We've already done the skiing thing, so when we went to the ski town of bariloche we decided that we should do something else. How about galloping through the snow on horses...?

Bariloche is halfway down the west coast of Argentina. It is on the edge of a lake in the mountains, similar to Queenstown in NZ but larger.

We were gifted with a beautiful clear and sunny day for our ride and took a taxi to our guide's house with our friends Kat and Tanya. The guide lived in a normal house with a wife and kids, but once he got outside and donned his poncho and suede trousers he became 'el gaucho'.

"We don't need hats" he said as he proved the fact by showing us pictures of previous riders who hadn't worn hats. He had no way of proving that these people were still alive but nonetheless we set off - hatless. The first task was to get out of the housing area and into the coutryside. Each house had at least one dog who felt it necessary to bark loudly at our horses. Some would even run out to bark at the horse's feet while we walked along, but fortunately the horses took little notice. Soon enough we were into the mountains and riding through trees and bushes towards in an expansive plain of snow. There were streams and lakes glistening underfoot and all around mountains towered high.

None of our group were very experienced, but our gaucho wasn't worried. We had got into trotting quite early on and were soon all relatively comfortable with it. This wasn't enough though. After having to cross a stream so deep that we had to lift our feet to keep them dry, he rewarded the horses by taking us all into a gallop. I found that the trick to the gallop is to hold on as tightly as possible and not fall off. It took me a while to get the hang of using the reigns as well to regulate speed since the not falling off was so hard to achieve. I had one scary moment when I actually called out for help (not that anyone heard me!), but by the end I was enjoying it almost as much as Jon who was cheering and yaahing for more speed.

We ate lunch at a windy yet beautiful lake. Our gaucho cooked succulent steaks on a camping stove (it was too windy and time consuming for the real fire) and gave us cups of wine. Jon asked him if his father was a gaucho too. He said that he was a lawyer and so was his mother and sister. I think señor gaucho chose the right job.

We arrived back at the ranch (or middle class abode) tired and sore but alive and happy, having seen some of the most amazing snow scenes ever. The following day we were so sore that not one of us could stand up straight, but I think we have the bug and will definitely go a-galloping again.

Me on a horse

Jon with our Gaucho