Touched by hand of God

Thirty years on from the war, a South American invasion of a gentler sort is taking place. European visitors walking through the streets of Buenos Aires will feel at home with the patisseries piled high with creamy cakes and cafés on street corners. It’s all distinctly Italian.

The ornate architecture, spanning colonial, art deco and neo-gothic styles, could easily have been lifted from Paris, Barcelona or Rome. A fine example of turn-of-the-century grandeur is the recently restored Teatro Colon – which, according to the late Luciano Pavarotti, was one of the best opera houses in the world. Golden-framed balconies draped with thick velvet curtains, and magnificent chandeliers hanging in marble-pillared halls tell a different story from the economic turmoil and hyperinflation which once bred demagogues and political chaos.

From the French-style service in restaurants, to the dusty antique shops of San Telmo, European sentiment can be felt. Immigrants from Genoa in the late 19th and early 20th century shaped the city’s cultural landscape and the famous Caminito, a street museum filled with brightly painted houses, souvenir stores and steak restaurants, is a recreation of their dockside dwellings.

Every day here you will find tango dancers in red dresses split dangerously high up the thigh clinging to their partners in a passionate embrace. Gauchos in culotte-style trousers perform traditional dances involving furious Cossack-like squats.

The Caminito is in La Boca, also home to the most famous football stadium, Bombonera, where sporting deity Maradona once played for Boca Juniors. I was told devotees have even set up a Church of Maradona, where it’s possible to get married. To seal the agreement, bride and groom must simulate the “hand of God”. I never found it.

Portenos, the residents of Buenos Aires, have a reputation for being cold and arrogant. I discovered that to be far from the truth. The only frosty reception I encountered was when I left the city and headed south to the ice fields of Patagonia, a three-hour flight. Beautiful but unforgiving windswept plains were bathed in an icy glow and it felt like one of the last unsullied corners of the Earth.

During the summer months of November to February, the days are long – at 9.30pm the sun was still at a good 90-degree angle from the ground – and with temperatures of up to 24 degrees centigrade these are ideal conditions for trekking. At Los Glaciares National Park is the Perito Moreno, one of earth’s few advancing glaciers. This astounding 5km mass of ice tumbling down into the Lago Argentino creaks and lurches forward at a rate of about two metres a day.

At sunset, the 60-metre high icy mound is cloaked in orange; by sunrise it shimmers in pink; and as the day takes hold, deep blue beams of light appear to pierce this fairytale creation that could pass itself off as a majestic wedding cake. Getting up close – either by boat, trekking with an organised tour, or by foot on one of the viewing platforms – affords an even greater sensory experience. Sight is one thing, but it’s the sound that really brings Perito Moreno to life. Sucking, popping, croaking and crunching – the ice is in constant flux. At any given moment, blocks fall away to create icebergs.

At the north side of the park, a three-hour bus journey from Calafate along the photogenic Route 40, lies El Chalten. This small town is the stepping off point for some of the area’s best trekking routes. I set off on a walk that should have taken eight hours, but two hours in and I had barely covered any ground. Every second step was a photo opportunity. Rivers, frozen in time, cascade through mountain ranges; gnarled tree trunks and branches cover the forest floor like victims on a battlefield.

The final stretch of my steep climb to the Lago de los Tres, nestled below the jagged peaks of Mount Fitz Roy, was tough, arduous and at times – with gale force winds whipping against my face – almost death-defying. Crossing one last peak, I found myself at the base of a turquoise blue lake, within a stone’s throw of the Fitz Roy swathed in thin smoky wisps of cloud.

Patagonia has more in common with the icy landscapes of Antarctica. The tropical forests of Misiones in north-east Argentina are closer to the postcard image of South America. A five-hour flight distance from El Calafate, via Buenos Aires, it feels like a different continent. The area’s largest attraction is the Iguazu Falls, a series of 275 waterfalls and cataracts shared by Brazil and Argentina.

Argentine authorities have done well to save their park from descending into a Disneyland attraction. A small train brings visitors to the base of the Devil’s Throat, a long and narrow chasm where half the river’s water falls, while various walkways wind through the forest and under waterfalls to give a true sense of the natural surroundings.

Within 10 minutes of arriving in the park, I’m already soaked through by a permanent damp mist.

The best views of the Falls may be from a distance, but to really understand their power you’ll need to get close on one of the “catwalks”. As I headed towards the crashing water, small rainbows appeared at my feet so I was dazzled by colour, drenched with water, and drowned in sound.

Argentina is a country bursting with natural talent and full of surprises. The days of cheap living may have passed, but there’s never been a better time to go. I already know a return visit is on the horizon, if only to track down the Church of Maradona and find out if the hand of God really does exist.

Getting there

Sarah Marshall was a guest of Journey Latin America and a 16-day holiday to Argentina starts from £3,657 per person, including flights. Visit journeylatinamerica.co.uk or call 020 8747 8315.

Air Europa flies from London Gatwick to Buenos Aires, via Madrid, from £691.30 return. Visit aireuropa.com or call 0871 423 0717, and for more information on travel and hotels in Argentina, visit www.destinationargentina.com.