Tourist Boat and commersons dolphin (Photo: Marc Rogers)

As we leave the harbour, I can’t help but think our boat is a little on the small side.

The feeling is only reinforced when I hear one, sighing from somewhere – it sounds like everywhere – beneath us. Soon afterwards, I’m looking it right in the eye, and if I’m not mistaken, it’s looking right back at me.

Aesthetically speaking, Argentina’s Patagonian coastline can’t compete with the enchanting lagoons and snow-capped scenery of the Andes. But the real draw is found offshore, feeding and breeding in the churning South Atlantic.

Every year, the UNESCO World Heritage site Península Valdés draws over 100,000 visitors looking for a glimpse of the exotic marine wildlife that migrates to this part of the world in the Southern Hemisphere spring. Immediately south of the peninsula, which protrudes like a kidney from Argentina’s eastern flank, Golfo Nuevo is a sheltered natural bay that holds one of the largest populations of Southern Right Whales in the world.

The whales are undoubtedly the main attraction, but our day trip from nearby Puerto Madryn begins with smaller, more manageable creatures. As our minibus bounces along dusty dirt tracks, we see some of the guanacos (think llamas) and rheas (think ostriches) that stalk the reserve’s 3,500kms. Sheep reared on local estancias graze where they can. It’s not long since breakfast, but the sight of our woolly friends gets me thinking about dinner – barbecued lamb is a local speciality and tender cuts are served in most Patagonian restaurants.

It’s when we get to Punta Cantor, on the east coast of the peninsula, that things take a turn for the bigger. They may not be quite as large as whales, but four-tonne elephant seals are nothing to sniff at – not that you’d want to with the pungent odour these beasts give off.

Elephant seals sprawled out along the sandy beach. (Photo: Marc Rogers)

On the beach, three males are sprawled out along the sandy beach, each accompanied by up to a dozen females. These harems are the trophies for winning fierce territorial battles, and some alpha bulls can enjoy the services of over fifty concubines at a time.

“They are arranged like a buffet,” quips Valerie, our guide for the day, “for the orcas”. Península Valdés is one of the few places in the world where intelligent killer whales have learned how to pick off unsuspecting seal pups right from the beach. Photographers from all over the world camp out for months hoping to capture one of nature’s rarest predators in action. We’ve only got an hour, and despite spending it all willing the appearance of a dorsal fin, nothing happens.

The seals on the beach certainly don’t seem too worried as they scratch and yawn their way into the late afternoon. We find out later that this apathy is actually critical for survival: conserving energy is vital during the breeding season, when the fasting seals can lose up to a third of their body weight.

Whale Business

The highlight of the tour is saved for last, and the sun is dipping as we wait for our speedboat in Puerto Piramedes, the peninsula’s only inhabited town. We are briefed in disconcerting right whale dimensions: adult females can weigh up to 60 tonnes and reach over 15 metres in length, while males have the largest testicles in the animal kingdom (around 500kg each). Fortunately, we are assured, these are gentle giants, who almost never try to mate the boat.

We soon find out the whales are also curious: sightseeing boats are forbidden from getting too close to the whales, but no one can stop them approaching us. Out in the gulf, a pair glides by nonchalantly, taking a good look at us while spraying V-shaped fountains through their twin blowholes.

Whale's tail (Photo: Marc Rogers)

Their inquisitive nature is charming, but it didn’t always serve the right whales well. They are endangered animals, historically victims of extensive whaling due to their slow speed and generous blubber content (the name was given because this was the ‘right’ whale to be harpooning). In modern Argentina, they are considered a natural monument, and protected by law from the moment they enter the country’s territorial waters. The only attacks they face now come from flocks of seagulls jealously guarding the local fish supply.

Today’s whales seem to enjoy their privileged status, showing off with spectacular jumps and photogenic tail splashes. It’s chaos on the boat, as everyone tries to look in every direction at once, desperate not to miss any action.

It is only when one gets really close that a respectful silence falls over the group. Faced with such grandeur it’s impossible to think of anything to say, and those who try only spoil the magical moment. After 90 minutes, the captain turns us around and takes us back to port, accompanied for much of the way by one particularly playful whale.

Penguins (Photo: Marc Rogers)

Size Isn’t Everything

Peninsula Valdés is the obvious starting point for any trip to these parts, but it’s just a tiny patch on a rugged coastline full of wildlife watching opportunities. Our next stop is Rawson, the capital of Chubut Province and the first town to be established by 19th century Welsh pioneers. Here we board another boat, this time searching for Commerson’s dolphins. A patchwork of black and white, Commerson’s look a bit like small Orcas, and are the closest we get to the elusive beast. A fierce wind swirls and ominous rain clouds threaten, but the dolphins are delightful, ducking and weaving around the boats and surfing the bow wave.

Another 120km along the coast is the Punta Tombo reserve, home to the largest colony of Magellanic Penguins on the continent. Upwards of one million knee-high penguins nest here from September to April, braying like donkeys and filling the air thick with the smell of regurgitated fish. With their innocent faces and awkward Charlie Chaplin walk, these penguins are endlessly entertaining, though the park rangers warn that there is nothing funny about their sharp beaks.

On the way back to the car, we stop to allow a penguin to cross the path ahead. It pauses too, gives us a look, and then preens itself for several minutes while we wait.

Not for the first time this trip, it’s obvious who’s in charge here.

Photo by Irena Baxi

“The gypsies don’t wear knickers,” my sister-in-law tells me.

I’d heard a lot of things about Mar del Plata, the beach holiday destination for thousands of porteños over the summer, but this was a first.

We were driving though a peripheral neighbourhood populated by immigrants from Andalucía when Daniela gave me her take on gitanos, as they are known in Spanish.

“They sleep together on the floor in one room, open their doors because they like air ventilating their homes, and all wear skirts.”

I didn’t have a chance to verify any claims about their sleeping habits, or their houses, but the women on the sidewalks did indeed sport long, wide skirts in bright colours. Their hair was tied in braids, and held away from their faces with folded up bandannas used as hairbands.

In fact, Mar del Plata has one of the largest gitana communities in Argentina.

But this is not the popular face of the immensely popular resort.

Mardel, as the locals call it, is a city all about the beach, the sea, and the edible creatures its Italian-descended fishermen deliver from the ocean.

In summer, La Ciudad Feliz is chaotic because of the influx of porteños heading for their annual dose of sun, sand, and snaking traffic jams.

Andy, a 44-year-old Californian who lives in Buenos Aires, went to Mar del Plata in February last year, when the high season was at its most frenzied. Staying in a high-rise next to the casino, he and his partner went south one day in search of space.

“It was less crowded when we got there because we got there before the majority of the people did, but then they arrived. By 3pm, the place was packed. A family surrounded me and my partner. There was a mum and dad and some kids, and they just talked to each other like we weren’t there,” he recalls.

Photo by Irena Baxi

“All of a sudden there was a guy who put his towel like three centimetres from mine, and I was like ‘What are you doing? You obviously have no concept of personal space!’ Here was my towel and here was his towel,” Andy laughed as he marked out a distance of about three inches with his hands.

“In my country there would be at least a metre or two no matter how crowded. I grew up on a beach, and I’ve been on crowded beaches, but nothing ever like that, where there was absolutely a need to use every bit of space.”

But he had no regrets about visiting.

“Did I have a good time? Yes I did. It’s a beautiful place. The beaches in the north were almost empty. The coastline reminded me of Southern California, lots of cliffs that lead to terraced beaches.”

Another pal, who stayed in the period between Christmas and New Year, was surprised and pleased to find the city quiet, and the seaside deserted.

Despite the crowds, Mar del Plata is a place that makes many porteños misty eyed with nostalgia.

Gabriela, 41, remembers idyllic summers spent at her grandparents’ house in the 1970s, waking up late, eating piles of tostadas and dulce de leche, playing in the sand all day, and snacking in the afternoon on the beach.

“All the girls used to hang around the lifeguard guys because they were muscular, young and good-looking,” she recalls.

Of course, it was also the venue for many young romances.

The city has grown, but not much has changed. Nightclubs still fill with hormonal teenagers dancing and making out to Latino music, and families continue to double the size of the city over the summer months.

This November, during Mar del Plata’s 23rd International Film Festival, there will also be a buzz. But there’s more in the way of capacity.

Jump-started in 1996 after a hiatus of 26 years, locals say it’s now better-organised with economically priced tickets and a multitude of screenings to choose from.

Photo by Irena Baxi

It’s not the only thing to do in town, however. Accompanied by my seafood-loving partner and eager-to-please in-laws, I spent a weekend sucking up Mardel’s culinary contribution to Argentina: fish of every size and form.

The most impressive was the abadejo (kingclip) and the chernia (stonebass) that we bought from the Pescadería Victoria. The fishmonger spent about 20 minutes hacking our catch, ripping out the innards and thumping his way through dorsal fins.

Cooked on the parrilla, the fish couldn’t have been better. But most visitors with more time than kitchen space head to the Centro Commercial Puerto. We went twice to sample the fare at one of the many tourist-orientated restaurants, devouring little fried fish called cornalitos and rabas (calamari) at Mediterraneao. Stopping off at the Puglisi shop to stock up on jars of spicy anchovies and cans of merluza, we learned about some of the semiliterate Italian fishermen who were the forerunners of today’s modern commercial fisheries. Once dubbed gringos by those who had already settled in the area, many of them went on to establish highly successful businesses.

Less appetite-inducing at the port was the colony of sea lions.

They spit and roar and are incredibly pungent smelling, but visitors can get as close as their nostrils will allow to observe the animals.

With numerous nieces and nephews to entertain, my in-laws drove us half an hour out of town to Sierra de los Padres.

The area’s green rolling hills are filled with cattle and strawberry and tomato plantations, and there are numerous stalls on the side of the road selling produce.

We were told that the agricultural workers are mostly Bolivians, and on the way back into the city we passed a makeshift football field in a paddock next to a shantytown full of young men in brightly coloured football shirts.

The main attraction for the afternoon in the area was a park called La Casualidad, which bills itself as a venue for ‘intelligent recreation’.

Photo by Leonardo Magnoni

There, we scaled the climbing walls, ran through the labyrinth of hedges and scoffed the neat ham and cheese crustless sandwiches we brought as a picnic.

My partner tried his hand at archery. For $6 you are given instructions and your own paper target in the shape of a large apple to shoot. His score was unceremoniously whipped by a middle-aged woman, but then she had been consuming large amounts of mate.

This was the other side to Mar del Plata: outside the summer months the city has a distinctly laid-back feel. Dreadlocked young people head to the beaches in their cars with thermoses, biscuits and joints, reggae music blares from the stereos as locals walk, run and cycle next to the coast.

Clowns entertain traffic stopped at the lights. Stores in the pedestrian shopping area do a brisk trade in clothes, sweaters and knock-off puma sneakers.

Windy afternoons are spent sampling churros at Manolo’s seaside restaurant, or snacking at Boston Confitería.

Whatever the season, food is a big part of the city’s attraction, and the area’s Italian immigrants left a delectable legacy. Ice cream is delicious in Buenos Aires, but it’s delirious in Mar del Plata. Visitors love cannolis, fat, bullet-shaped, chocolate-covered ice creams that come on sticks. Heladería Italia sell good ones for around $8, and the port-flavoured1970s sambayón we tried there was marvellously eggy.

At the end of the weekend, the fish, fresh air and coastal carousing had done us good. We left the Ciudad Feliz on the coche cama bus wishing we could stay longer. But we’ll be back for the festival.

Heladería Italia, Colon 2345

Pescaderia Victoria, Belgrano 3417

La Casualidad www.la-casualidad.com.ar