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We commenced our wine tasting pretty early after the silly woman from the campsite literally chased us out at 10am. In the heart of the Tupugnato region in Mendoza, we rocked up to one of the largest wine producers in the region. Bodega Salentein is stunning, set at 1200m in the Valle de Uco in the Andes. It's not your average traditional style argentinian Bodega, this steel and concrete, cross-shaped monument to winemaking is sleek and modern and even has an art gallery. Needless to say the owners are not Argentinian but dutch and seriously minted. It is so sleek in fact that you have to make an appointment for tasting. This level of organisation is not something we're accustomed to as adopted Argentinians, but for wine we can make an exception. So we make an appointment, drive a couple of hundred yards from the Salentein estate and.....we spot another Bodega that looks interesting. We are greeted by a rather cool looking gentleman offering us a tour of his boutique family-run Argentinian winery. How refreshing - we instantly feel at home. Skipping through the boring wine making history, young Jamie gets straight to the wine tasting. He explains how only a fraction of each season's grape harvest is selected to produce their exclusive wines. First we try their Cabernet Sauvignon which Nick loves, then onto the obligatory Malbec which actually felt a bit heavy after the first one, before trying the perfect blend of Malbec and Cabernet in their premier reserve range. As if these healthy family sized tastings weren't enough, we were offered a slurp of their grand reserve straight from the barrel - beautiful. Jamie then led us around his recently-opened restaurant (he is a chef as well as wine producer - why of course he is Argentinian so has many strings to his bow) and talked us through the design of his menu, the interiors and even gave us tasting of his home smoked ham - delicious. The personalized attention and laid-back atmosphere was great - a proper treat.

A little bit tipsy, luckily we only had to trundle up the road for our appointment at Salentein which we ended up being late for (not used to sticking to a tight schedule) and scowled at by pretty, model-like receptionists. Then we heard the clip clop of efficient feet behind us and turned to be met by a smart looking couple from London and their American friends and of course, a guide.

We were led outside to admire their beautiful vineyards - they have over 5000 acres of them.

Then through the four huge wings of the cellar which converge and meet at a circular central chamber which is lit with daylight from above. All very impressive but the endless dim-wit questions and note-taking from the rest of the group which then echoes off the four walls started bringing on a hangover. Finally we reach the tasting room only to be given skimpy measures half the size of our guide who merrily sipped away. We tasted some good Sauvignon Blanc, a lovely light Pinot Noir and a heavy Merlot. The greedy drunk guide then had the cheek to try and escort us out without even tasting one of their famous reserve Malbecs - thankfully the smarmy Londoner came into his element by requesting a tasting and was then put to shame when his wife commented that the wine had an aroma of grapes! They didn't write that one down.

Afte a tour around their private art collection, we trotted to the shop in search of the lovely Malbec we almost never got to try - "sorry, we are out of stock". OUT OF STOCK???? Didn't you just tell us you made millions of bottle a year???? Obviously the shop is being run by Argentines.

Disgruntled and drunk, we bought a bottle of their grand reserve Pinot Noir and left.

After a nice lunch, washed down with some of our purchases, we set out to find further tastings at various bodegas around the area. Trouble is, you get the same tour of very similar looking barrels, presses etc at every vineyard, so we started skipping the tours and going straight for the tasting and purchasing. By the end of our trip we had enough wine to last for the remainder of our road trip, putting some serious strain on the Clio's rear suspension but making my map reading much more fun.

We left Lago Mocheque a little late after enjoying lunch at the mirador overlooking the lake and soaking up a few rays. The road towards San Rafael was gravel for the first few hours which gave me the chance to hone my four-wheel-drift skills in the mighty Clio 1.2. We passed through some amazing lunar valleys and across wide plains - it truly is a beautiful country.

However, the late start meant that by nightfall we had only reached a small town called Malargue, so we ditched the tent and booked into a backpacker hostel, which was positively plush in comparison to the 3-man dome.

Rising early and refreshed after a hot shower, we hit the road, eager to reach Canyon Atuel with the possibility of white-water rafting. Half an hour later we realised we had left all of our food supplies in the hostel fridge, so by the time we re-commenced our journey we were no longer early. Still, we reached the head of the Canyon, marked by a large damn, in good time and set off down the dirt single-track road which winds through the gorge alongside the river. Along the descent through the canyon we passed three or four hydroelectric power stations, all of which seemed un-manned and could have featured in a James Bond film. Towards the end of the Canyon we reached this cool blue lake.

Now, as you probably know, the damn and power stations up-river all regulate the flow of water which, coupled with the severe lack of rainfall, meant that the river was very low and not at all fast-flowing. This meant that the 'white-water' rafting looked really lame - it would have been more exciting wearing arm-bands in a jacuzzi - Lel was totally up for it. Sadly I wasn't so we pressed on to start our wine tasting extravaganza in San Rafael, the region south of Mendoza.

We chanced upon a small family run Bodega (wine cellar) called Jean Rivier. After a private tour in Spanish (yes at this stage we are able to actually understand Spanish) we got stuck into a healthy tasting session. We tried some new varieties - white Tocai and amazing rose Malbec and swiftly bought a mixed crate for next to nothing. Leaving town on our way to Mendoza we managed to catch the last tasting at Don Bianchi which specialises in sparkling wine. Entering the Italian neo-classical monstrosity, we caught a glimpse of the big Don himself - scoffing his dinner and knocking back a glass or two. Lucky he had a bib on to catch the debris. It was a nice tour but by this point we just wanted to sample the goods. One taster was sufficient to warrant the purchase of another box before we hit the road to Mendoza, the capital of Argentine wine.

Leaving Bariloche, we rose early, chucked the tent in the car and set off northwards on the Seven Lakes Drive. It starts in Villa Angostura, a pretty little village which is very close to the Chilean border. Unfortunately it is directly in line of the erupting volcano and is covered with a foot-thick carpet of ash. Even the lake is covered with a grey scum, not dissimilar to the Keighly section of the Leeds-Liverpool canal. After a quick picnic (eaten inside the car for fear of asphyxiation) we continued north to Villa Trafull, a beautiful and secluded little village on the shore of Lago Trafull. Here we hiked up to a series of waterfalls, which again were spoiled by the ash - you get the picture.

Next morning, we decided to put some miles between us and that pesky volcano, so we drove north through San Martin De Los Andes, Junin de Los Andes and on to National Park Lanin which takes its name from the cone-shaped Volcano Lanin (thankfully this one is not erupting).

That night we camped on the black sand beach of Lago Huechulafquen - stunning countryside that reminded us of Scotland - green mountains shrouded in mist, and raining. Again we cooked a lovely steak and Lel cracked open the Fernet. Exactly one hour and two Fernet & Diet Cokes later, she fell off a log (pissed) and nearly into our camp fire.

The next morning we were determined to try fly-fishing since this is one of the best places in the world. We drove up a little farm track to the banks of Lago Paimun and found two families living on a small-holding. They agreed to take us out fishing, but only after they had re-attached the outboard motor to their little boat. So, Lel and I hiked up to a pretty impressive waterfall nearby - such a mellow place.

Once back lakeside, we headed to the little shingle beach with Argentina´s equivalent of the Two Ronnies. While waing for them, we were approached by a bunch of fisherman whos truck wouldn´t start. The little Clio saved the day and earned us a complimentary bottle of wine. Then we jumped in the Boca Boat, so called for its bright blue and yellow paint-job.

Big Ronnie attached the motor and bailed out the water while Lel picked out her favourite fly with Little Ronnie. She chose pink polka dots.

What followed next was a unique fishing ´lesson´. The Two Ronnies were so giddy to be fishing that they just gave Lel and I a rod each and let us get on with it while they were madly casting, obviously trying to land their own dinner. We were on the water for an hour, stopping at a couple of little beaches on the way before the wind picked up and we had to return, or risk sinking the boca boat. In all we caught two trout. Big Ronnie caught a little tiddler that would only have been good for bait, while I caught a monster / see pics below!

Lel and Wee Ron were both annoyed at this, so we carried on for another half hour while back on dry land. The only thing Lel caught was my hook in her trousers when she wandered behind me while I was casting.

After a quick lesson in gutting and de-scaling by wee Ronnie, we were on our way north once again, stopping for a picnic (and washing up) by a crystal clear lake on route and constantly glancing back at the almighty view of Volcano Lanin.

From one amazing national park to the next, we arrived in Villa Pehuenia on the bank of Lago Moquehue. After a long drive along a dirt track we eventually reached our camping destination - a stunning site set on a steep slope above a private beach. As we were the only campers we bagged the best spot in the house. See the views from our tent below.

We quickly erected the tent, grabbed the fernet and coke and our books and wandered down to the private beach to watch the sunset. The views were incredible and the water perfectly still. We stupidly stayed there until dark, forgetting that we had to light the parilla to cook our fresh trout in pitch darkness. The end result was worth all the fumbling and swearing, the fish was amazing especially washed down with the bottle of wine we´d bagged from the fisherman.

Having left the farm, we arrived in Bariloche refreshed and ready to get back on the road, so it was a shame we couldn´t see beyond the end of our noses because of the ash cloud which has engulfed Bariloche on and off for the last 9 months or so. With nothing else to do, we had a walk around the town centre, which is modeled on a kind of Swiss ski resort (but turned out much worse) and purchased a new tent. This was no easy feat, as anyone who knows Lel will understand that it involved going into EVERY SINGLE shop in the city in order to find the cheapest tent. Of course, cheap does not mean good value, particularly where tents are concerned, but Lel would not be told otherwise. Needless to say it came as no surprise when all three zips broke within two days. Anyway...open air camping does have its charms I suppose.

Next morning, we awoke to clear skies with a beautiful view of lake Nahuel Huapi and instantly understood why Bariloche is such a popular holiday destination in both summer and winter. A stunning lake surrounded by snow-capped peaks.

Feeling invigorated, we decided that we would hire a car for the next month so that we could properly explore the whole area and head further north along the famous Ruta 40. Plus, the car would come in handy as emergency shelter given our inadequate tent.

We spent our first day with the car around Bariloche - driving around the lake on Circuito Chico - past the famous Lao Lao hotel. The whole area is stunning and we managed to find a secluded little beach before finishing the afternoon with a few cold beers on the mountain top.

Later that evening, we drove out of town to see a new friend who manages a hotel which is part of a private country club / resort. We sat by the fire and Christmas Tree, sampled a couple more home-brews and laughed at the crap American golfers on the 18th tee.
That night we camped at the lake-side (our first of many), grilled a couple of steaks on our own bbq and slept like babies. We even adopted a really fat Golden Retriever for the night - clearly too many off-cuts from generous campers!

The beauty of having a car while camping is that you don´t need to properly pack the tent away in the morning - once they are out of the original bag which always seems impossibly small - just screw up the tent, chuck it in the boot and leave. One funny thing that happened at that campsite is that a huge pine tree fell down in the middle of the night, thankfully not onto anyone´s tent, but it was a fairly close call for a few people! Nothing else funny happened.

On Sunday, the weekly regional horse racing arrived at Cholila, our local track. Lel and I went down there at midday, lured by the promise of beers and empenadas. This is not like normal horse racing...the track is a straight sprint which varies between 400 and 600m - no curves or jumps. Also, there are only between 2 and 4 horses in each race - easy for betting you might think.

I did too having watched the local Cholila horse romp to victory in the first, two-horse race. So, cash in hand I confidently bet on horse 2 for the second race, also with two horses. Horse 2 duly romped home and as I went to collect my winnings I realised that I had actually bet on horse 1 - this is what happens when you don´t number the horses! Argentines, take note please.

By this time the crowd was swelling and the people getting more and more lively. Immediately after each race, hundreds of people would run onto the track in celebration, to receive the winning horse and jockey as they returned to the paddock. It was bonkers.

From there on, the betting just got more and more complicated. More horses were in the races, still they wore no numbers and the two bookies shouted out the odds in incomprehensible spanish. Plus, I was getting more and more drunk.

The third race was incredible. There were three horses, the first two galloped past on the right side of the track and a clown watching on the left side of the track came under the barrier so that he could see the finishing line, forgetting about the third horse. Of course, the horse hit him and sent him flying to the ground. Again, the crowd surged onto the track, both in celebration and to have a good stare at the unconscious man with a mouthful of dirt.

Drunk and skint, Christian and his mate gave us a lift back to the farm - four of us in the front of his little pick up (five really as Christian is the size of two men). That evening, Lel cooked a traditional Sunday roast for the family, including yorkshire puddings. I mainly watched, considering my losses and trying to sober myself up. They loved it and were even more delighted when Lel presented her sticky toffee pudding (made with dulce de leche of course). It went down a treat. Even Tollie had seconds which never happens.

On our second-to-last evening we took a stroll down the road and onto the adjacent farmland to have a look at Butch Cassidy and Sundance´s old farm which now stands derelict. It´s a cool little place, of wood construction, but differing in style to all the other local buildings since this was the North American construction technique. It was easy to picture in the mind´s eye what life must have been like back then. Some of Tolly and Miguel´s relatives had even known Butch and Sundance as they were former neighbours (unaware of their infamous criminal background) and commented that they were upstanding gentlemen.

And then finally our last night rolled around. After a pretty lazy day mowing the lawns and having a few cheeky rides on the horse when we were supposed to be working we were sumoned to Tollie´s kitchen to witness the art of making empanadas. For those of you not familiar with this South American treat, it is very similar to a cornish pastie (they probably got the idea from us) but smaller. They are a staple in this part of the world and have a variety of fillings. Tonight Tollie made her speciality - minced beef with fried onions, green olives, boiled egg and a tiny bit of chilli (they can't handle any spice over here). After making and rolling the pastry, we rolled up our sleeves to assemble them - ruining any plans Tollie had of making them nice neat pouches. At least they tasted good. We can safely say they are the best empanadas we've had, and we have had A LOT. To top off the Argentine send off, Miguel had saved his best bottle of Red for us and Tollie also made us Flan, another Argentine staple on every menu in every restaurant in the country (it´s creme caramel). I think she was afraid we might starve when we left the farm.

The next day we had a tearful goodbye before Sandra took us back to El Bolson (and we squeezed down a couple more of the home-brews) before the bus to Bariloche.

Life on the farm was truly incredible.