After the salt extravaganza, we had hoped to set off early next day and head south towards Argentina. Unfortunately, Susan had other ideas. A combination of sun, salt and altitude confined her to bed for the day. She couldn’t even keep the coca sweets down. Oh, poor Susan.

So Susan slept all day and I ate pizza and drank beer all day. Not such a bad day after all, for some.

Next day she felt good enough to travel. She’s a tough old girl. The road was good and we made great progress. Susan didn’t barf and she was back on the coca sweets and Ritz crackers for her munchies. We were fine. Happy as two non barfing llamas.

After two days riding we reached the border between Bolivia and Argentina around lunchtime. The border was situated along a back street and it took us three attempts to find it. Crazy. Susan had to get off and walk some of it because the roads were so treacherous for the bike.

It took us a couple of hours to cross the border and we rigorously checked the forms the customs agents completed. It’s always such chaos crossing a border. Queues, people jumping in, form after form, ‘no entiendo’, no signal on phone to complete online stuff, scanner checks of panniers, heat, noise, passports out, passports in, temporary import permit cancelled, temporary import permit entry.

Then we were in Argentina – our fifth country on this journey.

The Argentina border town was Quiaca. What a tumbledown dump it was.

We stayed in the best hotel in town and it actually wasn’t that bad. Bit of a problem parking the bike. Had to ride it up a substantial pavement kerb, up the hotel steps, through the main doors of the hotel, up another step, through internal double doors, down the hall, sharp right turn into an internal courtyard, down a step, eight point turn, and park. Just in case you’re wondering, Susan got off and walked. For some reason she prefers it that way.

Big problem in Quiaca was we had no currency and the few restaurants were cash only. We managed to change the last of our Bolivian currency with a guy at the bus station. Rate was poor but we needed food and beer. I mean we needed beer and food – let’s get our priorities right. Picnic in the hotel that night.

The following day we breezed down 250 miles to Salta and checked into a nice bijou apartment.

Salta is a great place to visit and a tourist town. We had one day off but we didn’t have any time for tourism. We had a mission – we needed currency. Cash is king in Argentina.

Now I’m not going to bore the pants off you by talking Argentina economy and currency exchange, so let’s stick to the basics.

Argentina has an inflation rate of 170% and that’s where the problems begin. Argentinians prefer to save their money in American dollars and, over time, this has led to greater demand for the dollar and two different exchange rates.

Effectively, $100 US Dollars is equivalent to 35,000 pesos on the official exchange market. However, because of the demand for the dollar, there’s also the ‘unofficial’ blue rate where $100 gets you 100,000 pesos.

Obviously you want to tap into the blue rate and one of the ways to do this is to travel with crisp $100 bills and change them with scruffy looking guys that hang about street corners. They’re the local ‘cambio guys’.

After a day trading back and forth with the ‘cambio guys’, Susan and I had a wad of cash. I put the beer can in their for scale. Don’t you wish you had a wad like me?

All that said, since the end of last year there has been an arrangement with MasterCard/Visa and they will now give you the MEP rate (kind of near the blue rate and much better than the ‘official’ rate). What happens is your card is initially charged the official rate then four days later we get half our payment back as a refund.

It’s completely bananas and I haven’t even scraped the surface of all the other money issues. But I’ve even bored myself now so I’m moving on.

The one other important thing to mention about Salta is that it’s elevation is 1150m. Yup you’re hearing it right – we’re off the Andean Altiplano and back down to a reasonable altitude and breathing normally.

Of course, you will be interested in how ‘coca head Susan’ is doing. Well I’m happy to report I’ve managed the situation well. Well done me.

I got her off the coca tea through measured doses of cocktails, Ritz crackers and some tough love. When there were two beds in our hotel room, I made her sleep alone. It had to be done. She’s a trooper though – every time I banished her to the other bed she kept on smiling. Well done ‘coca head Susan’ for taking it so well.

Now we’re down to manageable altitude, Susan is feeling better. She still has a bit of a problem with the coca candy but her source for new candy is back in Bolivia. So once the current supply is finished we should be fine.

Susan is still saying she deserves to sleep alone but I’m trying to persuade her the tough love session is over. Soon we will be as happy as two llamas in one bed.

Salta to Cafayate, our next destination, was a marvellous journey. The scenery was spectacular red sandstone.

Cafayate is the centre of an Argentine wine region and we booked into to a lovely wine hotel for three nights. It’s so nice I actually think I may be too good for Susan – I really don’t want her going all soft and ladylike.

We arrived an hour before official check in time and unloaded the bike. Well actually I unloaded the bike whilst Susan sauntered into reception.

Twenty minutes later I’m still outside the hotel sitting in the baking sun on a bench with the bike and luggage. Honestly, it’s not easy being me at check in time. Eventually, Susan returned in that same sauntering manner.

In these situations I always stare at her lips, trying to descern if she’s had a complimentary drink whilst I’ve been waiting. She’s very good at disguising it and the innocence on her face, when accused, is convincing. Oh but I know what’s really going on and one day I will catch her out but today was not that day.

This time Susan was accompanied by the bell boy who spoke English with a French/Spanish accent. Yes I know you’re thinking what the bloody hell am I talking about? Suffice to say when I greeted him with ‘hola mon ami’ the light of multilingualism was switched on between us – we were both language melting pots speaking ‘franspan’ English.

Susan interrupted the ‘franspan’ love in with some reality – ‘we have to wait until the room is ready’ she said, ‘we can wait in the reception’.

No problem I thought because we’ve got a tactic that works time and time again in South America when we’re asked to wait in reception for a room – we make ourselves inconveniently unwelcome.

This time, I plonked myself on the faux french 18th century furniture, put my helmet on the glass coffee table, filled my plastic water bottles from their nice water cooler. As I sit there the dust from the road starts falling and settling around me, flies start being attracted to me and when I stamp my feet the dust rises.

Now you see the nice cream settee on the right, I was about to sit there when I was given a stern warning from Susan. That was apparently a step too far.

Soon, ‘Franspan English’ bell boy and the head receptionist are deep in conversation and within 3 minutes of me sitting down, the room was ready. Sweet. And we were out of their reception. Now you may think, well done Clif, good tactic but, to be honest, that afternoon, I was upstaged.

You see as I was sitting there seeping dirt and stour, a French girl arrived with her suitcase to be told her room wasn’t ready. She waited two minutes then opened out her suitcase and unloaded her clothes into the floor to find her bikini. Right in front of the reception desk. She had decided if she was having to wait she was going in the hotel pool. What came next I’m sorry to say I can’t tell you.

Oh I know anti climax. Susan rushed me out of reception as I was staring and hoping she was going to get changed there and then. Yes, yes what a feeble man mind I have. I only wanted to compare the effectiveness of our tactics. However, I’m sure she didn’t have to wait long for her room either. Well done ‘French suitcase girl’, je vous salue!

So where’s this place we’re staying at. Let’s see.

Nice parking place for the steel horse.

The hotel had a marvellous restaurant, its own wine and served the best steaks I’ve ever had. So we ate, drank and relaxed in the most lovely surroundings wishing we could never leave. Such a lovely place.

‘Last thing I remember, I was running for the door. I had to find the passage back, to the place I was before’.

Yes holiday over, time to get back on the bike!

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