and party vibe as we bid farewell to the day, and gently eased into the evening.

As no private vehicles are allowed on the island, the ubiquitous electric golf buggy is the only way to get around. The island is small, and walk-able, but in the Queensland heat, you soon want to take it a little easier. Hired by the hour, or the day, buggies are a constant sight around the island, never really going fast enough to make you feel you had to be constantly alert when wandering around. This was the first time I had driven one, and it took me a while to get used to how slow you go. A little like driving a dodgem at the fairground. Turn the key, press the “F” button, and press hard on the accelerator. How to reverse? Just as simple. Press the “R” button instead.

The Beach Club hotel could not be in a better location. Right on the beach, funnily enough. With an infinity pool framed by large palm trees. Fancy a change? Then there are loungers on the private beach, with staff from the hotel only too happy to bring you a cold beer when things get too hot.

But all that being said, the key selling point for me, the thing that made me part with my hard-earned cash, was the fact that the Beach Club is an adults only hotel. And it is only when you leave the hotel, and see just how many families with children there are on the island, you really appreciate the peace, and serenity of the Beach Club. Worth every single dollar.

Sustainability is a big thing on Hamilton Island, and this comes through in the little things. Each guest at the Beach Club is provided with a refillable bottle, that can be refilled constantly at the hotel’s filtered water station. Still and sparkling. And any straw that is used is paper. Why do you even need straws you may ask? For the fancy cocktails, obviously. Although, I did have problems finishing my pina colada as my paper straw disintegrated.

Food is a highlight of any trip, and this was no exception. Dinner was had twice at the hotel restaurant, and was excellent on both occasions. Served where we had our daily breakfasts, fringing the beach, it really was food with a view.

On our first evening we had the degustation menu, trying such delights as house cured salmon, Malaysian style coconut cream curry, and house made limoncello as a palate cleanser (which was delicious). For our final night on the island we went a la carte, and I had one of the best dishes I have ever had. Ever. Anywhere. It was the tagliolini, with barramundi, mussels, and lots more. Oh my. Words fail me.

Would I go back to Hamilton Island? In a heartbeat. Would I stay at the Beach Club again? I wouldn’t even think of staying anywhere else. Right now I am looking at a fairly packed 2019 calendar, trying to work out where I could squeeze in a return visit.

Last minute reflections – Cambodia

October 13, 2009 by Fran Leave a Comment

So my final day arrives, and it is time for my last minute reflections on the trip to Cambodia. Funny how it always seems like just yesterday you were sat in an airport despite how long your trip has been. Time has a funny way of doing that to you. Through the ups and downs (and let’s not kid ourselves, there are downs – remember the night I saw my pizza twice in Sihanoukville?), it seems that you have been away forever. But then, like magic, you are back in the airport again and the whole adventure is over!

Moto, sir?

It has been a great adventure though. And like all my trips to Asia it always takes a day or two to readjust from the little cocoon we live in in the West. To reacquaint yourself to the sights, sounds, and smells of Asia. Yes, you do forget that the streets have piles of rotting garbage, that the heat gets unbearable and that if you hear “moto sir?” one more time you will go stir crazy. But after those first couple of days, when you are back in the groove, you find yourself chatting and having fun with the moto drivers, and complaining that you are too cold because of the air-con.

Phnom Penh

Phnom Penh was a real highlight, I think I really benefitted from having a couple of days at the start of the trip and then 2 more to finish up at the end. Walking through the city’s streets yesterday, seeing all the old buildings, I really got a feel what it might have been like when it was king of Indochine and described as the “Pearl of Asia”.

Kampot – worth a visit for more than just pepper

I loved Kampot and the slow pace of life down by the river. Oh, and did I mention the great pizzas? :-). Siem Reap has an unfair advantage, with the amazing temples of Angkor Wat on it’s door step, but I also really enjoyed the town, better appreciated once the floods had gone of course.

That leaves Sihanoukville. And with hindsight I wish I had. Left Sihanoukville that is! Shabby town! Shabbier beaches! And city bars owned by middle aged European perverts unable to find a wife at home in Germany.

Wrapping up my last minute reflections

So, to wrap up my last minute reflections on Cambodia. A fantastic trip. Thoroughly enjoyed it. Great locals, great food and great happy hours!

Come with me to Koh Phangan, Thailand

July 22, 2018 by Fran 2 Comments

The flight from Bangkok (BKK) to Koh Samui (USM), only a short hop of just over an hour, was uneventful but for one thing. Following the serving of a snack, I erroneously accepted the offer of a coffee. Well, I say “coffee”. As it was passed to me I immediately realised the gravity of my mistake, as the unmistakable aroma of instant coffee hit my nostrils. Instant coffee, people! What was I thinking? That I was back in Business Class? This was economy. I wasn’t flying flat. It was cattle class. On Bangkok Airways. What did I think? That I was going to be served a cup of Toby’s Estate Single Origin? Oh lord, what was I to do now? Drink it I suppose. I even tried the first sip without holding my nose. It was like a challenge on that turgid tv show, set in the jungle somewhere, where z list “celebrities” are asked to eat a kangaroo scrotum. In fact, I’d posit my challenge was even worse. I had a whole cup of instant coffee to contend with. I doubt that I’ll ever be the same again. Possibly the worst 15 minutes of my life. (I could be exaggerating a little here, but this is how I felt in the moment.)

The last time I had visited the island of Koh Phangan was back on that round the world backpacking trip in 1999. Travelling overland, from Bangkok, and south through Thailand, I visited Koh Samui, Koh Phangan and Koh Tao, three islands in the Gulf of Thailand, that get smaller in that order. That original trip, almost 20 years earlier, had me docking at Thong Sala pier on the west coast of Koh Phangan. This was pre the internet, pre mobile phones. Can any of my younger readers even understand that. That we lived in a world where we weren’t just a couple of clicks from everything. In the days when you lived and died by the Lonely Planet (other guide books are available) that you carried everywhere. Clambering off the boat, slightly seasick from the choppy crossing, with lots of other unwashed, and dirty looking backpackers, to be greeted by hordes of ute driving bungalow owners. Jumping in one that at least looked trustworthy, although from my rather hazy memory, they all looked as untrustworthy as each other. It is fair to say I was a very inexperienced traveller in those days. Very wet behind the ears. I had a brand new, too big, backpack from the local Eurohike store in Halifax, and a pocketful of travellers cheques. Yeah, you heard that right. I had actual travellers cheques. My god, I AM old.

This was the year that I realised that in general, people of the world can be trusted. All they wanted was the same as we all want. Enough money to be able to put food on the table and provide for their loved ones. This was the year I realised we are all the same, regardless of race, or background. In all the years I have travelled, both then, and subsequently, I have to say that I have not suffered anything worse than a bit of scamming. The usual taxi ride, or tuk tuk ride, that you work out cost you the price of a week’s accommodation. Yes, there was that time in the jungle in Colombia, when I was marched off a bus at gun point, and interrogated by the side of the road in Spanish by around four heavily armed, fatigue clad army officers. But apart from my bad Spanish being my only offence, after lots of frantic discussions between the soldiers, on the fact that I didn’t have an identity card, like everybody else on the bus, but solo un pasaporte, I was free to go.

Thai Beachside restaurant — Typical island beachside restaurant

No such excitement on that first trip, and I can’t remember too much, other than the accommodation, which was a very basic wood and bamboo bungalow. And please understand me when I say basic. The shower was a pipe outside, out of which dripped some cold water. But, like all the best bungalows in Thailand, it was right on the beach. Serenaded to sleep by the sound of crashing waves. A bungalow “resort” that was powered by a generator, meaning the only light beyond 9pm was that coming out of my head torch. Which usually meant that this became the enforced bedtime. Well, I had to save the head torch batteries for an emergency. Or in case I ever had to go mining.

As the island was very undeveloped in those days, it was a lazy stay. Moving between the bungalow, the beach, and the only restaurant, which had a very limited menu. The only dish I can remember having was crab fried rice. And I had a lot of it. Perhaps that was the only dish. And this was before I had discovered e-readers. Meaning the only reading material I had were the left over books at the bungalows. Would I have ever picked up “Memoirs of a Geisha” otherwise? For the record, it is a good read.

Fast forward to 2018, and another very peaceful stay by the water. Panviman Resort advertises itself as “paradise”. And it was. For the first week. All I had to worry about was had I put enough sunscreen on, and was it 1pm yet? I had quickly developed a pavlovian response to the clock ticking over to the magic hour. Happy hour. Cold beer, good book, and relax. You don’t realise how quiet it is. Quite how peaceful. Until a family of 4 turn up and start splashing in the pool like a herd of elephants at feeding time. Then another family. And another. I came to the dreaded realisation that we seemed to have crossed over with the school holidays of some country. Our peaceful paradise had become infested with little brats intent on making as much noise as possible. If I heard “Marco Polo” one more time I was in danger of throwing an alligator into the pool to make light of them.

Thankfully, I had the refuge of the spa, and my facial to look forward to. To maintain my zen. I would also mention the excellent, if somewhat painful Thai massage I got, but the memory of those disposable, fishnet like string undies I was given to wear, still brings me out in cold shivers.

This 2018 trip was a little different from that much earlier one. Greeted at the airport by an air-conditioned minibus, with a direct transfer to the pier in Fisherman’s Wharf in Koh Samui. Home for the next 8 nights was to be the Panviman resort, located on the north-east side of Koh Phangan, reached by direct speedboat from Koh Samui. With around 8 other guests we were whisked across the Gulf of Thailand, a short 40 minute boat ride, to be greeted by the banging of a Thai drum, and the many smiling faces of the very obliging hotel staff. Not for nothing is Thailand known as “the land of smiles”.

Over the course of the intervening 20 years I had upgraded from that tiny fan “cooled”, gecko, and ant infested bungalow, to an air conditioned hotel room, with spacious balcony, and a large tv on which to watch the World Cup. I did get a taste of that original trip, one day hiring a scooter to tour the island. Only 250 baht for the whole day, approx $10AUD, we visited the stretch of coastline I had previously stayed at. As was to be expected, I recognised nothing. The coastline remains the same, but development in the years since means that it is in effect a different place altogether.

We visited Secret Beach, Thong Sala, and had a beer at Freeway Bar, perhaps one of the most chilled bars you could visit. Being the only visitors we had to break up an animated discussion amongst the staff (well, I assumed they were staff as they were all just lounging around) to check the bar was actually open, and request our first cold Singha of the day. I don’t remember distinctly checking, but I am pretty sure it was 5 o’clock somewhere.

Negotiating the very steep hills on our return to Thong Nai Pan Noi beach, we called in at the Than Sadet waterfalls. I say “waterfalls”, but having been to Iguazu Falls, what we saw this day was probably better described as a small stream.

The beaches and coastline of Koh Phangan are just as you would picture them. Wide swathes of beach. Water as warm as an evening bath that is just starting to lose its heat. And green as far as the eye can see. All development is low-rise, so as you look out, across the island, you see nothing spoiling the natural beauty. The blue of both the sea and the sky, forming a green sandwich of the hills and trees in between.

People come to Thailand for many different reasons. Many different reasons. I come for the amazing natural beauty. The smiles from the locals. And the excellent food. Our hotel was a short walk from the village of Thong Nai Pan Noi, where we spent each evening, trying out somewhere new for dinner. Half of the places look as though they have never had a hygiene inspection. And they probably haven’t. But the many busy tables every night tell you something about the food they are pumping out. All your favourite Thai dishes from home are here, at a fraction of the cost. We had fabulous massamans. Excellent penangs. Delicious green curries. And from a roadside vendor, serving up food from the side of his scooter, an amazing banana roti. At the hotel we even got a serving of a very large fly, wok fried in the middle of our fried rice. I am not sure he was supposed to be there, although the eating of insects is nothing new amongst the cuisine of South East Asia.

Buggy rice aside, Thailand is a place that I could keep returning to. But then again, don’t I say that about most places I go?

The Melbourne Open and the Yarra Valley

February 6, 2018 by Fran Leave a Comment

Having been two years since our last visit to Melbourne, we thought it long overdue that we visit again. And what better time to go, apart perhaps than for the Formula 1 grand prix in March, but at the end of January for the Australian Open, which is exactly what we did last time. It has to be said our previous semi final lasted longer than this one proved to be, but more on that later.

Leaving a day later than our previous visit, this time flying on Australia Day (January 26th), coinciding with my first anniversary of being an Australian citizen, we set our alarms and made sure there were no hiccups as we negotiated first the big yellow bus, then train, to Sydney Domestic airport for our 7.55am flight. Flying with JetStar, the antipodean equivalent of Ryanair, you are never quite sure what to expect. On this occasion our short flight, under 2 hours, was on time and very painless. However, unlike last time when we flew into Tullamarine, today’s flight on the big orange airline had us landing at Avalon, some 60kms from Melbourne CBD.

From the big orange plane, onto the big red Skybus (I’m sensing a colour theme), and for $42 each for a round trip, we were transported the 45 minutes in to town. Transferring to a cab by Southern Cross Station, I was glad the ride was short, as we had Walter Mitty driving us. Not only did he provide free advice on how much I had been ripped off by the Skybus, but also regaled us with tales of him being very senior in the Israeli military, how he was the most senior person, and therefore in charge, of the planes he flies on, and also that he was a life saving paramedic. I tried telling him I was an agent of Mossad, but this cut no ice with Walter.

Our accommodation, in South Melbourne, was a fantastic apartment booked via Airbnb. Twelve floors up, a few wines were drunk on the balcony that had sweeping city views. The Eureka building dominates the city skyline in the CBD, and across to the right, the magnificent Melbourne Cricket Ground dominates. If I had to gripe about one thing, it would be advertising a coffee “pod” machine, as a prominent selling point on your Airbnb listing, then only providing 2 pods. 2 pods! For 4 people, for 2 nights. Are we on rations? If any landlord, in any city knew how important coffee is, surely a landlord from Melbourne would know more than most.

We were lucky that the weather improved from the cold, grey skies that greeted us on arrival. In fact, there was a bit of a heatwave whilst we were there, and judging by colour of some people’s skin, present company included, more sunscreen would have been a good idea.

Unlike Sydney, Melbourne really knows how to put on a sporting event. The Open is so well organised, you could easily spend a full day just soaking up the atmosphere, and enjoying the entertainment outside the actual stadiums. With hindsight, maybe we should have done that. From the off it was obvious that it was going to be a routine win for Federer. From entering the big blue, very blue, court, there is that colour theme again, the speed with which he dispatched the first set was pure Roger. What we, or the rest of the Rod Laver arena, didn’t expect was the match to be over before all the sets were played. When Chung pulled up, and retired, there were audible gasps all around the stadium. Gasps were replaced by expletives by one of our party. Understandably upset, the booing wasn’t appreciated by the lady in the row in front. Oops.

We resolved to make up for the disappointment by getting suitably inebriated on the wine tour of the Yarra Valley the day after. If you fancy doing something similar I would highly recommend Chill Out Wine Tours. Starting the day with a typical Melbourne breakfast, well, one of us did, at Bowery to Williamsburg, we then met the bus at 9.25am, by the side of St Paul’s cathedral, opposite Federation Square in the city. A quick roll call and we were soon on our way for the short 1 hour trip to the valley. As always with these trips, the driver does a great job in getting everybody talking. At the start of a wine tasting day, most people are very quiet. They either haven’t woken up yet, the caffeine hasn’t kicked in, or are displaying natural shy tendencies. I fall firmly into the second camp. Or maybe the third! No such issue on the way home, when everybody was best friends forever, and were getting invited to a pool party! Yes, you had a very “interesting” job, of designing door handles. In fact, you were probably the first designer of door handles that I had met. But do I want to sit in your hot tub with you, in your bathers? That’s another question.

Our first stop on the trip was at Domaine Chandon, which turns out to be a sister vineyard of Moët (yes, it is pronounced with a hard t, with name being of Dutch origin, and not French), one of several around the world. Part of the global holding company LVMH (Louis Vuitton Moët Hennessy). The famous Moët is not made here. As you know champagne can only be produced in the Champagne region of France. What they do produce at Domaine Chandon is some very good sparkling wines. The vineyard, as you would expect, is somewhat of a commercial behemoth, so it was refreshing to move onto Soumah wines.

Named as a derivative of South of the Maroondah highway, this is a boutique winery, one of those that seem to produce a full range of excellent wines. The question that always makes me smile when wine tasting is “so, what wines do you like?” My answer is the same every time. All of them. Which is 97% true. Soumah was one of those special wineries where I enjoyed every wine on the testing menu. White, red, and dessert wines. All excellent. It is these type of tastings that I blame for me having more wine at home than I have books. Yeah, I know, hard to believe right?

After an excellent lunch at Soumah, a pasta dish that is possibly in my top 5 ever, and I’ve spent a lot of time in Italy, we moved on to Di Bertoli for another great tasting. The day was finished at Yering Farm, probably my least favorite wines of the day. It is not often I meet a wine list that I wouldn’t buy from. I did that day. A very pleasant tasting, with a very knowledgeable lovely old mature lady, but the wines did not match my palate. As rare as that it, it happens.

Skipping the pool party, we had our final night in Melbourne, starting with drinks at Pony Fish Island. A great little bar, in the Yarra River, that was first discovered by us on Instagram. Don’t all the best bar / brunch / dinner recommendations come from your Insta feed? Drinking as the sun set, we weren’t in the mood to explore much further afield, so we had a very good dinner at Teatro, on the river, eating, drinking, and chatting about the great weekend we had.

We were a little blue, to be leaving on the red bus, to catch the orange airplane. A red wine on the plane, and a commitment to return capped off a great weekend.

Puerta Madryn – Patagonia

January 12, 2011 by Fran Leave a Comment

It feels a while since we were last in touch but i’m sure it’s not that long really. It just feels longer to me, having to endure those long bus rides. And not only endure the ride, but then not being sure what state my bag was in. You remember the last debacle? With the water? Well, guess what? Groundhog day, the bloody bag was wet again when I arrived in Puerta Madryn. I was a little slow off the mark learning my lesson here. Too long out of the travelling loop. But tonight, when I embark on my mammoth 24 hours combined journey, I will make sure that I put my bag on last, on top of all the others. So it’s not my bag that collects all the water swishing about under the bus. That said, I was just glad to arrive. We left Mar del Plata at 9.40pm and within half an hour, the bus had trundled to a stop at the side of the road, the engine stopped, the lights went out, and with them the air conditioning. A few remarks were made in Spanish, nothing of which I could decipher. None of my fellow passengers seemed to be moving or making much of a fuss so I decided just to sit tight. And by the wonders of a bit of banging around in the engine, we were back on our way within the hour.

I have really enjoyed my 4 nights in Puerta Madryn. A seaside place with a great feel to it. The first day was spent doing laundry (the wet bag left me with wet clothes) and investigating the town and beach. I did a great walk along the coast, amongst sand dunes, finding perfect isolated spots to rest and sunbathe. The second day was a shock as I awoke to massive thunderstorms and a wet day where I just mooched around town cafe hopping.

Day 3 was a great little tour to the Punta Tombo reserve, home to the largest penguin colony outside of Antarctica, some 800,000 of the little buggers just running around, seemingly having the time of their life. We were able to walk right amongst them, providing some brilliant photo opportunities. Not since Philip Island in Melbourne had I seen so many penguins.

On the way back from the reserve we also called into the little Welsh town of Gaiman. Yes, I did say Welsh. It’s one of the little oddities of Patagonia that there are still pockets of Welsh villages with Welsh speaking locals. A hangover from when the Welsh first settled Patagonia all those years ago. A very odd experience, calling into a Welsh teahouse and seeing all the Welsh pictures, flags and teatowels hanging from the walls. It was a long day all in, but a very enjoyable one.

On the last night in the hostel I had plans to go out for dinner to a Mexican that I had found. However, I soon found out that there was an asado planned that night. An asado is a traditional Argentinian BBQ so I was definitely up for that. And it was a great night. As much steak, sausages and salad that you could get down your neck. Washed down with copious amounts of Malbec. Even the cheap stuff tastes good. There was a good crowd of us from the hostel, a mix of English, Dutch, Brazilian and Argentinian having the BBQ and it turned to be a lot of fun.

The Argentinians were kindly passing round one of their favourite alcoholic drinks, Fernet with coke. Now, don’t ask me why they started drinking this as Fernet is from Italy, but they sure like to knock back a lot of the stuff. I tried the “with coca cola” and it wasn’t unpleasant. And I also tried a shot of the stuff on it’s own that I am sure would have done me more good had I had a very bad chesty cough!

And now, I say goodbye to Puerta Madryn and begin the long trek further south. I’m heading to El Calafate, home to one of the largest glaciers in the world. Should be good, when I eventually get there! A 17 hour overnight bus to Rio Gallegos and then I need to get another bus from there which will be another 5 hours. This is one hell of a big country, ha ha.

Salta, northern Argentina

February 21, 2011 by Fran Leave a Comment

For those of you that follow both my pictures and blogs on Facebook, apologies. I have been very remiss in the posting of blogs and now they are a few weeks behind. Today’s blog concentrates on my visit to Salta.

I reached Salta, northern Argentina, after another painless, dare I say enjoyable, overnight bus ride from Cordoba. I rocked into the Terminal de Autobuses at 8:30am, jumped in a cab and within a few minutes I was at the Hostel Las Heras. Despite being too early to check in, I got a friendly welcome and was able to store my bags whilst I went off, new map in hand, to find somewhere for strong coffee and breakfast (desayuno). My immediate impressions, confirmed over the next couple of days, were that I was going to enjoy my stay there. A great homely feel to the place, good outside seating options and only a couple of blocks from the main plaza.

Salta turned out to be one of my favourite places in Argentina. A city but with a small town feeling. Beautiful, large plazas. Great restaurants and cafés. An amazing cathedral and the most ornate church I have ever seen, the Iglesias San Francisco (church of Saint Francis).

And very friendly locals. Not to mention a fantastic museum. Now, I must admit, culturally I have been a bit bereft on this trip. I tend to think that once you have seen a museum, you have seen them all. However, that was before I went to the Museo de Arqueologia de Alta Montana (www.maam.org.ar). A museum dedicated to the finding in the 90’s of 3 perfectly preserved Inca children mummies. It was unreal. During an archeology expedition in the Andes around Salta, these mummies and their burial site was stumbled upon. It turns out that the Incas believed that if they sacrificed the children, buried them alive with Inca treasures, then no harm would befall their Inca tribe. And these 3 unfortunate children were the ones sacrificed. The 6 year old girl was in a display cabinet, a bit eerie, and was preserved down to the last detail, including her teeth that were baked into a grimace. Fascinating to witness, but I have to admit, I needed a beer after.

Also in Salta is the Cerro San Bernardo. A hill that gives awesome views all over Salta. For my first visit I decided to walk the 1070 steps to the top. Wow, was that a good idea? I was pissed through in sweat by the time I reached the top. The views made it all worth while. I even walked back down after but made a return visit the next day, this time on the chairlift, Complejo Telefrico Salta, for $25AR. A much more relaxing day, but equally enjoyable.

On my last night in Salta I had planned to have no booze and an early night as I had a 7:00am bus to San Pedro de Atacama the next day. Now as this was an 11 hour bus ride I thought a good nights sleep was the perfect preparation. However. This was before I discovered that there was an asado planned for that night in the hostel. And being the sociable sort, I thought I would join them. And what an asado! Beautiful steak, as much as you wanted. Chorizo sausage and heaps of fresh salad, all washed down with carafes of regional wines. And there was a great bunch having the asado. A couple from Dublin, a couple from the Yukon in Canada (near Alaska apparently, where they regularly contend with -40 degree temperatures) and a couple from Denmark, together with a couple of locals who worked at the hostel.

As I left the hostel to walk to the bus station, in the dark at 6am the following morning, I just wished, just a little bit, that I had a soupcon less wine. Oh well, life is for living.

Until the next time chicas.

Hamilton Island – November 2018