...in a grump at a glacier

Sometimes travelling really brings out the worst in you.
Expanding your horizons generally leads you to the conclusion that people the world over are basically the same - and on the whole quite nice.
But long bus rides and a few too many early mornings (or late nights) can quickly change your attitude.
During my worst Victor Meldrew moods, The One With The Common Sense and I will grumble about the rudeness of such-and-such a nation´s people, the arrogance of some other´s and how people of a certain nationality are just plain annoying.
There we sit, chunnering away at our fellow bus passengers or sightseers like a pair of narrow-minded, bitter old biddies. Hardly an advert for the British or Irish people.
Now, we have plenty of American or Australian friends. But put together four of the louder, high-fiving inhabitants of those great nations, throw into the mix a few shrill cries of "awesome" and have them make ridiculous poses in front of one of the world´s most beautiful sights and it will surely bring out the worst in the most tolerant of people.
So it was as we stared in awe at the Perito Moreno glacier, a 35km-long wall of powder blue ice advancing into Lago Argentino.
Stunning, beautiful, majestic... the words don´t do it justice.
Distant booms echoing like mortar fire around the mountains as the glacier edged past immovable rock only added to the atmosphere.
Gunshot-like cracks usually herald something interesting but the too-trendy, hat-wearing US-Aussie group paid no heed, choosing instead to jump - whooping - into the air for the camera.
It provoked The One With The Common Sense to mutter something about "shutting the feck up" and rarely could her prayers have been answered so quickly.
An almighty ripping sound silenced everyone as a huge wall of ice toppled from the glacier into the water below.
We barely had time to digest what had happened when another chunk plunged into the depths.
It left everyone present breathless with excitement and over hot chocolate later we reluctantly admitted it had indeed been "awesome".

Those who complain there´s little to do in El Calafate except visit glaciers obviously do not share an interest in birding with myself and the Drinking Man´s Bill Oddie.
For this tourist town of 22,000 people not only sits on Lago Argentino - the country´s largest lake - but also Laguna Nimez, where we were treated to the sight of bright pink flamingos and elegant black-necked swans.
During a three-hour wander around the reserve, we watched numerous hawks, including a fabulous grey harrier, as they hunted the myriad smaller birds taking refuge in the reeds and bracken, along with many waders.
Our visit to the town also coincided with St Patrick´s Day and we were able to do The One With The Common Sense´s folks back home proud by making a huge pot of Irish stew for The Two Anders - from Sweden - and our Finnish friend, Hanna.
The whole affair was fuelled by the local Quilmes stout. It has a sweeter molasses taste than Guinness but nonetheless did the job.
On my part, it involved an epic trek to find the necessary celery, which is difficult when you don´t know its Spanish translation - apio, I later discovered.
But after much miming its length and describing it as a greenish vegetable, I managed to skirt the proffered celeriac and leeks and eventually secure my bounty from the beaming greengrocer.
Delighted, I told him in my stuttering Spanish that it was to be used in a stew to celebrate St Patrick´s Day. He looked a bit bemused but I still took pleasure that my classroom Spanish was proving useful in real situations.
After a few drinks at the hostel, we donned green T-shirts and rosettes shipped in specially from Dublin and headed for the local Irish bar with the dubious name of Don Diego.
Further doubt over its heritage was cast when the Paddy´s Day "party" consisted of sticking up a few green balloons, although it did get marks for effort for serving green lager and we made a decent fist of making merry.

Our stay in El Calafate proved notable for another romantic interlude with the father-in-law, as a power cut plunged the hostel into darkness.
With little else to occupy our time, we were forced to sit in the bar and drink a couple of bottles of wine - washed down with beer - by light of candles brought out by the hostel´s friendly staff.
We might all have been gazing into each other´s eyes but it was hard enough discerning faces across the table.
Meanwhile, a visit to an estancia - farming ranch - on our glacier trip led to another unorthodox encounter.
We were able to get up close to a young guanaco - a bit like a llama - which took an unhealthy interest in my crotch.
A herd of very small sheep were also present, one of whom insisted on taking up an equally dubious position between my legs.
But revenge, in the form of an all-you-can eat barbecue, was later to prove very sweet indeed.
Another creature we spotted with its eye on a feast was an Andean condor, at a spot where a whole crowd of hawks were fighting over some roadkill. It was the first time we´d seen one up close-ish - and was a pretty impressive sight.

The last leg of our Patagonia adventure involved a 3am bus trip to Ushuaia, on Tierro del Fuego at the very foot of South America.
Involving no fewer than four customs checks, as the road took us into Chile and out again, our journey also saw the bus board a boat to cross the Straights of Magellan, which seemed quite a romantic thing to do - even if we were surrounded by dozens of chattering locals.
The Drinking Man´s Bill Oddie claimed he saw a raft of penguins off to port-side but I reckon he might be getting a bit cavalier with his identification.
One definite sighting, however, was that of The Two Anders, who we saw smiling back at us as the bus pulled off the ferry.
It turned out they´d been at the other end of the boat during the 20-minute crossing, having returned from a couple of days in Chile.
At this point, we´re not certain who is stalking who but there will probably be an injunction in a court somewhere in Europe soon.