It’s best not to talk, in fact, don’t make a sound. The only noise should be that of your paddle softly slicing the shallow, dark water. As your canoe forges onward along the swampy river it noiselessly parts the endless green mass of camalote. Bid farewell to civilisation and discover a world removed in the swamplands of Formosa.

If you’re feeling restless in the city, and are looking for a cheeky week away from ‘Malas Aires’, or maybe an alternative investment opportunity in Argentina, why not try the Lake District?

Ladies and Gentleman, I present: Bariloche.

Thirty kilometers east of Punta del Este, the tiny hideaway of José Ignacio nestles in the sand dunes along the Atlantic coast of Uruguay. A coastal resort now favoured by those for whom Punta del Este has lost its allure and exclusivity, José Ignacio is overrun by the beautiful people from December to February: the author Martin Amis and the singer Shakira are said to have homes here, while stars of the fashion world Gisele Bündchen, Naomi Cambpell and Mario Testino have all frequented these Uruguayan shores.

Having experienced the beauty of José Ignacio over New Year, I was keen to return under less hectic circumstances and enjoy all that the fishing village had to offer.

If you’re beginning to feel a tad claustrophobic in the bustling streets of Buenos Aires, then by all means strap on a pack and head down to El Bolsón. Take a breather with some small town tranquility and big time mountain climbing.

On a quest to regain the affection of her parents, our author takes the family on a three day drive through the Argentine Andes and the Seven Lakes district of Barlioche.

Rays from the setting sun spill through the cracked windowpane of an open garage. The tiny dust particles catch in the soft light, swirling ethereally around cars used in the time of our great grandfathers. Phonographs, paraffin lanterns, antique water pitchers, wooden wheel barrels, time appears to have stopped long ago. However, its 2008 and one of Uruguay’s oldest estancias near the town of Carmelo is in its sixth year running as a refurbished luxury bed and breakfast.

Every day of the year, Atilio’s home is open to throngs of hikers seeking a warm meal, mate, and a place to the rest their heads. Refugio Cajón del Azul is set against the startling beauty of the Andean Comarca of the 42nd Parallel, a mountainous area west of El Bolsón and Lago Puelo that has become of one Argentina’s most treasured wilderness sanctuaries.

That’s the problem with small towns: the lack of choice. The long, enthralling drive from Salta had left us peckish, but a lack of options meant we had to wait for the curiously named ‘Los 3 Chinos’ restaurant to open at who-knows-what hour. No choice but to watch the handful of village kids spill onto the dirt football pitch. No choice but to watch lightning flash innocuously above the vast mountains. No choice but to place our beer on the jagged mud wall and amble onto the arena for a kick of the ball.

‘Patagonia’s most present characteristic is its endless expanse of nothingness, both an attraction and a lesson in boredom for the overland traveller’, I read as the plane veered its course towards El Calafate.

Having found a direct flight out of Ushuaia for the same price as a 2-day bus/ weather-dependent ferry/bus/overnight stop in ‘wind-pummelled service town’/bus option, I had, happily, forfeited the first leg of the Ruta 40 that starts in Río Gallegos.