Charlie and Steve's Excellent Adventure

January 23, 2015

While you were working – Diving the depths, Sayta, Argentina

Our final evening in Salta delivered a more entertaining affair, it was a Saturday night after all. However Salta as a city wasn’t the cause for much excitement, we met up with Arnaud, our French friend that we met in Chile for Christmas and New years. As was the case then, such is the case now, catching up with Arnaud involves alcohol, and with Charlie officially declared fit to travel we head out for a tipple. Considering that Salta, indeed any Argentinian city, goes out no earlier than 2am we opted for a barbecue and some wines at Arnaud’s hostel. Of course in Argentinian time we turned up at 10pm for the 9:30pm barbecue to start eating a little after 11pm. A little before 2am we wound up our last drinks from dinner and set off home with hopes of another cheeky drink on the way. The 70 pesos cover charge to go into a bar with no one in it at that hour suitably killed off those aspirations so it’s home we amble. We had a fun night wholly on account of friends and simple pleasures, Salta fading into the pages of this blog leaving little more, a flame no longer burning.

Fast forward a solid night sleep and we’re in a cafe having breakfast before we’re to be picked up to go to Sayta, a home-stay style ranch in the countryside near Salta. Calm excitement is bubbling within us for the adventure ahead, our impending next step all that we’re looking for in this part of Argentina after the spark was ignited in Cafayate. After a car ride of about an hour we arrive at Sayta ranch excited to get out of the hostel loop and into something more saturating. With the first impressions proving to be sadly too accurate of Salta lets hope that first impressions are also on the money here, I think we have hit the jackpot. Up a small dirt road we turn into a neat yet rustic working ranch, a large plane tree taking pride of place offering shade to a quaint yard. In the time it takes to draw a deep breath we are back in Argentina as we could only wish for it to be.

We’re greeted at the car and granted not the faintest opportunity to grab our own bags, Argentinian hospitality is big on smiles and light on formality; we couldn’t be made to feel more welcome. Our room is all vintage country charm, dark painted concrete floors, antique trimmings and dark polished timber, what more could Blue Mountains homo’s ask for? Arriving in good time we are told to settle in and make our way to the yard when we can, wine is waiting. Argentina has the most delightful of alcohol issues, enough wine removing any need to have said issue. Jokes aside the entire nation of Argentina could give ex-pat communities around the world a lesson on how to consume alcohol; readily, consistently and perpetually. To quote Arnaud, ‘In France it is not alcohol, it is wine’.

With wine in the yard we soak up the drastic shift in our environment, this is indeed already everything we hoped for in open display of a culture that we have travelled the world to be part of. after a short drink, Argentine speak for about three glasses of wine, the entire habitants of the ranch migrate to the dining area for lunch. Under a patio cover the eight or so metre table leads the eye up to the flaming grill weighted down by our pre-lunch meat. It’s now that we catch a moment, those times when that little slice of time sums up so much that we try to grab it in flight, to give it a name and hold it close for more than it wants to be held. An outdoor country Argentinian ranch hums to the clinking of cutlery on plates and good cheer. The ranch continues all around, the wine has flown as it continues to do while the densely layered epitome of a lifestyle time forgot pulses all around us. We’re told in that most hospitable way that the meat is going to keep coming and coming and that ‘no’ is not an acceptable answer in Argentina. Coercive hospitality at its finest.

We eat and we drink wine, that captured moment since taken flight leaves more than just a little of itself behind; and we drink it up as well. The moments remnants now indelible we’re off for a short horse ride to see the local scenery. We could easily siesta after more meat than is recommendable but it’s saddle time and we’re off. It’s a short and easy ride, winding our way through informal tracks around tobacco fields taking in the vistas to the mountains beyond, majestic as always. This perfect plunge back into culture and lifestyle lifts us with a short gallop on the horses and brings us back down, picking ripe wild figs from horseback as we ride to literally taste the region. The plunge gets ridiculously deeper and deeper as we dismount back at the ranch to awaiting tea, bread and home-made marmalade. This is no attempt at tourist convenience, with dinner late this small snack and wind down with tea in the yard is a little touch of refinement just as it is always done around here.

Ok the Argentinian hospitality gets us again, tea turns into a small glass of wine as dusk slowly blankets our world. It would be rude not to.

The afternoon wiles away in the slow motion rumble to dinner time whenever that might be, long Argentinian days a series of small events that stretch on forever. The hospitality is rich and the dinner runs late somehow introducing you to the soon-to-be new day as you drift to sleep. Evading the ebb and flow of night and day this pond we dive into rolls and rumbles on a tidal shrug; marking time takes on new meaning to its conspirators. We’re diving into the eddy only looking to see how far down we go, thoughts on surfacing for air are for another time, when night and day return and the tide recedes to shoulders drooped.

January 22, 2015

While you were working – Empty celebrity, Salta, Argentina

We all know a name don’t we, that sad state of affairs with both the person and the fame itself competing to comment most insultingly on all of us. Like a great archaeological urn: beautiful, powerful, valuable and all together empty of everything it hints at containing; Not to mention fake, disappointment is its currency. Empty celebrity is the apt term, all the notoriety and none of the content, a ‘Lucas Film’ production if you will. Oh how we tut tut and guff on about the triviality of it all, of the dire comment it makes on us all that we refuse to quite admit to being part of. They drain huge amounts of resources, attract vast sums of money and balance the whole scale by returning exactly the opposite. But we all knew a name, if not a few. Allow me to introduce another to that list of vexing characters: Salta.

After being taken on a wild ride by the areas and towns that cluster about this beacon we limped into Salta drained yet enlivened. How could we take any more of this excitement, this indulgence, this flare? That’s the question. In our time in Argentina thus far we have attempted to have rest/ detox days, truly we have, but that fire and life that seems to radiate from the ground just kept picking us up for another turn on the wild ride. It possibly works out in our favour that Salta, the apparent factory of this fire turns out to be just like that archaeological urn, entirely empty of all that it is supposed to possess. To say we have a little dose of travellers disappointment is an understatement.

To be fair there are positives, the town square is a cracker and a genuinely enjoyable environment to be in, Salta is clean enough, organised enough and not without good food. But Salta isn’t the place one visits to experience Argentinas version of a sanitised all inclusive resort. For those wrapped up in the fire of this area it’s a place to come and touch the flame and be damned of the consequences. It does at least contain its fair share of perplexing South American frustrations; opening times, bank fees and comically bad hospitality service just to retain some authenticity. And just to balance all these frustrations the new kid on the empty celebrity block upholds all traditions and returns sweet little in trade for these downsides. Yet we visit anyway as so many before and no doubt after.

There seems but one real thing to do in this town, catch the cable car up to Cerro San Bernardo. This is pretty much what it sounds like, a cable car up to the top of the green hills that press right to the town edge offering a great view not to mention a nice scenic ride in the cable car. It is all these things but little more sadly. There is a wickedly complex series of water features that cascade and weave in and around pedestrian walks, a nice touch to any budding gardener and the views are commanding even though they’re of a fairly unremarkable city scape. Salta truly upholds its celebrity status just beside the tranquil falls with a temporary gym set up on the mountain top, ummm, I am not often stuck for words. Tranquil spaces are interrupted by the most puerile early 90’s happy-hard electronica music ever created, the type that even the boys doing laps of Parramatta Westfield have moved on from. All this to entertain the three or so people downing Coca-Cola while sitting on the equipment, the building of hopes to reveal a sad lack of content behind the promise continues.

Unlike the names we no doubt still have frustratingly floating in our heads Salta isn’t really to blame, Salta is what it is, that most common of defences of the empty celebrity. Comically we do find some of the best food we’ve had in the whole of South America in, wait for it; you’ll never guess. Go on, try, I’ll wait. Yes, a vegetarian restaurant. I guess in this market a veggie restaurant needs to really put its best foot forward. With Charlie still being unsympathetically nasty to the loo we have been keen for some good simple veggies. We’ve now discovered that it’s not suitable to replace water with red wine as a source of hydration, so this place is like a hindu goddess of regeneration setting up a stall outside the butcher.

So we came to touch the flame but ended up being nursed back to health by Paris Hilton. Salta has been everything that we hadn’t expected and ironically enough I’m not sure that’s such a bad thing. We’re not quite in the Argentinian rhythm yet so this small respite is probably a blessing in disguise. Salta is the capital of the northwest, a region of so much content and such little facade, seemingly a capital somewhat unrepresentative of its region. At another time Salta is a nice place to come and visit, but for us on this pathway it comes as a sad drop in a blazing part of our journey. We haven’t seen the whole town of course, we’re possibly just inconveniently missing all the good bits, but that’s what they always say. Salta is apparently ‘Salta the beautiful’. I’d say that Salta is not particularly beautiful but on the contrary it’s really really empty.

January 21, 2015

While you were working – Touching the flame, Salta, Argentina

The heart throbs and the pulse races, we are surrounded by fire consuming and making fuel of any new shoot intent on bland staid endeavours. This fire is all consuming, bubbling unseen below the surface of every daily act akin to the eternal grinding movement of the earth below. We are where the earth literally collides and imparts this molten movement, fire and energy into the people that walk the oh so scant crust atop the rage. Welcome to northern Argentina. The culture and lifestyle here reflects the world in which it resides and the beating heart of that drive is Salta, the green oasis standing defiant in the burning desert. First impressions can be such a powerful thing. We’re high from our fiery visit to Cafayate as we ride into town on this wave of eager expectation.

And thud back down to earth, there’s absolutely zero romance in buying bus tickets and joining the cattle crush that is retrieving luggage from bus cargo. The luggage retrieval process is particularly comical and each country in South America has it’s eccentricities. In Ecuador the baggage is waiting on the ground before you can even disembark, the bus nearly pulling away for its next trip with you onboard if you don’t rush. Mexico has no marking of your bags so if you prefer it to be you that carries your bag away you get off the bus pushing for the door like a big girl at a boxing day sale; often one of us would charge for the door while the other lugged our carry bags. And then there’s Chile, South Americas answer to German efficiency, just join the queue young man we have a process. So we’re here in Argentina, the land of the assertive elbow, I really need to learn the Spanish for ‘there’s a queue’. It’s like being at a Mylie Cyrus concert, just for the record I have not had the pleasure but one can imagine. Every short cow in Argentina bustles forward to get one inch closer aggressively wedging in front of you. I have taken to using our tent as a kind of gate similar to the running start for harness horses, back you old nag I say to their defeated grimaces. Victory, don’t cry for me Evita.

With unromantic rubbish done and the hoard of nags kept at bay we have our stuff and we’re on our way. Our cabbie is a cool fella and as seems common in Argentina, he loves Midnight Oil. Basically think of any big band from the 80’s or 90’s in Australia and they all love them over here. One dab into a local radio station answers why, it’s like being transported back to the time of Air Jordans, mullets and Puberty Blues; awesome. He also reinforces what we’ve heard a few times, he has learnt a lot of his English by translating song lyrics, that is seriously a common thing here. So every Argentinian can say ‘how do we sleep while our beds are burning?’ in perfect Aussie accent, hilarious.

Our hostel in Salta is a bit naff so we jaunt off to the plaza for the obligatory pulse taking of the town. Salta is described as ‘Salta the beautiful’ in common vernacular but we’re not seeing that just yet. This may have something to do with us being in the district of light industry, motor mechanics not always known for their historically aesthetic building facades. Alas, the plaza does hit a pretty high note, it’s one of the best we’ve seem in South America. As usual the life of the town is buzzing and the balance between, informal, linear, natural and grandiose is immaculately balanced, Salta delivers it’s first winner. Just to be a total ponce, we also see a rainbow over the square that is distorted by a cloud, creating a quite wild rash of bright colour across the sky not unlike an Aurora. Neither of us have ever seen this before, it’s quite a cool and temporary display, the show disappearing in a few minutes leaving us fortunate to see it.

Our first glimpse into Salta sees a momentary pause to the romantic carpet ride on which we entered the town upon. We are as they might say in war movies ‘man down’ with Charlie succumbing to the meat-a-thon and two bottles of wine a day saturation. Safe to say he’s not winning the best room-mate award of late. Instead of galloping into town on our white charger we’re more so bumping into town on the back of a livestock cart, Salta thus far is picking up the pieces rather than sweeping us away. For us the pulsing beat of this region’s soul is a little distant, now in a city instead of a symbolic cultural pinnacle we take a temporary step off this romantic flight. In our minds Salta remains the romantic factory pumping soul and life into the region; for now though it’s a necessary safe haven from that romance we seek. The good life, the passionate flair, whatever you want to call it is a tangible fire burning hot enough to burn, it remains to be seen if we can stand the heat of this kitchen or not. Is holding our hand in the flame trepidatious? yes. Are we going to throw our arm in anyway? Absolutely.

January 17, 2015

While you were working – The best way to drown, Cafayate, Argentina

As the saying goes, today is a new day and the travelling day to be forgotten is all behind us leaving us to get out and see yet another place on this journey. What to say about Cafayate? Well to be honest we don’t really know, this journey north is more unplanned than usual and we have only the merest information from guidebooks to go by which means we really know next to nothing. Salta is the big city in this part of Argentina and that’s a few hours north, Cafayate is a small town and is surrounded by vineyards sporting a few grape varieties particular to this area. So into the wilderness we go, eyes wide open to see what puts this town on the map.

Being a small town we can walk everywhere so it’s to the plaza we go, often a great place to see and feel a town. And as is not uncommon it’s picturesque, bustling with energy and completely central to communal life it seems. Sitting at the base of the Andes which rise up like Godzilla to tower over the town this picturesque setting absolutely needs wine and thankfully we have a map to find it. This time it’s just a regular cellar door visit at a quaint little bodega. There’s some new grapes we haven’t tried outside of Argentina which is always fun so we soak up some of the flavours that make this area what it is. It also seems that our alcoholic binge since being here isn’t entirely out of character, Argentinians love a drink and it’s genuinely a little hard to avoid. Cest la vie. Throw in the obligatory coffee and Cafayate is proving to be a beautiful wind down, slow paced, pretty, clean and small; one could do a whole lot worse.

With a short time here though we have to have a little jaunt into the nearby Quebrada de Cafayate (basically a valley), which is meant to be worth a look. So we jump into a car with a dude from the hostel and we’re off to continue being sponges soaking up this fleeting dash into the north. It’s really nice when expectations are exceeded; this place is a visual museum into geological history. The magnitude and power of this place can’t be understated with layers of rock rolled over like pancakes and shards of the earth sitting in ways it simply seems that it shouldn’t be able to. Along the ride we are played a heap of local music, some of which was recorded or made about this valley adding a succinct cultural context to all that we see. We’d noticed a little thus far but it’s becoming more clear that the north has pretty strong cultural roots. Sharing a genetic lineage more with Bolivia and Peru than the more central and southern Europeans, the north seems to be a cultural bubble of music, dance (tango) and history. On first impressions it’s more raw, passionate and lathered with Latino spark than any place we’ve been so far.

To this most perfect of soundtracks we venture into this culturally important valley taking in its wonders at every turn. This area also acts as a particularly acute example of where the two continental plates come crashing together, the advancing western capping above the crumbling eastern. Massive continental forces coalesce to a point here, in one view it’s easy to see upward of eight distinct colours of the mountains and hills. This really is a place for appreciation, to think that all of these different makeups are from vastly differing periods in history and indeed distant places all smashed together is a real head trip. Add to that the stunning shapes and layers, we are left continually gawking. Throw in a few side jaunts to all flavours of weird and wonderful and a desert heat that is nothing short of punishing and we’re cooked. This place is a true education, a wow factor to compliment the laid back tranquility of Cafayate town. Bueno!

All this excitement does come at a cost though, we’re absolutely stuffed and it’s time to finally get into that Argentinian siesta thing. I can barely remember my head hitting the pillow as we might possibly be starting to get into this odd routine. Still barely awake we stumble into town to wake up the way the locals do it, sit in the plaza. It’s buzzing at nearly 8pm with toddlers up to grannies as we’re politely shunted aside from our prime spot by a few guys with guitars. In no time at all an impromptu concert erupts with a swarming crowd filling in around the band. Busking is not allowed so this quintet of guys are just playing and doing some light promotion of their band and they absolutely nail it. The small crowd is enthralled, people dance, people sing along sipping the local tea Mate and we all clap in time, these guys are all understated casual showmen straight out of a Latin textbook. The mini concert develops into more of a fiesta as a whole section of the plaza lifts to a breezy summer party mode. Now this is how to snap yourself out of a siesta hangover.

By this stage we’re positively floating and previous thoughts of a detox day are swept aside in a wave of Latin fiesta, Vino por favor. Of course, with wine we need meat, this ritual is far from becoming boring so parrilla it is. As if we weren’t saturated with local style culture already the parrilla restaurant has a tango duo to fire up the crowd as the parrilla fires up the meat. Every pore of this place is fire and passion with no letup from these dancers. The suave looking dude in cowboy outfit is all energy and macho flair while his partner is shy reserved confidence to play out a Latino pantomime of gender roles in full flight. The dance has shades of Cuban flamenco as it bursts with fire and bravado rolled in romance. So we have wine, meat, music and dance: we are truly in northern Argentina.

So this journey into a relative unknown has been a thoroughly saturating experience. We’re soaked in local culture, local style, local food and of course local wine. Still very much a first impression we are surrounded by a heady mix of influences and we get the feeling that none of it gives the faintest care to what happens elsewhere. We’re in Salta provence now and Salta knows exactly what it is. It’s the good life in many ways we saw in Mendoza but it’s distinct in so many ways as well. Food, wine, dance and music are fairly common human expressions yet it seems that Cafayate not only does it its own way, it positively drowns in it. So we soak up the purest example of Latin flair we’ve seen so far and like the wine, we discover the best way to drown.

January 16, 2015

While you were working – Vine to vine, Mendoza to Cafayate, Argentina

We set off on our journey, straining livers all too pleased to be departing Mendoza; but for where? We set off up north towards Salta but for a stop into Cafayate, another wine growing region so we can’t say for sure if the livers are cheering or cowering in fear at this point. Mendoza has been very good to us as a first introduction to Argentina so it comes with a trace of heavy-heart that we depart just a day too soon. Mendoza has over-lived the hype for us providing us with succinct window into the Argentinian good life, indeed a version of the good life that would stand up tall anywhere in the world. We chat of our good times here and our conversation is filled with all the best words: food, authentic, friends, laughs, experiences and of course wine. We can’t help but realise that none of these words relate in any way to a digital existence that so often rules our lives. I’ll shelve the social commentary for now, we’re still clinging to the good life like a safety tube in a raging sea. This time harks back to a simpler time and facebook could not be further from our minds

What a contrast, we leave behind a place that conjures so many great terms for one that conjures very little, a night bus. But move on we must, the traveller spirit doesn’t fare so well sitting still. On the bus we are however treated to a belated new years show, our journey into a fading day is barraged by a relentless electrical storm for about 3 hours. The lightning isn’t close but it covers the entirety of the front, left and right side views from the bus in the most constant and complete light show I’ve ever seen. From this distance it’s not raging, just beautiful but we are heading in the direction of one beast of a storm, no wonder the Spanish word for storm is tormenta. Despite some heavy rain the bus trip escapes the storm proper, not that we’d know through the dazed travel slumber. None the less we arrive at our changeover town Tucuman to a sodden bus floor, weary eyes and still another six hours to Cafayate.

No bus for four hours; could be better, could be worse so we bunk in for some surely high brow cuisine and divine coffee as hopes exceed brainpower in the cultural wasteland of a bus terminal. Thinking back to our words for Mendoza we are now surrounded by a whole new range of terms that it simply hurts me to type, so I won’t, the good life feels very distant. And of course the only bank in the terminal doesn’t take our card so this means I’m off for a run into town. The banking street is about ten blocks into the drizzling rain, this should be about as fun as wasting a good bottle of wine.

Lets just say Tucuman is a bit of a shitty town, very lucky we didn’t stay here. Boarded up shops, deserted streets and not a clean building in sight gives this place an all together dodgy feel. Not to mention it’s raining and in my thongs I slip flat on my ass in front of a small crowd of people and now Mendoza seems so far away. Think of vines think of vines I tell myself, better times are just around the corner. The bank situation doesn’t go well either, nine banks wont accept any of our cards. This is not a good day, we have barely enough cash for an empanada so I defeatedly huff back to the station. I pass one last ATM and in an effort to tick all boxes I give it a try, it works and I can’t believe it; I’m so over it by this stage it’s all just a little emotional. I get out two lots of cash and bolt back to the station as as fast as my sore ass allows. So I’m disheveled, in flip flops, soaking wet and carrying a chunky wad of cash in a dodgy town running on the road as the footpaths are slippery tiles so I can only imagine what sort of figure I cast.

Having accomplished mission impossible from the simplest of objectives I arrive back into the terminal to my diligent bag guard Charlie. We have an hour or so till our bus takes off, we can now eat more than a cheese stick so the hill has been crested, surely it’s all looking up from here. We’re in the midst of the single biggest travel day we’ve had since arriving into Mexico so it’s safe to say it’s not all beer and skittles. We are dealt a turn of fortune though with our top deck seats at the very front of the bus for what is reported to be a picturesque journey. Things are definitely looking up.

All about us we see signs of what was a cracker of a storm which obstructs our panoramic view through the front but none the less it’s a great drive. Until the road goes under water. The bus pulls up beside a local soccer game in the middle of nowhere, the road is blocked. The dirt pitch sitting afore the backdrop of the Andes is a culturally picturesque scene heavy with images that are all things Argentina, we could have a worse place to stop I guess. But a little over two hours passes and we’re not sure if we’re heading back or not, this is getting frustrating. We’re thinking we’ll get through eventually but we’re ticking over 24 hours in a bus so these stinky hungry boys are not pictures of serenity.

Eventually we do hear the call, vamos, the road now looking more like a river bed full of debris than anything made for a vehicle. As they say the rest is history as we make it to Cafayate, this journey from the safe succour of one wine area to another not without it’s less than romantic middle. We passed many notions of thinking about a sizzling parrilla and a glass of red in Mendoza on this deviation from the good life. Yet what is the good life without a sense of adventure, the eternal optimist now in a comfortable bed sees this contrast as little more than a spotlight to illuminate the better times. Yes the good life can easily be summarised in having the opportunity for days like this, perspective is now a word we can add to the list.

January 15, 2015

While you were working – The wheel turns, Mendoza, Argentina

On any other day, in any other place yesterday would be considered an alcohol day. However the obvious must be said, Mendoza is not just any other place and today has waited its time to shine. The afternoon siestas create a fantastic if yet still unfamiliar phenomenon for us, we’re up and ready to go again suffering nothing of yesterday’s indulgence. Unsurprisingly we are off to vineyards to enjoy wine and food all over again, these simplest of pleasures as eternal as they are universal and therefore shall never pass its use-by date.

We’re not on the posh extravagant jaunt of two days ago though, this time we’re hopping on a tram and rattling the few stops to cycle around a nearby but different region, the very popular Maipu. At the tram stop we meet up with a small group of Americans and a Canadian who seem to have some idea where they’re going and we join in for the day. It seems that no one really knows where anyone is going or should go so it’s a bit of a comical farce to begin with. We walk aimlessly in the scorching sun until we happen across Bodega Lopez winery. The American crew have been there before and liked it but despite this we are distinctly over this walking so we politely declare that we’re going in regardless of their movements.

They join us in and we enter what can only be described as a wine empire. On any other day we’d tend away from this type of overly contrived sense of grandeur but today we just want to sit and have some wine, no more walking for the moment thank you very much. The first impressions last throughout, this place has been thoroughly scrubbed clean of charm and character but undeterred we go for a tasting. What this place does lack in charm and character it make up for in tasting it has to be said. We chip in about $7 each and we have ten, fifteen and twenty year old bottles opened and decanted just for us. We take it all back, this is great. The wines are well made and stand up to our snobby tastes even after the amusingly basic and at times dubiously accurate presentation from our host. This first up surprise sets us in the mood for more delights, we fork out for another round and take a little more than our due before calling a cab. The intention of cycling having fallen away some time ago.

We ask for a recommendation for a boutique winery to have lunch at and we’re pointed to Cecchin; organic, biodynamic, unique grape varietals and locally owned. Talk about ticking all the boxes, we’re into the taxis and off we go. We arrive through vineyards sporting plenty of ragged weeds under the vines which is always a welcome sign, well watered and cultivated soil only stays bare of vegetation for one reason, herbicides. This slightly rough and rugged winery is the picture of opposition to Lopez, bleach has been outlawed along with the herbicide it seems leaving this place bursting with charm and character. But; the restaurant is closing, shit! A little bit of discussion goes on and it turns out that if we all eat they’ll stay open, six people have never said yes any faster. This is a welcome turn and one that you would hope for but never expect, offered up by the place that embodies terms such as genuine, local and authentic.

And we’re not bundled into the restaurant proper, we’re ushered a small distance to a set of rustic tables under an almond tree set right in the vineyard feet planted directly on the dirt of these vines. I’ll skip a hippie spiritual tangent here, this setting is all things rustic, pure and exactly what we’re after. The surprises keep on coming, this is beyond fortunate, this is a chance experience we could never have planned. The food rolls out, the quality wine is poured and as seems customary in these parts, good times are created from thin air. This chance meeting, chance location and chance timing is the travellers dream of an experience that can only come by forsaking planning to chance. We get drunk, we mistakenly drink the cognac that was meant for the dessert and we share the last course with the chef who we drag to our table and toast wholeheartedly. Fortune smiles on the bold, he brings a bottle of bubbles we’re pretty sure aren’t part of the menu, salud.

The sun is still beaming as we leave just before 8pm from lunch. We see off our chef as he walks away with three bottles for tonights dancing, we’re all meeting up again later today to watch some tango. We’re trying to get into this siesta swing, being in Argentina seems like it’ll be hard without adoption the local timetable but right now we need a little late nap. Still buzzing from our most fortuitous of adventures we veritably float back to our hostel, very much looking forward to going out again and getting into the two days in one theme.

The second day never happens. Despite all the best intentions we’re a bit tired and Charlie’s leg has pulled up sore from the days activity. A little frustrated given our desires to go out we pull the pin on what has been yet another spectacular day in Mendoza. Our late siesta turns into an early night as we sign off on what will be our last day in this town, for now. Tomorrow we head north to new adventures however the present is all about soaking up what Mendoza has to offer. Indeed as we punch the clock for the night it seems like every day here just renews itself with more of life’s genuine pleasures. The wheel turns anew in Mendoza and lucky are those that get a few turns to ride.

January 15, 2015

10 Reasons Every 20-Something In America Needs To Travel

Good article

January 14, 2015

While you were working – Hot springs, Mendoza

With the last couple of days being an exercise in indulgent luxury the quartet is back together and heading off to the hot springs in the foothills of the Andes. Hot springs appear to be a more regular phenomenon than I had expected, the Andes are active and alive like no other range, bursting with hot mineral water all over the place. It’s in these mineral springs that we will get our noses closer to the mountains and take the gears down a little. We walk to the girls hostel to sit waiting for our very friendly but all together grossly tardy driver for today Catarina, the host at the girls hostel. After an unexpected coffee stop we’re off about two hours after planned but this is a chill-out day today so it’s not a drama. The drive is also pleasant, as we near the mountains we get views similar if smaller than the trip from Chile over the border to Argentina. The mountains set themselves up as a fitting location for a day of rest and relaxation.

Climbing high into a precipitous and picturesque valley one hour into the supposed 40 minute trip we’re getting the impression that we’re not dealing with a Swiss organisational maestro. Never the less we pull up to a more bustling little oasis in the desert than we expected, a hive of activity from handicraft shops to restaurants and bars and into the thermals. There’s apparently around 20 pools here at varying degrees of temperature so we’re sure to find a spot. Wrong. Holy crap is there anyone left in Mendoza at all? The top level of pools are the hottest ones with that term applying to the water alone and it shall in no way be applied to the inhabitants; but more on that later. It appears this is more of a fun activity scene fitted with small slides and watercourses rather than the setting for soaking away all ills as we expected.

Not to be deterred, this is a beautiful setting and we head to the less crowded and cooler lower levels to literally jump into the day. We take turns at a lap of a watercourse with a helpful drift of current and venture into a warmer pool enjoying a great location with gracious mountains rising up all around us. But we don’t stay for long, we walked past another parrilla on the way in so we leave the girls to venture off into the beef forest once again, it would be rude no to. Oh ok, if we must open a bottle of wine it would probably be rude not to do that too. We tell each other that we’re getting it with a mind to share with the girls of course, it’s not like we’d drink a whole bottle to ourselves at lunch now would we.

We are let off the hook with our food arriving just as the girls join us. We hastily gather more glasses and we literally pour out our guilt. This parrilla isn’t quite to the standard of the one two days ago but it’s still awesome, juicy meat and sausages are brought to us on a sizzling mini barbecue, we gawk, we salivate, we gorge; this is sinfully good. I’ll now skip right over the fact that Sophie orders another bottle of wine for their meal, surely two bottles between four imbues less guilt than one between two. Doesn’t it? For once we are the sensible ones though, we have to stop Sophies pre-alcoholic lack of moderation from ordering another bottle as much to our own surprise as anyone else’s. Mendoza has been, shall we say, hospitable so far.

Too much meat (wash my mouth out), not enough relaxing, we take another hour or so back in the baths before our ride returns. I particularly am keen to wriggle in with the pod and have a go at the hotter pools but it doesn’t last long. Delicate language now, this is a touchy subject but, South America has a pretty noticeable obesity issue going on and it’s in full swing here. Adults are a benign topic but it does sadden me to see off the huge number of kids here that probably nine out of ten are seriously overweight. They’re all happy kids it appears and the lack of vanity and narcissism is refreshing, that’s the upside. However a part of me can’t get past thinking that so many of these kids surely have really poor diets and are being educated poorly in matters of nutrition. Fast forward a few years and I can’t help but think it’s not the best start in life to grant a kid. I guess it’s all a societal and education issue and it indeed does exist nearly everywhere. Here though it’s feeling quite pronounced. It’s no surprise that Argentina is the worlds greatest consumer of soft drink, 131 litres per person per year, ouch. Chile comes in second with Mexico third with Coca Cola leading the way with huge market shares, hmmm.

Kids aside though, the adults are a similar fish but pardoning the pun, just bigger. Visiting a place like this is fantastic for ones vain sense of self image, it’s very easy to feel pretty hot here. We kick away our time soaking up a cooler uncrowded pool with a great outlook and taking silly photos. This visit isn’t what we’d planned at all but it’s been great fun all the same. Of course Catarina is about half an hour late running a very close scare with a Charlie impatience meltdown. Luckily the day ends fairly drama free and we’re on our way.

We do have a little date to finish off the day though. The girls are leaving for Cordoba on the night bus tonight so we grab some little snacks and crack open the ’94 Carmelo Patti on the small rooftop terrace of their accommodation. After farewelling team Poland we now farewell team Melbourne, we’ll be without travel buddies for the first time in a while. And we do it in style, cured meats, cheese, olives and dark chocolate set off a stunner of a drop; a fitting send off to the Melbournians. In a short time we’ve become good mates, beginning with hearing of Kate’s public princess fit in Valpo slipping in faeces and concluding with Sophie going pretty close to sharing her cow/ poo selfie (don’t ask). It’s safe to say that the limiting shackles of propriety were throw off along with the chances of not keeping in touch with our two new Greek yaya’s some time ago. I wonder what the story is with these otherwise glamorous ladies and poo?

On a more refined note, Mendoza is definitely laying out the red carpet for us in terms of a first impression into Argentina. At some stage we’ll have to slow down but for now we’re on the ride with more enjoyment being thrown at us than we know what to do with. Tomorrow is another day, it can also wait till tomorrow.

January 13, 2015

While you were working – The good life, Mendoza

Today is the day, we have restrained we have resisted but today is indeed the day for flood gates to open and drown us in wine; what a delightful image. Our driver arrives bang on time and we head off to pick up the girls and get going into a day of indulgent wine, food and laughs; all things good for the soul if not for the liver. And it seems that girls travel with a slightly different slant on wardrobe than boys do, we are feeling a little under dressed. Our temporary girlfriends are set for a day at the races, pushing for a podium spot for fashion in the field. Striding confidently through dappled light, glowing smiles and relaxed posture complimented by bouncing hair and killer summer fashion; so hot they could totally be girls in a tampon commercial. Cindy Lauper plays somewhere in the background I am sure, girls just wanna have fun.

The atmosphere is definitely set. We’re not looking all that shabby either if somewhat a little more informal as we load up into our late model Chevrolet and roll into the land of goodness. The energy in the car is up with no sign of the food comas from yesterday with our driver trying his best to value add on a tour style list of information. We largely plunge into a good natured conversation of our own but one interesting slant is a rundown on the canal system of Mendoza. This shady city is otherwise a desert with none of the many plane trees or any other trees we see everywhere native to this region, every single one is planted. This along with the wine region and the city itself hinges nearly entirely upon a complex canal system that runs from trapped snowmelt off the Andes. This whole system is gravity fed with only simple weirs and gates to govern its entire flow, a relic originating from civilisations centuries old. The complexity of this system belies its all too humble appearance, a triumph of simple, clever engineering over environmentally impacting heavy industry.

But enough of that, the cows in the back seat are mooing and we need wine. First stop is into a huge imperious winery. As the security guard opening the imposing gates I confess to feeling a little swell of pompous privileged elevation. Safe to say that this winery is a bit of a flat start, our steroid induced human toucan of a guide is dressed in weird Brazillian pyjama pants and we are forced into a tour that consists of little other than ‘this is this, that is that’ basics. The wines here are ok but nothing to talk about so it’s a start that we know leaves only room for upward movement. The wineries here are less about the cellar door and more about a big tour so we ask the driver to insist on a very abridged tour or none at all from here on in. Apparently he’s not a fan of this winery either and confidently asserts that we’ll love the next one.

Achaval Ferrer is our next stop and first impressions are spot on. It’s a boutique winery for sure but by Aussie standards not so small at all, it seems volume is the go over here. And true to form we are greeted by a passionate woman that really knows her stuff. We sit outside gazing out to the rising range of the Andes capping over the vines which always seem to define pure romance for us. And these wines are the go, the hot days too much for most grapes but Mendoza definitely does do Malbec well. We get a first class introduction into the terroir and even get two tastings straight from the barrel to support the education of the barreling life cycle of the wine. We get back into the car and we can’t sing the praises enough, this is the Mendoza we came to see, authentic, passionate, romantic and delicious. Off to lunch we’re hinted to by the driver that we’ll like this one too.

And I could go on, and on; and on. We are shown to an elevated dining space just high enough to give us another view just atop the fields of vines of the Casarena winery to the mountains beyond. We are indoors until the massive bay doors are drawn open to an unobstructed vista that momentarily pauses even our conversation. We’re the only ones in this most spectacular of restaurants with the girls looking a hundred bucks and nothing but our suggestive array of wine glasses to pre-empt a million dollar view. We’re light on for information but this imposing line of pristinely clean glassware can only mean one thing; degustation menu. No time to think though, we’re being poured bubbles from the get go to cheers a fantastic day that has already beaten expectations before it’s barely begun.

This food is not a disappointment at all. Our cleverly designed menu walks us through the tastes of Mendoza from matching glass and plate building seductively to a simply heavenly piece of beef paired with a local malbec; a little top up is necessary. The conversation rockets along, the laughs are hearty and the definition of indulgence is rewritten. Any tourism advertiser would salivate at the completeness of this scene, this whole restaurant to ourselves with the view of views enjoying the fruits of the land, the cliche epitome of the good life. We cannot stop reminding each other about how perfect this is, we all want to close our eyes and sink into the feeling of comforting bliss that we are now surrounded by, or is that just the alcohol? There’s no denying we’re a little drunk, more than a couple of uncontrollable giggling fits grip us all in this meal of earthly delights.

Floating to the car we’re off to our next stop Carmelo Patti, this day already overflowing with all things decadent but like packing a travel bag, we can always get in a little more. I think we all just don’t want it to end either. Last stop is a thankfully informal one, we stand, nay, sway to the tasting of delicious aged wine up to twenty tears old. We appreciate it all but surely miss a few notes in this state. This tasting is free which is unusual for this area so we all chip in for a sensational ’94 blend which is just heaven.

If yesterday was a food coma then today we’re calling the morgue. We make plans with the girls to go out after siesta but despite all good intentions it never gets off the ground. At the start of the day we romanticised about drowning in wine and we’ve done just that. But more, we drowned in romance, vistas, food, laughs and friends. Indeed Mendoza puts more than just wine in bottles and food on plates. Menus and wine lists really need to have an option here of ‘the good life’, although we call it a range of different things it seems that’s what is really on sale in Mendoza.

January 12, 2015

While you were working – Bring that man a cow

If not now, then when? If not you, then who? It’s a great quote from Emma Watson giving a speech delivered on women’s rights to the UN but right now it equally applies to both men and women. If there’s no meat now, then when? If it’s not for us, then for who? We’ve caught up with the two Greek Effies and that recurring theme of the urban hunter gatherer is in full swing, iPads at the ready. I could say that the men hunted down the meat for lunch and the girls gathered the information for tomorrows wine splurge but it’s more of a team effort. Keen to get around the costs of what seems like a very expensive wine tour we plan on looking into a private driver and car for tomorrow along with the more immediate need for meat. With the four of us onto it we’re going to smash it, time to finish up the not so awesome coffee and get into seeing Mendoza.

The day thankfully goes without the horrid heat that came with yesterday, a blanket of light cloud protecting us from being on the human grill. We pop into the wine tours place to pick their brains about what they have to offer and see if it’s worth it. It seems that it’s pretty expensive but we’re nervously not sure if we have the know how to get around it. This calls for more coffee and the Melbourne coffee snobs are in full swing, yes we are shamelessly blaming Melbourne for this. It also turns out that the girls are relaxing a little around us, in preparation for the meat-fest Katie grabs out an apple apparently in need of some fibre. If that wasn’t enough detail the call of the day comes out, allow me to set the scene. Walking the streets, breeze gently ruffling the perfect salon hair these two very pretty girls drop the bombshell that they need fibre as, and I quote, ‘I’ve been pushing out a cow’ since being in Argentina. Did you hear the pin drop? Of course you didn’t because we were all giggling at the jarringly out of place comment. Ladies, hand in your princess tiaras.

After all the giggles subside we bog into a frenzy of web page searches, Trip Advisor comments and all manner of assorted recommendations. This hunting and gathering thing is exhausting, I thought technology was meant to make things easier. Eventually we do settle on a driver, Mauricio who is apparently ‘the wine guy’ of Mendoza and both of his reviews were great, what could possibly go wrong? Gathering done, I step up to the plate and go meat hunting. It seems that the meat window of awesomeness we were denied yesterday is also open for lunch so we have four excited little bunnies and Katie’s cow is mooing up a storm. Bring on the beef; and an orchard full of apples.

This time no amount of weird Latino opening hours trend can stop us, lunch is happening. Although the parrilla (grill) isn’t quite as laden with meat as we saw the other day it’s still pretty full and it might as well all be for us, this is long overdue. We’re not quite sure how this works for a short time but it appears that it’s a buffet. We serve ourselves some salads which is just cheating but we need to ask for meat sliced straight from the parrilla which gets treated with far more reverence than salad. Priorities are in order it seems. And what’s that, do we need to have wine with lunch? Indeed it is deemed a need and not a want, a bottle of Mendoza malbec cannot be avoided.

And the lunch is delicious. We veritably wade through herds of sausage, ribs, chicken, beef, thyroid and we think testicle but who’s counting. I think we all go back for second and third helpings, this is too good to miss out on, a primitive urge overtaking any sense of social politeness. Doused liberally with chimichurri sauce this is by no mens the high brow fame of Argentinian meat and it’s this commonplace setting that grants the great excitement. If this is a pretty standard place and it’s this good we’re in for a heavy time in Argentina. It also turns out that Sophie is going to put off being vegetarian, good idea Effie. The love continues through dessert and by the end there’s not enough apples in the world to push these cows through, sorry ladies, time to be a little less ladylike. For a whopping total of approximately $16AUD each we’d heard that Argentina was a little less expensive than Chile but this is crazy.

With the quartet working like a well oiled machine we have wine sorted for tomorrow, meat and it’s time for a little Argentinian siesta. More pressing matters dealt with we are able to appreciate Mendoza with a clearer mind. The streets are wide, there are trees everywhere offering much needed shade and with a heap of parks and squares it’s a welcoming city to be in. In truth there’s not a particular feeling, style or vibe emerging to us yet, instead it remains a pleasant, easy, comfortable city. From the exciting highs of Valparaiso and Lastarria in Santiago we’re probably a little spoiled, Mendoza a welcome slow down in pace and style if not alcohol consumption yet. Of course there is the contrast of the 1200 or so wineries very nearby, Mendoza presents as a multi faceted beast that we can’t wait to get into.

We sink into a food coma of Argentinian proportions. The town shuts down for siesta like few I’ve seen before, our food binge not an isolated occurrence it seems. We’ve combined forces with the girls in a way to make Emma proud and we’ve absolutely smashed our first day in Argentina out of the stadium. After a tempting arrival we now have the cows and plonk to go with the very big hills. We metaphorically asked Argentina to show us what it got. We have been shown and now Katie’s cow is most definitely mooing. We need a little lie down.