Its a bus Hector but not as we know it

Right, I left Buenos Aires for Biroloche in Patagonia about 1 o´clock. Hummed and hawed about flying down there but then decided to get the bus because if I took the plane I would see nothing of the countryside. Even the fact the journey would be 20 hours did not put me off. I can already sense the cringing, but this was a bus like no other. The locals call it a cama. Not only does your seat convert into a well padded bed even an elephant could fit into, you are alsoserved food and drink throughout the journey along with a selection of DVD´s to view on your own private screen . Have to say my first thoughts were I could get used to this especially as the roads were quite good and there wasn´t too much bumping about.

As for the Argentine countryside I hoped to see? Well thats when it went horribly wrong, after about two hours of "urban sprawl" I hit the Pampa. The Romans would have loved the Pampa: it is ideal for building straight roads. For the first hour there was nothing but grass. I took to the DVD´s Jean Claude Van Fucking Damme? No chance. For the second hour there was nothing but grass and the occasional cow. After four hours we came to a roundabout, God knows what it was doing here, maybe the engineers got bored. This monotonous, purgatory went on untill 7 O´clock, after which it got dark. I gave in and put on the muscles from Brussels. It was in Spanish. Magic. 11 hours later, when the sun rose there was still nothing, then, after about seventeen hours, mountains started to appear: hundreds of big cone shaped fuckers with snow on them; lakes scores of them. Awesome. Then, after an hour the weather closed in , it started raining going on sleety, it was cold and I could see nothing.

Well that was the Andes I can hear you say. Well no, two hours after getting into Biroloche the skys cleared,  the sun came out, the air warmed up, lakes appeared along with the mountains and I went to a micro brewery , of which there are several round here. This one makes eight different beers, none less than 5% and serves them on a terrace overlooking fantastic scenery. Tegernsee kiss my arse.

Now it has occured to me I have spent quite a bit of time writing about micro breweries. Why? I dont drink much. I do like a beer, but for well rehearsed reasons I have to watch what I´m doing. Then it occurred to me: I´m doing what I do best and that is being a c**t. I´m trying to make you miserable in return for all the texts about the great beers you were having and I wasn´t. Oh and Stan I´ve found the perfect pint. It´s cheap, it´s down here, I´m not telling you what its called and even you can´t walk this far.

Next I intend to write abour Argentine Spanish, which is more entertaining than it sounds, but that´s for another post.