Here are the available villas for rental in Argentina.

On the road

From the Mail on Sunday

Look at a map of South America. Notice how insignificant the southern tip of Argentina below Buenos Aires seems. But then look at a map of England on the same scale, and Patagonia's awesome size sinks in. Now consider another, even more significant fact: in the southern half of Patagonia, there is only one tarmac road.
'The plains of Patagonia are boundless,' wrote Charles Darwin, 'for they are scarcely passable.' And by golly, he was right. Incredible landscapes of remote beauty await intrepid travellers prepared to cross these brown plains. Just don't try it in a rented Fiat Uno. My reason for getting into this lightweight Italian car, which I hired in Rio Gallegos, was to see Argentina's world-famous Moreno Glacier and the Fitzroy mountains to the north.
The Moreno is one of a number of mighty glaciers pouring off the South Patagonian icecap. Unlike the others, it is advancing. A 200ft wall of ice inches into Lake Argentino, groaning and sending out ear splitting reports like rifle shots as it moves ponderously forward. Every so often great frozen chunks break off with a crack, and 150ft of ice slides noiselessly into the water.
The other glaciers are no less spectacular. Uppsala, three times the size of London and named by pioneering Swedes after their hometown, is in retreat. A jumble of icebergs jam the channel below it barging and bumping into one other in a monster game of slow motion pinball. A small town, Calafate, consisting mainly of hotels, has arisen in the vicinity, and the sole tarmac road has been extended to reach this lonely settlement. After that, you're on your own.
A few miles out of Calafate, Route 40 turns north towards Tres Lagos. It was the route I had to take to reach Mount Fitzroy and it was the spitting image of my father's farm track in Wales. That is 100 yards long. I had to drive 100 miles along Route 40.
I finally limped into Fitzroy, which consisted of about three houses, on a bald spare with precious little petrol and sought directions to a filling station. The nearest, I was informed, was 130 miles away in the wrong direction up another farm track.
Begging petrol when you don't speak Spanish, and you can't get it out of your head that your countries were at war 16 years ago, is tricky. But I needn't have worried. 'Inglaterra!' beamed my chosen victim. 'I like Beatles very much!' Pretty soon he was syphoning petrol from his car into mine. I offered him 20 dollars. He accepted. Then I realised I'd left my money in my Calafate hotel room. ... more

Land of the tango

From the Mail on Sunday

The brightly pastel shaded houses that line the quayside of the La Boca barrio in Buenos Aires these days attract afternoon strollers and evening revellers to their neighbouring bars and cafes.
But they used to be bordellos that served the sailors returning home from the sea at the end of the last century and it was here that the tango was born.
Wherever you are in Buenos Aires, you are never far from some representation of the music and movement of the tango. The dance can be melancholic or joyful, threatening or flirtatious, but it has an hypnotic effect on the Latin soul. Its appeal has also spread across the oceans in recent years with tango clubs popping up from New York to Tokyo.
The tango actually started as an all-male affair as a machismo display ritual with three, four or five guys taking the floor to compete in demonstrating their masculinity.
Then the girls got in on the act and, through its whorehouse associations, the dance was condemned as immoral in the early decades of this century and practised only among the lowest orders of Argentinian society. Spanish and Italian immigrants particularly identified with its most plaintive aspects which reflected their sense of loss of homeland and anxiety for the future.
It was not until a charismatic tango singer called Carlos Gardel swept to fame that the dance became respectable, largely through the force of his wholesome personality. Gardel's winning smile still beams down from posters and photographs in every club and bar in Buenos Aires.
Then came Rudolph Valentino, with his smouldering interpretation in The Four Horsemen Of The Apocalypse movie and the rest of the world woke up to the emotional intensity of the work. ... more

Explore the fading glory

From the Mail on Sunday

A school geography book I used to have summarised Argentina as 'the land of the gaucho'. But even as a 12-year old, I guessed that there must be more to the country than smouldering pampas cowboys in big trousers.
Before I left for my visit I was reliably informed that Argentina's capital Buenos Aires is the Paris of the South. So I touched down in a tropical rainstorm expecting grand boulevards and mad old women who looked like Dick Emery dragging around toy poodles who looked like Barbara Windsor.
Buenos Aires did indeed have wide boulevards and mad old dog lovers galore. But while both cities might have the same bone structure, Paris has had regular facelifts while her Argentinian sister was in danger of looking her age.
Behind curved windows, First World War barber shops were still offering First World War haircuts. Belle Epoque cafes with ornate display cases laid out hundreds of pastries for a handful of customers. The glory days were receding, but the city was still beautiful.
The sun came out and I was met by my first guide Gabriel, a passionate university professor aged just 28. He bounded across town, sleeves rolled up to do battle with the past, the Michael J. Fox of history.
And history is alive in Buenos Aires. The central square, Plaza de Mayo, reverberated with loudhailers as political demonstrators drummed. Banners of Che Guevara flapped in the hot afternoon.
'They are the piqueteros, the unemployed. We have suddenly 20 per cent unemployment and no unemployment benefit in Argentina,' Gabriel said passionately.
Piqueteros carrying fenceposts waited on the sidelines with scarves wrapped round their faces to thwart police cameras. I looked and realised many of them were women. Never date a woman with a fencepost.
I saw the presidential building Casa de Gobierno, nicknamed Casa Rosada or Pink House. There was the famous balcony where Madonna sang Don't Cry For Me Argentina in Evita before moving to England to marry Guy Ritchie.
Having learned my history from Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tintin books, I was lucky to have Gabriel around, if only because Tintin didn't do Buenos Aires.
'The story of Eva Peron and her husband is like a thriller,' said Gabriel. 'See those holes?' The walls were pock-marked with mortar fire. 'Peron's own army tried to assassinate him in the middle of the night.' ... more

Step back into a lost world

From the Mail on Sunday

The fact is, I would like to be able to say that I knew immediately I'd found something important.
But it was only when I handed the stone to Ricardo and saw his reaction that I realised I'd found the Holy Grail.
Well, not exactly the Holy Grail, but something similar in the world of Triassic Park.
It was another baking hot day in the desert badlands of Ischigualasto Park, north-west Argentina, and I had found a small, flattened ovoid stone which was a little smaller than the palm of my hand.
I had seen it sitting on top of a low boulder as I walked back from replacing another fossil I'd found.
Picking it up casually, I noticed areas of flat bone showing possible fragments of skull and thought it might be interesting.
Ricardo, one of the three Argentine palaeontologists on the expedition, looked at it intently.
'Where did you find this?' he asked.
I must have looked rather shocked, but luckily I had remembered the first rule of fossil prospecting, which is to mark any site you find.
Together with the three other volunteers present, I was then told to examine the area around, leaving no grain of sand unturned.
Amazingly, two further fragments, each one half the size of a little fingernail, were found by Harriet, a formidable lady from Massachusetts who was able to out-chisel any of the 18 men on the trip.
Normally about two-thirds of volunteers are women but on this trip the ratio was 3:1 men to women. ... more

More than just a tango

Argentina, land of polo, beef, cool Falcon cars, the tango, football and the mullet haircut, is becoming an increasingly attractive long-haul holiday option - and for good reason.
Its economic crisis makes it cheap, and despite the political corruption, and odd street protest, it is, unlike other far-flung budget backpacker 'paradises', a safe, non-extremist haven for Westerners.
Although the country's financial straits are a nightmare for the Argentines (how desperate do you have to be to kidnap a cat in exchange for a toaster - one saga that went on during our trip?), their turmoil works in the tourist's favour because they are doubly pleased to have the business, especially in the provinces.
Apart from the capital, Buenos Aires, Argentina's most touristy pit stop is Patagonia on its southern tip. This is where you go if you want to hike up glaciers and see whales.
All very appealing, but we wanted to explore a less-travelled area, which is how we ended up in the Argentine North-West.
This region, about 700 miles from Buenos Aires and near the borders of Chile and Bolivia, includes the Salta and Jujuy (pronounced hoohooey) provinces.
It is arguably Argentina's most traditional area, and although off the beaten track, it is being steadily discovered as a wonderful destination because it is so diverse.
We flew to Salta, the province's capital and supposedly Argentina's most well-preserved colonial city.
The Spanish-style buildings on the tree-lined streets are beautiful but dilapidated, and the fact they are still standing owes more to their construction than any upkeep.
The Argentine authorities seem to have more pressing financial priorities than restoring crumbling buildings, roads and pavements, and maintenance funds habitually vanish with departing provincial governors.
The whiff of corruption and the decay adds to the romance of this place, though. ... more